Reading | Prodigal Summer

^ I ordered a copy of Prodigal Summer from an online used bookseller. When I eagerly ripped open the package to lay my eyes on the cover's lush bird's eye view of a forest, I met with a major disappointment. The dust jacket was missing. 

^ Quickly, in an effort to soothe my hurt feelings, I flipped to the title page. Running my fingers across the thick textured paper, breathing in the calm of the simple type face across the forest of clean white, I tried to reassure myself that I didn't need those trees.

Then. A flash of color on the front end paper.

^ And with the turn of a single page, I was charmed. 

Prodigal Summer | Barbara Kingsolver

Deanna grew up in small Appalachian town and now works as a forest ranger, living alone in a rundown log cabin on Zebulon Mountain. After a bad divorce, she's licking her forty-something year old wounds and determined to prove to herself and the world that she doesn't need a man. A rangy and guarded though highly educated loner, Deanna is constantly on the lookout for poachers and content to live among the birds, snakes, and mice. Then a strange man hikes into her territory, and changes everything. 

Lusa comes to live at the foot of Zebulon Mountain as a newlywed. Her husband is a local boy who grew up in the very house where they are now making a home, surrounded by a passel of kinfolk who don't take kindly to his city girl bride. In the blink of an eye, Lusa finds herself responsible for learning how to run their little farm, and her PhD in entomology and passion for bugs - especially moths - appear to be irrelevant to the new challenge. 

Garnet has lived a full and mostly happy life. But now he's lost his wife to cancer and, mysteriously, his son as well. He's spending his waning years trying to finally breed the perfect blight-resistant chestnut tree and provoking fights with his free-spirited neighbor. With his health failing rapidly, Garnet seems destined to live out his last few years as a mean-spirited grump unless someone can break through his crusty defenses and touch his heart. 

Three separate characters inhabit their own chapters of the book, and keep to their own story lines that play out over the course of one reckless and lavish summer. Until the end of the book, of course, when Barbara Kingsolver deftly weaves the strands of their stories into one neat braid, and brings the events of this extravagant season to a satisfying close. 

* * * * *

This is a book about sex.

No, not like the Kama Sutra or Fifty Shades of Grey, though on the very first pages, two hikers exchange howdy dos on a forest trail by ripping off each other's clothes within mere moments of their first meeting, and then quickly sealing the deal on the front porch of her log cabin.

Which creates an inarguable first impression.

"Prodigal summer, the season of extravagant procreation. It could wear out everything in its path with its passionate excesses, but nothing alive with wings or a heart or a seed curled into itself in the ground could resist welcoming it back when it came." 

But the truth is that Prodigal Summer is more birds and bees than blatant eroticism. Kingsolver's passion for and considerable expertise in the subject of biology is the driving force of this story, and she cleverly imbues her human characters with the mating behaviors of coyotes, moths, and chestnut trees.

Which sounds incredibly weird. 

But Kingsolver is a master storyteller, and her scientific frame of reference works beautifully. Prodigal Summer is rich in metaphor and allegory, full of surprising twists and turns, and peopled with strong, engaging characters. Throw in some authentic Appalachia speak and a whole bunch of critters, and this is a story that will echo through my mind for many years to come. 

* * * * *

Hey! Wanna read more about the books I've read in 2022? Check these out:

Conversations With Friends

Priestdaddy

The Vanishing Half

Untamed

The Paper Palace

Three Wishes

Crying In H Mart

Prodigal Summer

The Pull Of The Moon

Unsheltered and The Bean Trees

* * * * *

For a full list of books I've read in the past few years, click here:

2022

2021

2020

Charcaterie

I've been in one of those moods.

You know the kind.

There's been a task on my mind - nothing life-changing or vitally important, mind you - but a little project that's tickling my imagination and just won't go away.

This time, the spark that set the fire that has engulfed me in raging flames involves cat toys.

^ Black cats are notoriously difficult to photograph, but every now and again, Luna wows the camera. 

^ Sirius, on the other hand, is ready to vogue 24/7.

Yes. Cat toys.

Scruffy little bits of fluff that my cats have been batting, bopping, and bouncing around the house for twelve years now.

Those kitty playthings have seen some better days, and suddenly, inexplicably, my fondest wish was to gather up every last one, sew up their split seams, trim away the snagged threads, and for an encore, soak them in a brew of exotically enticing catnip.

And last Saturday, that's exactly what I did.

Can't tell you how much time I spent deep diving under sofas, turning back the corners of rugs, and interviewing family members about their recollections of our inventory. 

But once I had tracked down each and every one, and given them the tender loving care they so richly deserve, I couldn't bring myself to just scatter them back across the floor.

Some part of me insisted that my cats' trinkets deserved an artful presentation.

So without ceremony, I whisked a tray off the family room coffee table, and created this feline masterpiece:

^ Most mornings when I wake up, I'll find one of these toys in a new corner, signalling that the boys were busy playing during the night. That always makes me smile. 

Oh my gosh, I cannot tell you how satisfied I felt.

Hours after I'd laid this cat party-in-the-making down on the floor for my boys to discover in their own good time, I was still obsessed with this creative process and wondering why it gratified me so deeply.

And then later that evening, flipping through my Instagram feed, I suddenly understood.

rebekah lowin on instagram

What I had created was not just a plateful of clean kitty teasers but a feline charcuterie board.

A charcaterie, if you will.

And my kittens are enjoying every tasty bite. 

Frustrations

For months, this painting has been coming together in my brain. I calculated the proper geometry, searched out a thrifted frame with the right proportions, chose my color palette, and carefully put paintbrush to paper. And when I was done...I hated it. 

So...back to the drawing board. I changed up the shades of each color, and switched from a painting to a cut paper collage so i could get the nice, crisp lines from scissors that my paintbrush refused to provide. 

And now? I love it. I'm so glad that I was frustrated with my first attempt, because that dissatisfaction is what pushed me to make the necessary changes. My painting went from meh to marvelous, and every time I glance up at this happy creation, I feel sweet success. 

* * * * * 

In the past few weeks, I've been having deep conversations with young people who are frustrated with the current state of the world. They are angry about the way our world's economic, political, and social structures affect their lives, and they despise the injustice and greed they see all around them. 

I mean, not that I blame them. There's an awful lot of darkness in the world today.

And when these young people bring their frustrations to me, I know that my role is 

to listen to them, 

to make sure they feel heard, 

and to help them feel that they are not alone, 

At the same time, I'm fighting the temptation to blurt this out:

YES. You're right! The world IS insanely frustrating. 

But it's going to be okay.

Because the way we learn and grow in this life is to deal with frustration. 

We study it.

We push back against it. 

We try different ideas to work around it, to push through it.

And when we succeed, which one way or another we usually do, our success is infinitely more sweet because of our struggle. 

But I don't say those words because their young ears aren't quite ready to hear them. 

* * * * *

Instead, I know that I am the one who needs 

to be reminded, 

to be comforted,

to be assured, 

that it's okay for all of us to be frustrated with the world.

But life has taught me 

that God is still in his heaven,

that the sun will come up tomorrow morning, 

and that often, if we keep staring down the problems in front of us, 

in our communities, 

across our nation, 

on our planet, 

we will eventually find ways to do better.

Eventually we will succeed.

And when we do, our successes will be infinitely more sweet because of our struggles. 

* * * * *

Even though I don't say these words out loud, I carry them 

in my heart, 

in my mind, 

in every cell of my body, 

so that when these young people come to me with their frustrations, my spirit of peace will shine like a tiny candle in the midst of a swirling storm.

I cannot cure these young people's frustrations.

But I can take their hands in the darkness and simply say, it's going to be okay.

* * * * *

Postscript: 

Let me acknowledge that many problems in this world - 

abuse, 

addiction, 

racism, 

mental illness, 

and grief, to name a few - 

are not simple "frustrations" and I don't mean to imply that these types of personal and deeply painful problems submit to easy answers or inevitably successful outcomes. 

Reading | The Pull Of The Moon

The Pull of the Moon | Elizabeth Berg

Nan has just turned fifty and suddenly, life seems to be closing in on her. Restless, afraid, and feeling like her best years are most certainly behind her, she jumps into her car and drives off across the country. Not sure what she's searching for, Nan pours her heart out in a collection of letters to her husband, records her ping-ponging thoughts in her journal, and stops to chat to ordinary women she meets along the way. Slowly, her perspective begins to shift. 

* * * * *

I read this book for the first time in my thirties. Fifty felt ancient to me then; the idea of letting go of my kids seemed impossible, and a cold dread crept over me as I realized that someday I would face the same reckoning as Nan was struggling to make. 

I read this book for the second time last week. Now that I'm on the far side of fifty, Nan and her mid-life meltdown make me smile. Oh, sister, I'd love to tell her, your life is far from over. Yes, in this new phase of life, we miss the tender devotions of our child-raising years, the sweet surrender we made of our selves to care for our precious children, that's definitely true. But now is the time when we can pour that nurture and care back into ourselves, and open to the new possibilities of the universe. The pull of the moon is just as strong in the second season of our lives as it is in the first, and we women do well to encourage each other to face the transition between the two with radiant expectation and joy.

"What mattered was that at the end, someone who loved her sat by her, saying, I see you." 

The year after my youngest daughter graduated from high school and my homeschooling mama shoes were hung up once and for all, I stood on the precipice of this life change, and just like Nan, I took a trip. But I didn't drive to South Dakota. No, I jumped on an airplane with a one-way ticket to Malaysia to visit friends that I had never met in real life. I stayed for three months, floating from one home to the next to the next, living in the unfamiliar rhythms of the tropics, of Southeast Asia, of Muslim culture. The experience was, in a word, disruptive, and while I am mindful of this ridiculous cliche, life-changing. 

I can't say what happened to me during those three months. I don't know what I night have let go of, or what new things I might have learned. All I can say for sure is that, for the first time in a long time, I put my own needs first. And that was a very important first step. 

"Oh, just wait. It takes a lot of time, that's all... You'll have to come to a certain kind of appreciation that moves beyond all the definitions of love you've ever had. A certain richness that only happens later in life."

My journey in this second season of life has been made all the more stark because, ten years in, I am still awaiting grandchildren. Kids have a way of anchoring us, and without them, I feel untethered and adrift. I remind myself that this empty space provides opportunity and I look for places on this planet that allow me to be more myself. 

"Outside it snowed; fat, lazy flakes drifting with soft intention toward the place they were meant to land." 

And I trust, just like Nan, that I am in the process of finding the right place to land. 

* * * * *

Hey! Wanna read more about the books I've read in 2022? Check these out:

Conversations With Friends

Priestdaddy

The Vanishing Half

Untamed

The Paper Palace

Three Wishes

Crying In H Mart

Prodigal Summer

The Pull Of The Moon

Unsheltered and The Bean Trees

* * * * *

For a full list of books I've read in the past few years, click here:

2022

2021

2020

Reading | Unsheltered And The Bean Trees

Unsheltered | Barbara Kingsolver

The Bean Trees | Barbara Kingsolver

Although I love to read books written by authors of all ages and stages of life, it has recently come as quite a shock to myself to discover that I feel particularly at home with the works of boomer ladies. 

Barbara Kingsolver is a perfect case in point. She writes with a quick wit, a deliciously complex and inventive sense of story, and a passion for social change and human justice. But she also seems to keep her fingers on my pulse as her stories unfold. Kingsolver creates characters and dialog that give voice to my own convictions and concerns, and her books make me feel at home. 

A few months ago, I stumbled across a gently loved Kingsolver hardcover at a thrift store and on account of its beautiful cover art and high quality papers, I snatched it up. After I got home and glanced through the front pages, I discovered that this book, Unsheltered is one of her most recent works, and I recognized the name of her first novel, The Bean Trees, which I read a lifetime ago in the early 1990s and still lives on my bookshelf. 

So I decided to read them both. 

Unsheltered is the story of two families living in two different centuries on the same block of a Utopian community in south New Jersey. Both grapple with the problems of living unsheltered, in both literal - their homes are falling down on their heads - and delightfully figurative ways. 

"Without a roof over your head, it kind of feels like you might die."

"Yeah, but you might not. For sure you won't find your way out of the mess if you keep picking up bricks and stuffing them into your pockets. What you have to do is look for blue sky."

The Bean Trees follows the adventures of a young woman who spends her Kentucky childhood trying to not get pregnant. She finally makes a break in a broken down car toward a brighter future out west only to suddenly find herself mother to an abandoned toddler and learns to build a new life for them both.

"In a world as wrong as this one, all we can do is make things as right as we can." 

I love these stories. True, there are bits in both novels that make me cringe, that make me cranky, that make me cry out, "No, Barbara, don't write it like that!" But in the end, both stories make me feel like I have come home and reading them brings me peace.

* * * * *

You know me. I'm a list maker and a box ticker from the word go, and if I can think of a way to quantify a goal, you can bet the ranch that I will.

So it should come as no surprise that a few years ago, when I aimed to reignite my love of reading for pleasure, I decided to keep track of the number of books I read per year.

Now if this is a metric that works for you, then I salute you.

But for me, it turned out to be the wrong target.

Because what I wanted to accomplish was not a set of notches on my literary bedpost, but a reinvigorated passion for the written word. 

So I will still keep a list of the books I've read, and refer to it often in order to remember the interesting travels my mind has taken. I'll write about how these works have left their marks on me, for better or worse. And I'll hungrily search out family, friends, and acquaintances who have opinions about the same books to swap impressions and ideas.

But no longer will I keep a tally of the number of books I've read.

Because now, I'm only interested in the reading. 

* * * * *

Hey! Wanna read more about the books I've read in 2022? Check these out:

Conversations With Friends

Priestdaddy

The Vanishing Half

Untamed

The Paper Palace

Three Wishes

Crying In H Mart

Prodigal Summer

The Pull Of The Moon

Unsheltered and The Bean Trees

* * * * *

For a full list of books I've read in the past few years, click here:

2022

2021

2020

Spring Surprise

"No winter lasts forever, no spring skips its turn." -Hal Borland

"Spring is nature's way of saying, "Let's party!" -Robin Williams

 

My neighbor's cherry tree leaves me breathless every single year. 

You'd think I'd get used to it. But I never do. 

I don't know how many springs I have left in my lifetime.

No one ever does.

But each year, as weeks of quiet earth under gloomy sky accumulate and my soul accustoms itself to their heavy weight, the sudden outburst of spring always sneaks up on me. 

Days silently begin to lengthen.

The sun climbs a tiny half step higher in the sky each day.

Grasses grow. Buds swell.

Spring peepers begin their evening choruses.

And then, in a flash, spring explodes into bloom.

Crocus, 

daffodil, 

hyacinth.

Forsythia, 

early rhododendron, 

flowering cherry.

I am charmed; my heart fills with light.

And always, every single year when spring arrives, I am surprised. 

Life Of A Math Teacher: Unifix Cubes

"Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world." -Nelson Mandela

"You change the world by being yourself." -Yoko Ono

^ They come in a gorgeous rainbow and snap together with surprising satisfaction. 

It was 2004, give or take, that I packed them up and put them away.

Our collection of Unifix cubes. 

After more than a decade in the hands of my daughters as we played games and made patterns, all four of them had mastered the basics of mathematical thinking and no longer needed these old friends. 

^ Sold in packages of 100, a full set gives you ten stacks of ten cubes. 

Sadly, some members of our original set have gone missing. 

I don't know why I didn't give them away to a younger homeschooling family or even donate them to the math lab at our school-for-homeschoolers, as I did with our other collections of math manipulatives. But for reasons that I still cannot quite articulate, I decided to keep them. 

Perhaps I thought I was saving them for my future grandchildren's homeschooling years, though I knew even then that there were no guarantees that my daughters would eventually have children, let alone decide to homeschool them. And I certainly had no inkling that I'd ever find myself teaching math to anyone besides my daughters and their friends. 

^ Others have suffered a different fate. What can I say, our first dog, Casey, was a chewer. 

Still, the fact remains that some quiet voice inside my head whispered, "Keep them." And for all these years, through countless decluttering purges, I have obeyed. 

Fast forward to last month. 

With no warning, a new student appeared in my life. Though his natural math sense is strong, he grew up in chaos and his ability to keep up with math lessons at school suffered very early on. Now near the end of his high school career, my challenge is to help him lay aside his old perceptions of failure, and discover the beautiful fundamentals of math.

^ Thankfully, it was easy enough to find more so I decided to invest in a second set.

And in an instant, I understood that for the past 18 years, waiting for just this moment and this exact student to come into my life with his unusual and very specific needs, I'd been holding on to the perfect teaching tool.

My collection of Unifix cubes. 

^ And now my bowl of Unifix cubes overflows. 

Over the past few Tuesdays and Thursdays, my student and I sit with these Unifix cubes, playing games and making patterns to help him master the basics of mathematical thinking. Someday soon, we hope that his sister, who is currently lost in the mad chaos that is Mariupol, Ukraine, will join us and master her own mathematical thoughts . 

With my collection of Unifix cubes, I hope to change the world. 

* * * * *

Read more stories about my life as a math teacher lately:

Test Drives

Bringing Joy

Math By Phone

Yabba Dabba Do

Eccentric Connections

Math Mammals
Socially Distant

* * * * *

Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes! More stories about an unjust war:

I Pray For Ukraine

Life of A Math Teacher: Unifix Cubes

Mariupol Basements

The Joyful Now

Hellebore. Also known as the Lenten Rose.

In the past few weeks, this notoriously unreliable world has shifted into a dark and dangerous place.

Russian tanks roll through the streets of Ukraine and terrorize her citizens. 

My husband is dealing with some serious medical issues.

The Seattle Seahawks have dropped both Russell Wilson and Bobby Wagner.

It's hard to say which of those developments is most upsetting to me. Together, they drop me to my knees. 

I want more than anything to curl up into a ball, close myself off from everyone and everything, and sit alone in the darkness.

I know. That's not a helpful reaction. But that's honestly how I feel.

But one more thing has happened this week.

My hellebores are blooming. 

From their tight, round buds, in the quiet grey of March, rosy pink flowers have burst forth. Their golden anthers blaze like shooting stars. They challenge the end of winter with their cheery cheeks, and every day I stop by their corner of the garden to admire their sunny smiles.

They likely feel broken-hearted by the sad events of these past weeks. Everyone does. 

They don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. No one does.

But my hellebores are living in the glory of this moment. They don't look back in sadness, nor do they give a moment's concern to the future. 

They live in the joyful now.

And they inspire me to do the same.