Book Stacks

One of my favorite things to do is pull out a stack of books I’d like to read in an upcoming month. There is so much intention, so many possibilities. However, because once I am locked into reading a particular book, it’s the last book I want to read, these stacks are more symbolic than anything. Indicative of a particular mood. Yet another good intention on the road to hell.

Here is my October stack:

October Book Stack

I began this stack yesterday. I initially included The Master and Margarita and A Tale of Two Cities. I made the decision to put them back. This morning I completed the stack with a couple of other additions.

During my daily writing yesterday, I engaged in the exercise of analyzing my choices. Was there a common theme? I think there were a few themes.

The Air You Breathe (Peebles) deals with an intense female friendship. Secrets of the Flesh (Thurman) is a biography of Colette. The Complete Claudine (Colette) details the growing up of a French girl. My Year of Rest and Relaxation (Moshfegh) is about a woman literally escaping from her life. You Think It, I’ll Say It (Sittenfeld) is a collection of stories about characters in awkward situations. Changing My Mind (Smith) is a collection of essays that detail the evolution of Zadie Smith. Ann Beattie’s New Yorker Stories (Beattie) are mostly about the Baby Boomers and how they are a generation at war with itself. Not pictured is The Age of Innocence (Wharton), which I have already read, but am going to re-read, and I think highlights the different rules for men and women in society.

As I look through these very brief, very basic synopses, I feel like there are a couple of books that–to me–respond to the current news cycle. The news right now is saturated with examples of different rules for men and women and generational politics. I think that’s why I selected Wharton and Beattie. Also, the Peebles would fall under this because female relationships are so important right now. The remaining books dovetail with my inner workings. I feel like I am in a period of change and growth right now, so reading about development through a biography, novellas, and essays is why the Thurman, Colette, and Smith books would be appealing. (I bought the Thurman and Colette books 10 years ago either just before or just after my 21st birthday. As I turn 31 in November, it seemed like a good time to finally finish them) Another part of growth is the awkwardness, hence the Sittenfeld. Lastly, my current impulse is to avoid all social situations as much as possible. I just want to hibernate. I want to be alone with my lover, my books, and my writing as much as possible, so I want to read about how Moshfegh’s character avoids the real world for a year. I’m not going to do it through medications, but I can certainly understand the desire to shut out the outside world.

Another throwback to 10 years ago . . . around this time, I bought The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford, WHICH I NEVER FINISHED. I feel as though I can trace thousands of collars in book purchases languishing on my shelves (or being already donated without ever being opened) to this one book. I want to read it this month and exorcize my demons. It is the only male author on my list (and is not included in the picture). I want to read it solely because I feel like it will end something that needs to be ended. Weird, I know.


autumn autumn leaves branch color
Photo by Pixabay on


For many years, when asked, I’ve said my favorite season is summer. “Bring on the heat!” I say. I think my favorite part about the summer is those sultry nights. I always envision the heat, the humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife, a tall gin and tonic, sweat beading on the sides of the glass. I love that scene!

This year was different.

Summer was not my favorite. Summer was a long, slow boil that eventually bubbled over. I just couldn’t take it–it being so many things–any longer. I’ve already detailed the changes I’ve made and indicated a desire for more changes.

Perhaps because this is my first year not being a student, but I have been eyeing fall as a new start.

I feel as though all summer I got burnt up, like leaves on a tree, and now I am ready to shed all of these old, dead appendages. I am ready to stand with nothing, to turn inward and hibernate during the cold months, then bloom beautifully in the spring.

This concept of turning inward has been more and more on my mind. I’ve found myself ignoring my voice, of wanting to not be too much in my own head. Some of it (much of it?) I think stems from being home all day, not getting much human interaction.

As a reader, I have been gravitating towards books of inner journeys, both fiction and non-fiction. Seeing how others–albeit fictional characters–deal with different seasons of life, how people have shed that which no longer serves and found what does, or merely how people have survived less than desirable circumstances.

My hope for myself this fall is to spend more time cultivating that voice and less time listening to the outside world. This could take many forms–I am excited to see which one(s) it takes.

The Cycle Repeats

My life has taken on an absurd whirlwind of insanity. I have prospered in some areas, declined in others, and backslid out of prosperity. Periods of intense satisfaction and the belief that things are back on track (or on track to be back on track) are punctuated by moments of paralysis and second-guessing. This has led to inactivity–a very disappointing state considering the promise and optimism I had so recently felt.

The cycle repeats.

Nothing has truly brought me out of it.

However, I have found some things I can do to help me feel less bad. (That’s really the point, isn’t it? To feel less bad. Once I feel less bad for a while, I’ll focus on feeling good)

Back in middle school, I discovered a local radio station that had Big Band Saturday Night, weekly from 9:00 until midnight. I loved the music. I’d turn on the radio as I fell asleep. The music was relaxing. It spurred a deep love for mid-20th century history and culture.

In the summer before high school, my mom and I (and her friend and her friend’s kids) went on a trip to Orlando. We stayed at a hotel evoking the island-hopping culture in the South Pacific. The lobby played big band music. The decor was so quaintly mid-20th century. Ten-ish years later, I went back to this hotel for another trip with my mom. Both of those visits, just being in the lobby and having that music filling the air took me somewhere deep inside myself. Perhaps tapping into a past life.

All of that to say–the Big Band music channel on our satellite offerings has become a constant companion during the days while Steve is gone. Something about it takes me outside of myself in a most wonderful way.

It doesn’t get words on the page, but it helps lift me out of a setting I do not want to be in. It’s a start.

Secondly, I have been taking pride in my house. One afternoon, I went on a tear and deep-cleaned the house. For the next few weeks, I diligently stuck to my self-imposed cleaning schedule. It’s unfortunately gone to shit since my grandma’s shoulder surgery–more on that later–but I’m fighting back.

I feel much better having my surroundings organized and tidy. I can actually relax when it is time to relax instead of having the mess constantly hum beneath the surface. The prospect of someone just dropping by is less stressful because the house won’t be in a shambles. (Though any intrusion on my seclusion is still unwelcome)

I still have much work to do to truly curate the items in our house. But I am feeling better by taking control of the mess I had allowed to accumulate throughout law school, bar prep, and my dark days of spring and summer.

I hate how backwardly housewife-y it sounds, but I loved the days I would turn on music, clean, and make myself feel presentable so that I could greet Steve at the end of the workday with a smile. (Note–I did these things for ME and according to MY standards; there was zero expectation on his part. He’s actually expressed a preference for my yoga pants.) I learned that part of taking pride–for me–is actually getting dressed and putting on a touch of makeup. I don’t feel good wearing yoga pants for  long periods of time. It’s a psychological thing for me. I need to put on real clothes.

What meager success I have made has been made complicated by my grandmother’s shoulder surgery. My mom has been in town most of the past 3 weeks, just sitting with my grandma as she recuperates in rehab. I keep getting guilted into going to the hospital or to run and do this errand. In short–many demands on my time with little notice, no ability to plan. This makes mornings, my peak productive time, unproductive. Even if I am not bothered, I can’t concentrate because I feel like I am about to be bothered.

So many ideas course through my head, but getting them down before being lost to another distraction–either real or self-created–is an impossible feat.

But still I truck on, in the hopes of one day attaining that lifestyle I so desperately wish for.

Step One

After some research, I’ve discovered the first step to living a better life is making life a more formal occasion through selectivity and ritual.

The idea is pretty simple, but also pretty radical. It takes reminding yourself that you are worth it, that you do deserve it.

What does it mean?

Using your best–plates, cloth napkins, putting food in serving dishes, wearing your nice clothes, looking presentable, etc. A couple of weeks ago, I made a roasted chicken, potatoes, and spinach. I set the table, I put the food on/in serving dishes. I kept a centerpiece leftover from a reception that I had for work. I was in a shit mood during the meal for other reasons, but it was nice. I was glad I went to the effort, even if it meant more dishes to clean. My family and I are worth it. Similarly, while yoga pants are quite comfortable, I don’t feel good about myself when I wear them for extended periods of time. I don’t take what I do as seriously either. So I’ve been trying to truly get dressed each day. I’m more productive then.

Dressing the part— This calls for self-reflection: what is your personal style? what do you feel best in? what do you feel most you in? Then you weed out your closet. Get rid of things that are no longer you, things that don’t fit, and even pull out things that aren’t in season because they cloud the landscape. I’ve seen articles about capsule wardrobes where you whittle your clothes down to 10 or 15 pieces. This doesn’t include layering pieces (cardigans, tanks, plain tees), accessories (scarves or jewelry), or occasion-wear (that fancy LBD). Then you rotate for the seasons. I don’t think I could do 10 or 15 items. But this past weekend I filled two trashbags of stuff to donate. I bought two underbed storage containers–one for out of season clothes and one for clothes that don’t fit, but that I sincerely hope might fit again. I pulled out t-shirts with images on them because I feel like I’m in my late teens or early 20s when I wear them and I am definitely not in my teens or early 20s any longer. I’m going to make a blanket with them so that it’s not a total loss. I would like to continue to hack away at my wardrobe and get rid of more things and maybe actually get down to 10 or 15 items. Or 20.

My closet seems happier now. It’s less crowded and more focused. The remaining pieces serve me instead of confusing and frustrating me because they don’t work with my life. The purge was much easier than expected, so I know I did the right thing. And I was able to shift around some of Steve’s clothes, so his closet space is less crowded as well. Everybody won.

Seeking out the best (within your means)–Everything from food to clothing. My cooking tastes better when I use better ingredients. After learning how to make stovetop popcorn for one, I won’t be going back to bag popcorn. This past weekend was Tax Free Weekend in Oklahoma, where there’s no sales tax on clothing priced under $100 and many stores have amazing deals. I am wanting a black skirt, but there aren’t any high-quality stores in town, so I didn’t even bother looking. I’d rather spend more for a skirt that will last a few years than buy one cheaply made that will last a season.

Creating rituals–Rituals help you slow down and enjoy things that are important to you. I love big band music. It’s great in the background and reminds me of some happy memories. Recently, Steve had to be at work on a Saturday and I just wasn’t ready to get up, but I wasn’t tired enough to fall back asleep. I remembered that there were music channels on our satellite dish. I found a big band music channel AND a classic jazz vocalist channel. Now I’ll drink my coffee and read or write in bed with the music on. Such a nice way to ease into the day! I can also turn on the music in the living room to listen while I cook and eat breakfast and write at our bar. I’m searching for ways to create other rituals for myself.

A big part of this kind of living is slowing down and deciding that you are worth the best. This doesn’t mean becoming a snob who looks down on others and their ways. It has little to nothing to do with other people at all, in my opinion. It’s about service to yourself and (if you live with other people for whom you cook) to those around you. It a kindness.

I’m still in the beginning stages of implementing these new ways, but I like what I’ve seen and experienced so far. It’s made me feel a bit better about things I’m not so happy about.

Bel far niente

The beauty of doing nothing.

The Europeans are much better at this than (I’ll venture to be general) Americans. We must always go, we must always do. And when we don’t, we feel guilty, we fidget.

I attempt this many a weekend morning. I wake up early, Steve sleeps in or otherwise chills in the back bedroom. I make coffee and sit at our bar. I’ll read, I’ll write, I’ll make breakfast, then I’ll read, then I’ll write. Reading and writing are doing something, to be sure, but for me they are more akin to blissfully doing nothing than laboring away at work. Occasionally, I’ll just be sitting there, staring slightly off into space, enjoying the quiet hum of the refrigerator, and I’ll feel compelled to pick up my silly phone and do…something–check email, get on Instagram. In fact, often as I click on email or Instagram, I know I don’t care what is going on. It’s not even a real fear of missing out because I know I won’t miss anything important. It’s an interruption to la bel far niente, plain and simple.

As I struggled with this dilemma yet again this Sunday morning, a shadow of these words came to me, except I couldn’t quite remember them, but I knew there was some phrase about the joy of doing nothing. I was casually reading Bonjour Tristesse when I couldn’t shake it. What were those words exactly?

I made my way to my non-fiction bookshelf, feeling it was Frances Mayes who uttered them. I flipped through the first couple of chapters of Under the Tuscan Sun. No. Not her. I saw Peter Mayle next to her. I knew it wasn’t him (I knew the words were Italian, not French), but remembered fondly his books about France. Ultimately it was Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat Pray Love who introduced me to the concept.

The idea still remained–Europeans do a better job of living. I want to do a better job of living. I want to strip away the layers of excess and get to the most elemental and basic of living. I want to get rid of the extras, the duplicates, the slight alterations, and have one perfect thing that will more than make do.

I’m on a very tight budget right now. I’m attempting to get my business going, but I must draw a salary to pay for my necessary things, plus a little cushion so that I don’t use my dreaded credit card. I am trying to get my credit card paid completely off so I can cut it up and never use the damn thing again. I rue the day I let my mom convince me that it was a good idea to get one.

I digress.

I remember years ago, I was a nanny during the summer to three spoiled children. Their parents felt guilty about working full-time jobs, so they bought the children countless toys. They’d never clean up. Toys strewn carelessly, thoughtlessly about the play room and the rest of the house. The housekeeper made the comment that if the children had fewer toys, they’d appreciate the toys they did have more.

I let the notion slide into the back recesses of my mind until just now really.

If I had fewer toys, I’d appreciate them more.

If I had fewer clothes, fewer shoes, fewer bags…

If I had fewer kitchen gadgets, less food in the cabinets…

Maybe then I could relax, feel less restless, experience la bel far niente…

Champagne Thursday, 19 July 2018

Happy Champagne Thursday! 🥂

It’s a little tradition I began when I was younger, inspired by Failure to Launch.

On Champagne Thursday I like to take some time to celebrate. Anything, big or small, serious or ridiculous. It’s a party for myself to acknowledge and celebrate the little things in life, least of which is surviving most of the work week.

It’s been a hell of a week, so I really needed this.

Today I am celebrating:

Good new business contacts

Feeling a sense of direction

Feeling some passion

Developing a routine that serves me

Ceiling fans on low

NYRB Classics

New directions

Ripe peaches in the fruit bowl

Reading on the couch

The sound of (relative) silence

This tradition that has made me smile for nearly a decade

A well-organized notebook

Good pizza

Flirty texts with Steve mid-morning and mid-afternoon

A sense of adventure

Bigger wine glasses

Holly Golightly

Eve Babitz

Seriously, NYRB Classics

Having time

Making time

Party time

Jazzy classics

Jazzy classics with booze

Rituals that serve, not guilt

Red lipstick, pearls, and red nails

Happy Champagne Thursday, Everybody! Cheers!


I’ve been finding myself getting very restless lately. No matter what I am doing, I always wish to be doing something else. If I am working on my law practice, I want to be writing. If I decide to write on a particular morning, I somehow find something productive I could be doing with my law practice. If I am cooking, I would rather be sitting at a bar, drinking a martini. If I am getting ready to go out to eat, I think about how I could cook something better at home. If I get up and go to yoga, I would rather be in bed. If I am in bed, I would rather be doing yoga. Even my reading has taken a hit–no matter what I am reading, I feel like there is always something different, better I could be reading instead.

The “grass is always greener” syndrome has been a constant companion.

Even sitting down to write this, after calling it quits on a day full of computer frustrations of all shapes and sizes, my mind is racing from one thing to another. Slowing down and enjoying the moment has been a true scarcity of late.

I know I go through different seasons in life. Some seasons are full of reading (like this spring!). Others are full of great food. This recent one has been marked by an inability to be still.

For instance, I started going to a yoga class in June. Initially, I referred to it as a “little old lady” yoga class because the average age in this town is something like 200. I walked into that class a full on yoga bitch. For the next hour I struggled mightily. We began with a twelve minute reclined meditation. I am horrible at meditation. I cannot quiet my mind. You’d think I could relax a little while lying on my back. Nope. Then we did a series of poses. None were terribly challenging, no crow or headstands. Yet we held them all for 5-8 breaths instead of flowing from one to the other one breath at a time like I have been doing in yoga classes and videos for years. I walked out of there a truly humbled individual.

And I didn’t go back for two weeks.

I’ve been going twice a week. I’d like to say that I have improved at meditation, at holding the poses, at being still. But I’d be lying. I am so grateful that there is not a visible thought bubble above my head. (The classes have proved beneficial in another sense because I am more toned than I was previously)

I began this post somewhat in a panic. It’s hard going and going and not feeling like I’m actually getting anything done. But I’ve written myself into finding a way to embrace this restlessness.

I have approached anything I’ve done lately with more energy than I have in quite a while. I have an afternoon slump nearly every day. That’s now the cue to disengage and set the work in progress aside for the day, to pour a glass of wine, and read. Even if I haven’t been finishing many books, I have been reading some great paragraphs and pages. Soaking up language like a sponge.

That’s what I’ll be doing now.