Unproductive

I have big plans every spring, and this year is no exception. In many ways, this is my favorite part of the gardening season. I enjoy going through the seed catalogs to decide what I’ll plant. I love getting out the graph paper to plot out my garden spot: a series of raised beds, densely planted. For reference, I always pull out Carrots Love Tomatoes by Louise Riotte, to make sure I’m planting to my best advantage. I also keep Backyard Bonanza: an introduction to Intensive Gardening close at hand. It’s just a small book, published by Rodale Press and years ago was offered free with a subscription to Organic Gardening magazine, but it’s filled with inspiration.

Then comes the actual application. Putting into practice what I’ve worked out on paper involves shovel, rake, hoe, and lots of hard work. Usually I double-dig my beds, adding amendments of compost and fertilizer along the way. Then the beds are staked, twine is strung to keep my rows straight, furrows are hoed, and seeds are distributed. Tomato cages are brought out of the shed and set up; pole bean tepees have to be erected. Finally, mulch or other weed barrier is put down in the pathways. After that, it’s just maintenance.

As I’ve gotten older…busier…more tired…I have cut corners, skipped steps, and ignored plans. As a result, in the last few years my garden has been a disappointment: not as attractive, less productive, and often over-run with weeds. This year was going to be different! This year (and, to be honest, I tell myself this every year) would be my best garden ever. I took this week almost off work. Wednesday, I still have art class, and Friday there is my volunteer shift at the Resale Shop. Still, more time would be freed up to get this job done right.

I started right out making things even more complicated, by deciding to move the garden over. I also had new plans for my raspberries, that have spread through the garden. This year, I intend to “plant” a series of five gallon buckets – with drainage holes punched in the bottom – up to their rims, and re-plant one or two raspberry canes in each, to keep their wandering roots in check.

Moving the garden over involved taking down fencing and pulling up cedar posts, clearing out a large, rock-bordered flower bed, digging up hundreds of daylilies, and breaking new ground. There, my sweet neighbors saved me by bringing their rototiller over and working up the new spot. I think I’ve found a young man I can hire to re-set twenty five fence post, and help me put up the fence.

The problem arose over the weekend. On Saturday, digging up the last of the daylilies before the area was to be tilled, I put my back out. I could feel it going, but I took a couple ibuprofen, and soldiered on. That was a mistake. By that evening, I was sitting with ice packs. Four days later, I’m not much improved. I spent yesterday making appointments for massage therapist, x-rays, and chiropractor. Those appointments are necessary, but crowding my days. It doesn’t matter. Though I’ve forced myself to attempt a little work in the garden every day, there is little I can do right now. In a week that I thought was going to get so much accomplished, I’m basically unproductive!

Staying on Task

Without a doubt, staying on task is still a big challenge for me. In the last two days, still ignoring housework and studio work, I managed to jump around between at least a dozen projects. Still, from sheer determination and perseverance, I managed to get quite a bit done.

Because my kind and oh-so-generous neighbors had offered to come over with their rototiller, to work up my new garden spot, I had to measure it out, and mark the boundaries with stakes and twine. At the same time, I managed to dig up almost a hundred more daylilies, as they popped up in the old flower bed. That’s after digging up and giving away more than five hundred of them a week ago! So, if there’s anyone out there still interested, they are free for the taking.

Also, in anticipation of my neighbor’s visit, I took the wheelbarrow and shovel around to clean up a winter’s worth of dog droppings. Stella and I take a long walk every day. Off leash, she is able to explore the public lands and roadsides to her heart’s content. I don’t know why she waits until we are home, to do her daily business, but that’s the way it is.

I raked out the rhubarb, which are starting to push through the ground, and the asparagus, that have not shown themselves yet. I pulled up dozens of blackberry brambles. They are welcome around my yard, where they provide me with many bowls of sweet berries at the end of each summer, but I have to keep watch, because they spread quickly into lawn and garden spaces.

I dug up my raspberry patch. They, like the blackberries, continue to spread out, far beyond their designated area. That inhibits their production, for one thing; when they are busy reproducing through their roots, they don’t seem interested in producing fruit. It has been a constant battle to keep them from popping up in the middle of the tomatoes and lettuces! I have a different plan this year.

I have a small collection of five-gallon buckets, with drainage holes cut into the bottom. I intend to bury each of these buckets up to their necks, then transplant one or two raspberry plants into each of them. My hope is that this will prevent them from sending out runners, but will give them enough room to thrive.

I had moved some things out of my back garden bed, in order to fill in a couple holes (Darla was a digger, and liked the shade in that area), and rake it out. I replaced them in their spots. With graph paper and a couple reference books, i plotted out my planting scheme. I hauled several loads of weeds, leaves and brush away, moved the lawn chairs, set up the folding table, moved some more rocks, welcomed my neighbors, and watched the garden spot take shape.

It sounds, in writing, like I moved through these tasks in some semblance of order. No! As usual, I jumped from one job to another, working at everything all at once. It was actually a very productive weekend. I can’t help wondering how much more I could’ve accomplished if I’d simply managed to stay on task!

Procrastination

Procrastination is certainly a topic I ought to be able to write a few words about. I’ve been procrastinating all of my life, since long before I even knew the word to describe it! If a task can be delayed, I will delay it.

According to Mirriam-Webster, “procrastinate implies blameworthy delay especially through laziness or apathy.” It does seem like a major personality flaw. In my case, it has caused me a lot of self-recrimination. For years, I thought of myself as a lazy person. Other than my habit of putting things off, though, I do not shirk hard work. It may look like I don’t care, but I know that I do.

Often, I have found that the procrastinator suffers the most for their actions. I can’t tell you how many sleepless nights I’ve had, trying to meet a deadline for something that I’d put off until the last moment. Shame and embarrassment are frequent companions. Though this has been a tendency I’ve struggled against for most of my life, it has never been “fun.”

I’ve read several books on procrastination, to try to get understanding that might help me to overcome it. Some suggest that procrastination isn’t really a “thing” on its own. It is a symptom, only. It has been suggested that it is one way that perfectionism manifests itself: for fear of not doing a job perfectly, it won’t get done at all. It is high on the list of indicators for ADHD. And sadly, it is often attributed, once again, to lack of motivation, disorganization, and laziness.

I’ve also read a good collection of books on motivation, on forming good and lasting habits, on getting things done. In some areas, I have improved. Still, procrastination is a part of my life. Sometimes, it is because a project is daunting. An overwhelming task is ripe for being put off. Organizing the studio was one of those things, put off for more than two years!

Sometimes, it’s because I’m afraid I won’t live up to my idea; this happens quite a bit where creativity is concerned. Essays aren’t written and painting aren’t actualized…out of fear that I’m not up to the task. I have a series of thirteen large collograph plates based on Native American moons. I made them more than five years ago. After much delay, I printed one of them, was not happy with the result, and have not made an attempt since.

Sometimes, the job being put on the back burner is tedious, or boring. I have a long list of items that fit this category. To read, there is the paperwork sent to me from my supplemental insurance company, the annual Medicare book, and a few articles clipped or saved to read “later.” Paperwork is always high on the list of things that get procrastinated in my house. Instructions for how to assemble my new broad fork cultivator (standing unassembled in my kitchen for 2 weeks), and how to set up my Waterpik (waiting on the ledge over the bathroom sink for a year!), among others. My income tax paperwork for last year is still not even started, already past the April 15th deadline.

This behavior of putting off only adds tension to my life. It makes me embarrassed, ashamed and disappointed in myself. It is not fun. But I can’t deny, procrastination seems to be a permanent fixture in my life.

How Much Time?

“How many hours did this take to make?”

As an artist, I hear this question a lot. When you go to buy a vacuum cleaner, there are many things to consider; how many hours went into its creation is probably not one of them. Yet, with artists and craftspeople, this seems to be an acceptable inquiry. I think it’s a way to attempt to assess value. I don’t believe it’s intended as an insult. Most people, I think, don’t realize that it is. “I want to be the judge,” it says, “of whether you deserve the hourly wage you’re asking for.”

In m experience, that’s not how art work is priced. First of all, in addition to the actual hours that go into any finished piece, there are all the life experiences and insights that contributed to a particular vision. There is the study of all the artists who came before, whose own unique artistry may have offered inspiration or influence. There is education, in whatever form, and time spent learning about and gaining mastery of the materials used. There is practice, and hard work to refine techniques and improve vision.

As an artist who works mainly in abstract imagery, I get defensive. The question is, “how much time went into this,” but I assume the thought process behind the question is more like, “my five-year-old could do this,” or “throw a bunch of scraps on a canvas, hmph!” I don’t show offense. My usual response is a self-deprecating laugh and “actually, much more time than you’d think!”

Working in the studio Sunday morning, I decided to document some of the process. My first hour is spent reading (I’m currently re-reading No More Secondhand Art by Peter London), and putting together a small collage. The routine of moving colorful papers around on a surface, observing how they interact, and making decisions about placement help to put me in the right frame of mind to get to work.

Next, I pulled out a painted panel, 20 inches square:

This piece started life in my studio about ten years ago. After preparing the surface, it was painted, repainted, sanded smooth, then painted again. I then used it as the basis for a painted collage, which I also counted as a failure. I used the panel next for an experiment with heavily textured paint. Each of these incarnations involved lots of “blood, sweat and tears,” plenty of angst, and a great deal of effort. However, it was still not working. Once again, I sanded it down.

The result was beautiful: Like an old building, it held hints of all of its previous lives. I studied it for weeks. Sometimes that leads to insight. My hope is that I’ll wake up one day and see it with new eyes, that I’ll see that whatever I did has finally turned it into a fine piece of art. Alas, that rarely happens. So, I added a pattern of circles placed in a grid pattern, to try to pull all the elements together. Then I went over that with a light glaze to make the grid less obvious, then went over that with some thin acrylic paint, allowed to drip through the glaze.

Again, a beautiful surface. Again, not “art.” So, after several weeks of contemplation, my decision was to use it as the basis for a collage. I pulled out my materials: measuring tape, scissors, x-acto knife, matte polymer gel to use as adhesive, and a tray of collage materials. First, the piece needed something large to ground the composition. I landed on a painted paper patterned with green. It appealed to me because it was such a contrast to the muted buff surface. I pulled a few other elements out of the tray, shuffled them around, and finally had to reject the green.

I liked the way a soft brown paper worked with the background and other elements, but it was a little small. I decided on two same-sized pieces, beside each other. Then a row of short, narrow strips marching across to unify the two large pieces. I liked the bright pink, but didn’t have enough. I went with a combination of ochre and white, and placed them closer to the bottom edge. A circle of handmade paper right in the center started to pull it together. Then, small pieces to bring out the hints of background color, to lead the eye over the surface, and to emphasize the playful nature I was going for.

Finally, I was ready to get a few elements fastened down. To be successful, this has to be done one layer at a time. So, after four hours of concentrated effort that morning, I have a good start. How much time, indeed!

Dogs

I have two dogs. The small one, Rosa Parks, has been with me since 2011. She was still a puppy then, less than six months old. And feisty! Though my old dog, Clover, had been here much longer, Rosa Parks quickly made it clear she was going to be the boss. Over the years, she has seen me bury Clover, then Blackie Chan, and then Darla. She managed to get along with all of these dogs, as long as they respected her place in the family. Now, we’ve added Stella.

The bigger dog, Stella, came to be a part of our household this year on New Year’s Day. She’s four years old and as sweet as can be. Stella is a beagle-lab mix, which seems like an odd combination, but has resulted in a dog that appears to be the best of both breeds. She rarely barks, and doesn’t bay or howl. She looks like a beagle, but doesn’t have that hound-dog smell. She’s very good-natured, friendly with people and with other dogs. She loves to be outside with me, and is a wonderful walking companion. She’s a fast learner, and tries hard to please. Stella has boundless energy!

Therein lies the problem. In this household, there is me: seventy-one years old; bad knees; low energy; works away from home up to four days a week; when at home, likes to read, or write, or work quietly in the studio. Then there’s Rosa Parks: thirteen years old; almost blind; nearly deaf; bad knees; low energy. Poor Stella! All she wants to do is play! She can run circles around we two old ladies, and she often does! Sometimes I hear a big sigh coming from Stella, and I think what a disappointment we must be to her.

And poor Rosa Parks! All she wants, when I get home from work, is to greet me. A simple, “hello, I’m glad you’re home.” In dog language. As she tries to make her way from dog bed to door, Stella leaps over her, then turns and does it again. She rolls her into the kitchen cupboards, then into the freezer on the other side. Stoic – and pretty sturdy for a little dog – she continues to get back up and walk toward me. I, meanwhile, am in the middle of my own struggle to make it into the house, as Stella leaps at me, letting me know, in her own way, that she missed me, too.

In the yard, or on our walks down the Fox Lake Road, Stella is certain that she can convince Rosa Parks to play. She never gives up! She runs at the little dog, circles her, ’round and ’round, and charges her with such force it knocks her for a loop. This terrifies Rosa Parks. Lately, in order to get our walk in, and to ensure that Rosa Parks also gets fresh air and companionship, I’ve been wheeling her in the stroller for two miles. I put her down to get some exercise just for the last little bit; by that time, Stella has spent much of her energy chasing chipmunks and squirrels!

Inside the house, most of the time, they respect each other’s space. They tolerate one another. Not perfectly, but. And then, every now and then, I find them snuggled together near the heater. That gives me hope that, in time, they’ll learn to love each other as much as I love each of them!

Books

Books have always been a big part of my life, and I usually have several going at any given time. Right now there are the gardening books I’m browsing for inspiration, an old cookbook that I’m re-reading, one book on walking, one on weight training for seniors, and one on time-management. Then, on my nightstand, I have a small stack of books that I intend to read, but until I get new eyeglasses, the nightstand is the wrong place for them. My bedside lamp is just not bright enough, for my vision right now. Sometimes, n the evening, with my magnifying glass close by, I read snippets from Alpha to Omega: The Life and Times of the Greek Alphabet, by Humez and Humez. It’s just the kind of easy reading that I like, dealing with word origins, history, folklore, and lots of obscure facts. I’ve had the book for many years, and have read it before. With a possible trip to Greece coming up in the next year r two, I this would be a good time for a refresher.

Mostly, these days, I depend on audio books. I avoided them for a long time, insisting that I preferred the feel of a real book in my hands. I still feel that way, but with age has come arthritis in my wrists and fingers, as well as a few issues with my vision. That makes holding a book and reading small print more challenging. My first experience with an audio book was not a good one, simply because the reader had an annoying tone. She tried too hard to mimic a child’s voice, or a man’s voice, or a Southern accent, and the whole experience made me cringe. I honestly think I would have loved the story, if I’d had the printed version, or if it had a better reader! Now, I always listen to a sample first.

Since I’ve gotten over that hurdle, I find that there are many advantages to being able to listen to a book. I listen while I’m walking the dogs, and while I’m driving to and from work. Lately, I also listen while folding clothes, working in the studio, or taking a bath. I’ve downloaded the Libby app, which allows me to borrow audio books from the library at no cost. I also have an Audible membership, which gives me one credit per month toward the purchase of many titles, and access to many books that are included free with my membership.

I’ve gotten a few stinkers, but I’ve learned to read reviews as well as the publisher’s descriptions. That, along with listening to a sample of the audio, helps to ensure it will be a good experience. Lately, I’ve found a few gems. I was slow in getting through a book I’d borrowed from the library. The Removes by Tatjana Soli was a pretty intense historical novel recounting, from the point of view of two women, the first great settlement of the west, and the cruel and heart-breaking destruction of the Native American culture. I was seventy percent through it when it came due. Because someone else was waiting for it, I couldn’t renew it. I returned it, and put myself on the waiting list.

Then, desperate to have something to listen to that day while I walked the dogs, I quickly pulled a title from my list of possible good books (based on reviews read), and downloaded it. Tom Lake by Ann Patchett is set in northern Michigan, not far from where I live! Having our local cherry and apple orchards play a part in the story was thrilling enough. Even better, the entire book was narrated by Meryl Streep! Her expressive voice was perfect for the story. It was a wonderful story, too.

After that, I was pretty selective. I hate to top off a really good book with something only mediocre. So, I spent some time investigating, and finally acquired The Covenant of Water by Abraham Verghese. Oprah Winfrey had selected it for her book club, and said it was the best book she’d ever read. That was good enough for me! After I spent my Audible credit to purchase it, and had it loaded on my phone, I realized it is over thirty hours of listening time! Most audio books run six to twelve hours; if they are less than six, I feel like I’m getting short-changed…but thirty-one hours! I can’t believe it only cost one credit! And, though I’m only on chapter eight, so far, it’s a very, very good book!

April 1st, Fox Lake Road

I have once again decided to participate in the A to Z blogging challenge that is held every year at this time. That means I’m committed to posting a blog every day this month, except Sundays, working through the alphabet for my subject matter. Some participants are much more specific in their plans. Not only will they write every day using the letters as their guide, but they have chosen themes as specific as “health,” “flash fiction,” “books.” or a host of other possibilities. Even with anything in the world to write about, I still struggle, some days, to come up with a topic; I won’t limit myself to a specific theme! Or, rather, the theme I chose was “random blogging.” That best describes what I do. Luckily, the challenge starts on April first, with the letter A, so there’s my subject, readymade! The first of any month is a good time for an update, so that’s what I’ll offer today.

First, the weather. We had a week of spring-like, shirt-sleeves weather a couple weeks ago. I made some serious progress toward making a new flower bed, and moving a border of stones from around the old one. Then, the temperature dropped, plunging us right back into wintry cold. Two days ago, we got snow! This time of year, I know it won’t last, so I just appreciated it for the novelty, and the beauty it added to my daily walk.

A quarter of the way through this year, I have to, I suppose, consider my progress – or lack thereof – on all of my good intentions for 2024. I planned to get serious, this year, about things that have been on my list of resolutions for several years now. To that, I added a couple new ideas. And, I did my best to make the whole thing more palatable by refusing to call them “resolutions,” and by measuring my successes and failures in smaller increments. That way, I won’t have messed up the entire year, if I’m not doing so well as of the first of April!

I have twenty pounds to lose. Having been skinny, and able to eat anything, for most of my life, I am not happy with regimens that ask me to eliminate food groups, count calories, or restrict portions. That is, any diet at all. I had success a couple years ago with Intermittent Fasting. It was relatively easy for me, and I lost weight right away. Until it stopped working, and the pounds crept back. So, on medical advice, I took a break from the fasting regimen, through the forty days of Lent, in the hopes that it would shock my body into responding to fasting, when I got back to it. The good news is that I didn’t gain any weight during Lent. I didn’t lose any either, though. Now, Lent is over, and I’m back to the plan. With high hopes.

I’ve continued to plug away at paring down, de-cluttering and organizing my small home. My biggest success in that department has been in my little studio. At the beginning of this year – and for quite a while before – it was so full, and so disorganized, it couldn’t be considered more than just a storage room. Incidentals that had no other designated place in my house joined with frames, art work, materials and supplies to fill all of the floor space, and every horizontal surface. It was impossible to use the room for its intended purpose!

After several weeks of planning – and being too overwhelmed by the immensity of the task to even start – I dug in. It was every bit as big a job as I imagined it would be…but beginning was the hardest part. I started by organizing the storage areas, under the eaves on both sides of the room. That created space, so that when I took something in hand, I had a sense of where it should belong. After more than a week of plugging away at it, the floor, the printing press and the drafting table were clear. The room was usable! There is still work to be done. I told myself I’d tidy a drawer or shelf each day upon entering the studio. So far, those tasks have taken a back seat to art-making. It feels good to be actually using the studio for creative pursuits. Right now, I’m calling that success!

This year, with a few planned exceptions, was going to be a year of no frivolous spending for me. In recent years, I’ve become pretty thoughtless about my consumerism. After a difficult day, it was easy to try to find comfort in some ill-considered and unneeded purchase. The no-spend commitment was intended to get my buying habits under control. It has helped. I am no longer mindlessly ordering books and other things from Amazon. I’m more cautious about what I put in my grocery cart. I’ve let magazine and streaming subscriptions lapse. My downfall has been the day I volunteer at our little resale shop. Everything is so cheap! If it is something that is really good, based on quality or color or label, I spend the few dollars to bring it home. But, I still feel guilty about it!

There are other things in my life that deserve an update: books I’ve read, or that I’m reading; the progress I’m making in getting rid of excess; my walking routine; plans for my garden; and how my dogs are settling in together. For today, though, this is enough! There’s a long month ahead!

Technology…Ugh!

Late last night, or I guess, technically, it was very early this morning, I circled around my house and set all of the clocks one hour forward, in compliance with Daylight Saving Time. I have two little alarm clocks, one on the trunk beside my bed, the other on a ledge in the bathroom; they are perfectly straightforward, just the turn of a dial. The wall clock in the kitchen is easy, too, but I make a point of setting it about five minutes fast, to fool myself, and keep me on time for obligations. The clock on the stove gets set to that time, too. I’m pretty gullible, but also easily confused. Better that both kitchen clocks match. That was it, a job well done. Technology has advanced to the point that clocks on computers, cell phones and other devices set themselves. I appreciate that!

I have trouble when it comes to computer systems. I learn very slowly, and it does not come easy for me. When people understand computers well, and find them simple, they often give that knowledge out in such a flurry, I cannot grasp it. No matter how much I say, “Please explain it as if were four years old,” I hear, “Well you just do…” and what follows is this gibberish, that nonsense, this thing I’ve never heard of before, that devise that I have no idea what the hell it is, those push buttons that I can’t find, and on and on, at practically the speed of light. I’d had my first computer a month before I could use it, having been “briefed” by my daughter in a manner like that. Finally, my friend Susi came over. She is my age, and understood where I was at. “Go to Start,” she began. I wrote that down. “Then select this.” I wrote that down. At the end of the day, I had a page of very simple, understandable directions that I could use as my guide to turn on my computer, and to go to my Email account.

For a long time, that’s all that I did with the computer. I’d turn it on, go to my Email account, and wait for something to come in. Sometimes I’d call my daughters and encourage them to send me something. “I’m just sitting here waiting for mail,” I’d say. I’d write long, rambling responses, just as if I were writing a traditional letter, and formatted exactly the same way, too. I’ve gotten more accustomed to Email and text messaging over the years, but I still tend to be wordy. It’s a little discouraging to write a lengthy diatribe about one thing or another, only to receive a single letter, “k” – short, I guess for “okay” – in response.

I learned what I know about blogging from reading a book on the subject. I knew that that starting my own site was out of the question, so I looked into the three blogging platforms that were recommended, settled on WordPress, and never changed. I very haltingly became familiar with Facebook and, though it definitely has its flaws, I stick with it because I understand it. I joined LinkedIn, and I have an InstaGram account, but I usually just ignore both of them, as more trouble than they’re worth.

In this day and age, not being computer savvy looks a lot like stupidity. That’s simply because the technology comes so easily to those that grew up with computers, or who have spent much more time than I have learning the systems. I am not a stupid person. I am, however, extremely limited in my knowledge when it comes to modern technology. Like my land line telephone, which is there for my own convenience, not to make me a slave to whomever chooses to call at whatever inconvenient time, I believe computers are there to make lives easier. I use the technology daily in the ways that do that. And that’s enough. If it’s not as easy, and as thoughtless, as resetting my clocks, I have no patience for it!

Fighting Sleeplessness and Other Worries

I have fought with insomnia for most of my life. Lately, though, I feel like I’ve finally gotten a handle on it. Most of the time. I try to read a little each night, but often find my eyes wanting to close and the book dropping out of my hands as I doze off. I know, then, that as soon as I turn out the light, I will be able to drift off to sleep. And I love that feeling!

Still, there are usually a couple days each month, often associated with a full moon, when I cannot fall asleep. Last night was one of those nights. I went to bed at a reasonable time, and read for a little while, I turned off the light, and lay there, unable to fall asleep. After an hour, I turned on my little tablet, and scrolled through Facebook for a while, then tried again. Still, sleep would not come. Finally, at three AM, I got out of bed, made a big bowl of popcorn, and watched two episodes of Monk on Netflix.

At four-thirty, I went back to bed. Then, I was worried that I’d sleep the whole day away. That would never do! This is my last day off! I have things to do! It’s primary day in Michigan, so I plan to go vote. I made good progress in the studio yesterday, and want to get that big job finished before I lose my momentum. Besides, if I slept too long, it would throw off my schedule, and I absolutely have to be able to sleep tonight, as I have to work tomorrow. So, I let all of those issues keep me from getting good rest, but I managed to get a bit of sleep before getting out of bed at eight-thirty.

What was keeping me awake last night? The sky was clear, and the moon, though not full, was very bright; that could have played a part. I made myself a cup of coffee in the afternoon and brought it upstairs with me while I worked in the studio. I only drank about half of it, but that still could have contributed to my insomnia. I always have little things I can pull from nowhere to worry about, whenever I am so inclined, and last night was no exception. Since I was awake anyway, I troubled over work, money, up-coming art classes, and the overall health of my little dog, who was wheezing a little bit in the bed beside me. Mostly, though, my mind was filled with images from recently-read books.

My bedtime reading material is always something light, easy-reading and maybe even a little bit boring. Nothing, ever, that might encourage a case of nerves. Last night, it was a book on gardening. However, yesterday while cleaning upstairs, I was listening to an audio book. A really scary audio book. I do not like to be terrified. I avoid movies that are too violent, or too frightening. I still, twenty years after seeing it, have nightmares about Silence of the Lambs! Once, having gotten embroiled in a show that was much more unnerving than I’d anticipated, I called my daughter. “Please just stay on the line with me until this is over,” I begged, “I want to see how this ends, but I cant watch it alone!”

The same holds true for books. I enjoy a mystery, but I think more of easy-going, Agatha Christie-style mysteries. Increasingly, it seems like writers feel the need to inject more horror and depravity into every story. I recently finished an awful one, about abduction, torture and mass murder. Even the hero was killed! It was haunting, I went right to my “Reminders” list on the refrigerator. Under “NEVER buy insurance from State Farm (the agent was very rude to me)” and “As soon as possible, find another telephone service (they refused to give me a credit for a 48 hour period that I was without service, because I didn’t call it in! How could I call, without phone service??),” I added “Never read books by C.J. Box.”

After that nightmare, rather than “audiobook mystery,” I typed “audiobook fiction” into the search line on my cell phone. I have a Libby account where I can check out audio or print books from the library at no charge. One downside is that selection is limited, and many titles have a waiting list. So, I’m dependent on the descriptions offered to make my choices. Carter & Lovecraft sounded fine, a nice bit of light-hearted banter having to do with history, books, and a bookstore. No! At least three chapters ended with “…and the world ended.” It captured my interest…I couldn’t walk away, had to see how it ended…but it terrified me! And, more than the moon, or afternoon coffee, or all the worries I could muster, I blame that book for my sleepless night!

Cinnamon Buns

I own eighty recipe books. Shocking, I know. This is after paring down! After .determinedly going through every one, asking myself, “do I use it;” “will I use it;” “why do I need it;” and “couldn’t I possibly pass it on??” And I did set many cookbooks aside for donation. Still, I have a very large number of them.

It’s not quite as bad (as in Hoarders bad) as it sounds. More than thirty of the cookbooks in my collection are thin paperback publications put out as promotions for specific products. I have at least two from Pillsbury, one from Sun Maid Raisins, and a vintage booklet put out by the company behind Fleishmann’s yeast. Several little recipe collections were offered free as promos for a magazine subscription. Several others came with the purchase of small kitchen appliances.

Of the (47) full-sized cookbooks on my shelves, some have great sentimental value. I have the cookbook that my maternal grandmother used as a young mother in the 1930s! It is titled Meals, Tested, Tasted, and Approved, and was put out be the Good Housekeeping Institute. There is no copyright, which may alone be an indicator of its age. The Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book was a gift from my mother. She gave it to me for Christmas in 1970, a month before I got married. Its pages are stained and scarred from use, and it’s still the book I reach for most often, for reference and special recipes. I have one cookbook that my daughter Jen gave me, and another that she “illustrated” for me when she was just two years old. I have two different Beaver Island cookbooks, and enjoy reminiscing about the folks – often long gone – who contributed the recipes contained there.

I enjoy reading cookbooks, and return to peruse their pages regularly. Some are simply collections of recipes, which can be interesting enough, but many have quite a story within the pages. Peg Bracken’s I Hate to Cook Book is hilarious on top of offering dozens of good – and easy – recipes. The Pat Conroy Cookbook is an autobiographical romp through this author’s life, from southern American childhood, through world travels, told through memorable meals and recipes. Wild Women in the Kitchen is subtitled “101 Rambunctious Recipes & 99 Tasty Tales,” and the book lives up to that description!

Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant is a collection of mainly vegetarian recipes from around the world. Each chapter is presented by a Moosewood employee, with recipes from their country of origin or region within the United States. Each offers a complete meal, from appetizer through dessert, with insights about the country’s history, and mealtime traditions Though I’ve only made a handful of recipes from this book, I’ve read it cover-to-cover more than once, and always enjoy browsing its pages.

I have favorite cookie recipes in several different cookbooks. For popovers and muffins, I always turn to Let’s Get Together by DeeDee Stovel and Pam Wakefield. My go-to bread recipe comes from Home Food Systems, an early publication of Rodale Press, that I’ve had in my kitchen since the 1970s. I most often refer to The Supermarket Epicure by Joanna Pruess, or my old faithful Better Homes & Gardens New Cookbook for guidance, or to refresh my memory, with other recipes.

Often, a cookbook is mainly inspirational. Good photographs or outstanding writing can sell me on a recipe. In other cases, the value of a book is aspirational. The Little Paris Kitchen by Rachel Khoo.is a good example. I’ve never made a single recipe from her book, but, oh, I love the look of that tiny kitchen, and the lovely meals Khoo produces in that small space. Asian Dumplings by Andrea Nguyen is another. I don’t believe I actually have the patience or stamina to make Asian dumplings. After meticulously following my daughter Kate’s instructions for homemade pierogies, I quit after making just one! But I keep that book on my shelf, imagining that one day I will miraculously become a maker of spring rolls, samosas and filled dumplings.

I recognize how contradictory that seems, in this year where my intent is to eliminate excess. One thing I’m doing, to help diminish the guilt, is to make an effort to put my cookbooks to better use. Today, I pulled out the small Pennsylvania Dutch Cookbook that my mother got me many years ago, as a souvenir from a trip she took. After skimming through scrapple, sauerkraut and schnitzel recipes, I settled on…wait for it…cinnamon rolls! I have to start somewhere, right?