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Plan? What plan?

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As I mentioned a while back, when I visited Sweden in 2023, my cousin (my mom’s second cousin’s son, so my third cousin?) asked me, “What’s your Swedish plan?” As in, did I plan to continue studying Swedish? If so, why?

Cue me freezing, because I didn’t have a “Swedish plan.” I mumbled something about “possibly living in Sweden at some point,” which got me a talk about how it’s impossible to find an apartment in Stockholm. And that was that.

But the question followed me back home to the US. Why was I learning Swedish? Beyond wanting to improve, what was my goal?

Yesterday, I picked up The Inquiring Mind by Cyril O. Houle from my gym’s little free library. It’s a short collection of talks about “adults who continue to learn” and their motivations. The author grouped them into three categories: those who learn to reach a goal, those who learn for the associated benefits (such as taking a class in order to have a social group–the subject may not matter so much), and those who learn for the pleasure of learning. I overlap somewhat with the second group, but I’m squarely in the middle of the third.

It was a relief to know that I’m not the only one who doesn’t necessarily have a goal or plan for their learning. At the same time, it makes me wonder about the source of this motivation. Maybe it’s a result of the long-delayed gratification of being in school. If your long-term goal is “to get into a good college,” you’ve got to find some way to make all that time studying bearable. For me, solving complicated math problems and translating sentences were like solving puzzles. Once you finish one, on to the next! There is no real “goal” to reach. Each puzzle is a reward in itself.

But what about people who do have a particular motivation for their learning? I was struck recently by an episode of Lätt svenska med Oskar in which the host discussed the statistics of people listening to his podcast. I assumed (because I am in this group) that the largest group of his listeners would be from countries without daily exposure to Swedish. However, he said that 41% of the people listening were living in Sweden. Similarly, the language the most people in the US are studying on Duolingo is English (according to Duolingo’s 2025 report). Needing a particular skill for day-to-day life can be highly motivating.

At the moment, being a language nerd is motivation enough for me. I’m enjoying learning about Swedish grammar from Peter SFI’s YouTube channel. SFI is “svenska för invandrare,” or “Swedish for immigrants.” Because immigrants have a range of native languages, all of the lessons are in Swedish. It tickles me to be learning in another language about grammar, especially since much of what I’ve learned about grammar I’ve learned from studying other languages.

I suppose I do have another motivation–maybe even a plan: applying to a program that would let me try out the idea of living in Sweden for a few weeks while learning more about Swedish language and culture. For now, I’m cramming my brain full of Swedish to make the most of my time there. I’m also trying to learn to be less judgmental about my own mistakes as I’m speaking, so I can avoid freezing like I did on and off the last time I visited. (The Dr Languages YouTube channel has a lovely video about this: Why your brain freezes mid-sentence in a foreign language (and how to fix it fast).)

In summary? Indulge your desire to learn. You never know where it will lead you.

Devant vos yeux

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A few months back, I dove headfirst into Duolingo French. I had been invited on a trip, and that provided the motivation to start learning. However, I dropped the daily French activities when it started interfering with my Swedish. But what I found is that I had already been exposed to enough to start understanding bits and pieces of French that I saw in everyday life.

For example, on the website for the trip, I saw a photo of the tombstones of Vincent van Gogh and his brother, which had “ICI REPOSE” inscribed above their names. I’d already learned that “ici” means “here,” and with context, it wasn’t much of a leap to translate it as “Here lies…”

A few months later, in the new Universal Studios “Epic Universe” park, I was able to pick out words and phrases on signs and posters in the Wizarding World section, which focused on Newt Scamander’s time in France. (I don’t remember which movie that is. I ended up with a terrible migraine halfway through the second and gave the rest of the series a pass.) For example, “et fils” (“and sons”), “Biereaubeurre” (“Butterbeer”), “devant vos yeux” (“before your eyes”), and “Une Nuit Avec la Mort” (“A Night with Death”).

I’ve been taking in a lot of media related to language learning, lately, and one of the videos I watched stressed the importance of curiosity. Seeing what I can read now makes me wonder what I could read if I just learned a little more. I’m currently looking at taking an in-person French class, if only to get a better foundation in pronunciation before I try speaking in public.

I’m currently reading Salima om de sina by Salad Hilowle in Swedish, though I haven’t found a good way to translate the title. Hilowle is a Swedish artist, and the book recounts the story of his family coming to Sweden from Somalia, told from his grandmother’s perspective. The book was recommended by the two teachers running the Swedish immersion day at ASI, after we saw some of the exhibition of Hilowle’s sculptures and video at the museum. Minnesota also has a large population of Somali immigrants, so reading it is making me think about the families whose kids come to Homework Help at the library as well as my mom’s grandparents’ experience of immigrating to the US from Sweden in the late 1800s.

My niece is very into Japanese manga, but she doesn’t seem to be interested in learning the language. After all, can’t your phone translate everything for you? But learning another language isn’t just about translating the words. It’s also about understanding other people and their cultures. And Google Translate isn’t going to help you with that.

Words, Words, Words

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Oof, it’s been a while since I posted. Of late I’ve felt that what I post needs to be worthy in some way I’m not sure exists, and that’s prevented me from hitting “publish.” I also wasn’t happy with my last book review post. (And I’ve read 30 more books since then. Do I have it in me to review all of them?)

In any case, I’ve decided that I’m going to post about things I find interesting or projects I’m working on without worrying about whether it fits into an overall theme or contributes to a personal brand. Keep reading if you like. Or don’t. It’s up to you.

Last week I finished the Swedish “tree” on Duolingo. I’d hit a point of just not caring during the last few units, so I had to push myself to finish them. I didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment as I approached the end, just a grim determination to get it over with already. And was there a celebration or (even an acknowledgement) on the app when I finished? Nope, just a new screen for a daily review. So “finishing” wasn’t quite worth it as a goal. In general, I’d recommend Duolingo for vocabulary building–I’ve occasionally noticed words from the lesson I’d just finished in an episode of Livet på lätt svenska. But keep in mind that memorizing words is not the same thing as learning a language. There’s that pesky grammar part of it as well, which Duolingo mostly avoids tackling.

However, a few months ago when I was obsessively hitting the French lessons in Duolingo, I discovered that I was able to understand the French conversations in Agatha Christie: An Autobiography. That fact made me consider returning to Duolingo French now that I’m done with Swedish. I reset my progress, so I’m back to the beginning. I’ve also bought a few French textbooks, but I’m a little nervous about diving in on my own, without a class/teacher.

Speaking of which . . . because of scheduling conflicts, I recently had to decide between my weekly Swedish class at ASI and my community band rehearsals. I chose to stick with the band–after all, we just went on an international tour of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania in late July. Though I have to say goodbye to my Swedish cohort, I’ll still be learning Swedish via a translation class starting in September. We’ll be reading Bröderna Lejonhjärta (The Lionheart Brothers) by Astrid Lindgren, who also wrote Pippi Longstocking. And I’m looking at language learning opportunities for next summer, though that’s still a long way off.

Here’s hoping that I’m able to keep the languages separate and that they don’t start interfering with each other. Lycka till!

2025 Book Reviews, Part II

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Books 13-22 for the year. Have I mentioned that my goal of just reading books that I have sitting on my “to be read” shelf has mostly gone by the wayside? Part of the problem is that I keep falling down rabbit holes when listening to podcasts and discovering the books that people recommend are available at the library. The other problem I’m encountering is that many of the books I haven’t read are meant to be used rather than just read. You have to do things as you read rather than sitting peacefully and reading them cover to cover.

Unraveling: What I Learned About Life While Shearing Sheep, Dyeing Wool, and Making the World’s Ugliest Sweater by Peggy Orenstein: I’m leery of pandemic memoirs, or even books that reference the pandemic, but I was surprised to enjoy this one. One reason was that I was reading The Living Mountain at the same time, and I was missing a human protagonist. I also have a strange fascination with sheep after reading Hit by a Barn and Sheepish by Catherine Friend last year, and I’ve been learning to crochet. The title pretty much says it all–the author set out to make a sweater from start to finish: shearing, cleaning, spinning, dyeing, and knitting. I really enjoyed this book, but I was left with an overall sadness at the huge amount of waste in wool–sheep need to be sheared, but the wool is often just thrown away because its value is less than the cost to make something out of it. I wasn’t inspired to knit a sweater, but I kept remembering little tidbits from the book in the weeks that followed. For example, in the section about dyeing and indigo, she mentions that the Japanese word for “green” (midori) appeared much later than we might think–many things we’d consider to be green are called “blue.” One instance that I remember from my two years of Japanese is ao ringo (青リンゴ), which means “green apple,” but “ao” means “blue.”

Root Beer Lady: The Story of Dorothy Molter by Bob Cary: I already wrote a whole post about Dorothy Molter, and this book was a major source for the one-woman play written about her. It was a bit confusing, though, since it followed themes rather than being chronological, so I wasn’t ever sure where the book was going next. I enjoyed learning more about Dorothy (and was a bit disappointed that she wasn’t the completely self-reliant powerhouse I’d built her up to be), but I had to push a bit to get through the book.

The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd: Robert Macfarlane really loves this book. According to his book The Gifts of Reading, it’s one of the five books he’s constantly giving away to people. And yet I really struggled with it. Though the writing is beautiful, I kept searching for a human protagonist, or, since this is nonfiction, a human center to the book through which I could better understand the mountain. But, as is noted in the title, the mountain (the Cairngorms in Scotland) is the protagonist. There were a few bits about people living in the mountain’s shadow that inspired a few story ideas, but after having read the book, I’m perversely less interested in traveling to see that corner of the world.

I Must Be Dreaming and Going into Town: A Love Letter to New York by Roz Chast: I picked these up because I recognized the name (I read Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? last year) and read them quickly. Not a lot stuck with me except the idea that comics can be messy (not just perfectly rendered black lines), which was later reinforced by Lynda Barry’s book.

In Praise of Idleness: The Classic Essay with a New Introduction by Bradley Trevor Greive by Bertrand Russell: Most of what was interesting in this essay was summarized in Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman. This particular version had an introduction, a follow-up essay about Russell’s life, and illustrations by Bradley Trevor Greive.

Lab Girl by Hope Jahren: I loved her discovery that the pit of a hackberry had a lattice of opal, especially since I’ve crunched a few between my teeth after taking a foraging class a few years ago. And I’m envious of those who are driven by the need to know why things are as they are. But I didn’t want to experience the fallout from her manic episodes, so I stepped away from the audiobook (narrated by the author, who always sounded sad) after finishing a bit over half of it.

Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places by Colin Dickey: I’d been rewatching episodes of Ask a Mortician and come across Caitlyn’s reference to this book. I’ve been ghost hunting a few times with a semi-professional wrestler (long story), but though other people I’ve gone with have experienced things and I’ve managed to creep myself out severely, I can’t say I have seen any proof of ghosts existing. This book was fascinating, but it completely ruined ghost hunting for me. I had thought it was lovely, at the very least, that the craze was keeping local history alive. One of the points Dickey makes, however, is that many of the stories about the events surrounding the locations are skewed or completely made up by those hoping to make money off the “hauntings.” One major example he cites is that of Sarah Winchester, owner of the “Winchester Mystery House” who supposedly was inspired by ghosts of those killed by Winchester rifles to keep building on to the house in order to avoid their vengeance. Not true, according to Dickey’s research. (And yes, this blew my mind a bit, since I’ve heard the stories over and over and even been on a tour.) He pointed out that many of the places described within the house, such as the seance room, don’t exist. Many of these stories were credited to an anonymous source in one newspaper article and later debunked by those who knew Winchester, though they were eventually built up and elaborated upon by the person who purchased the house and made money by giving tours. So why did she have such a bizarre house? Perhaps she simply enjoyed experimenting with architecture and had the funds to do so. Similar examples, such as the question of why there are so few Black ghosts, made me rethink a lot of the lore about hauntings.

Making Comics by Lynda Barry: I keep picking up books that are meant to be used rather than just read. This book is full of illustrated examples and exercises from her comics writing course. (I’m not sure how it differs from Syllabus, which is described as the same, but I’m hoping to pick that up as well.) I read through it, skimming through the exercises, and knowing that I’ll buy a composition notebook, note cards, and felt-tipped markers at some point when I get my hands on my own copy. (This copy had to go back to the library.)

A Walk Around the Block: Stoplight Secrets, Mischievous Squirrels, Manhole Mysteries & Other Stuff You See Every Day by Spike Carlsen: My mom and I listened to this book on the way to and from Grand Island, Nebraska, where we were driving to see the sandhill cranes. As lifelong Minnesota residents, we both appreciated the references to local cities like St. Paul, Shoreview, and Stillwater. And we expressed great skepticism that the stripes flashing past us on the highway are 10 feet long and the spaces between them 40 feet long, though it’s difficult to check that out with a measuring tape. Overall, however, the various essays about different parts of local infrastructure–power stations, sewers, roads, etc.–didn’t quite gel into a coherent whole. They were fun to learn about, but I didn’t feel like the book quite earned the heavier environmental message at the end.

Next up? I’m hoping to do a sketch-a-day and poem-a-day for the month of April, which is National Poetry Month. The sketch-a-day is in preparation for getting deeper into nature journaling, which is where my interests seem to be leaning at the moment. These might get posted on Instagram. We’ll see.

Currently reading: World Enough & Time by Christian McEwen
Currently drinking: Rose tea
Currently listening: Journaling with Nature (So many rabbit holes!)

The Loneliest Woman in America

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I hadn’t heard of Dorothy Molter when I headed up to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) for the first time in 2016. Ely Outfitting Company, the tour company I decided to go with, had a “Dorothy Molter Experience” trip, but I didn’t want to go in June during high mosquito season. So I chose their “Women in the Wilderness” trip, run that year in October, instead. After four days full of unforgettable experiences canoeing in the wilderness (including our guide playing her fiddle in the middle of a lake crossing), we were greeted back in Ely with a bottle of Dorothy’s Root Beer.

Though I didn’t know any of the five other people before that first trip, I traveled in the Boundary Waters with four of them again in 2022. Even before we fought the wind to reach our final landing, we were already talking about coming back for another trip, this time visiting the original site of Dorothy Molter’s cabin on Knife Lake. (It has since been moved to Ely, where it’s become a museum.)

I’d had the root beer bearing her name and image a few times, but I didn’t know much about Dorothy until I saw The Root Beer Lady at the History Theater in St. Paul with Jill, one of the women I’d canoed with in the BWCA. Dorothy Molter was training to be a nurse in Chicago when she first visited the Boundary Waters in 1930 and fell in love with the place. She lived there from 1934 to 1986, becoming the last non-indigenous resident as, over time, the nation’s definition of wilderness changed.

I don’t watch a lot of TV, but I’ve been fascinated with the show Alone, where contestants are dropped off in the wilderness alone (most often in remote locations in Canada, shortly before winter) and must stick it out longer than the rest to win $500,000 (or $1 million, depending on the season). The extent that we depend on modern conveniences–and other people–quickly becomes clear. As does people’s ingenuity and determination when they’re on their own.

The Root Beer Lady, written and performed by Kim Schultz, was a one-woman show, though she also occasionally played the roles of Dorothy’s father (Cap), Bill Berglund (original owner of the Isle of Pines Resort), a reporter, Dorothy’s sister Ruth, her neighbor Bennie, a visitor from the government, and a few animals. With the play’s limited cast of characters, the title a reporter once bestowed on her–“the Loneliest Woman in America”–seemed apt, despite her protestations about the thousands of people camping, fishing, and canoeing in the Boundary Waters who visited her (and bought her homemade root beer) each year.

However, when I later read Root Beer Lady by Bob Carey, some of the main source material for the play, it became clear how many people supported Dorothy, especially as various methods of transportation–motorized boats, float planes, and snowmobiles–were banned in the wilderness and the only way to reach her home was by canoe (with many portages) or by snowshoe when everything froze. As she became older and was no longer able to manage in the wilderness as she once had (she was almost 80 when she died), she had a dedicated group who made sure she had what she needed, “Dorothy’s Angels.”

I felt disappointed by the reality of the situation, and it took me a while to figure out why. A few weeks back, the Swedish word of the day via The Local was ensamhet, or loneliness. Jag bor ensam means “I live alone,” which is true for over 40% of the Swedish population–and for me. I think what I was looking for in Dorothy was a role model for being happy living alone, far away from even her nearest neighbors. A number of years ago, I’d tried to find something similar in May Sarton, who celebrated living alone in her memoir Journal of a Solitude. Swedes may celebrate independence, saying, “ensam är stark,” or “alone is strong,” but that doesn’t mean it’s fun.

Coming at it from another angle, I’ve read books and articles that explode the myth of the solitary genius, which are reassuring in some ways and maddening in others. Yes, certain egotistical folks wouldn’t have gotten as far as they have without the (often unacknowledged) community around them, but at the same time they had a community around them. Which isn’t true for everyone, or at least not as true as we’d like it to be. While I’m not the loneliest woman in America, that’s not a competition I want to be doing as well in as I am.

What is your favorite art relating to loneliness?

Reading: Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places by Colin Dickey
Listening: Journaling with Nature podcast (I was recently reminded about this podcast when I skimmed through Create Naturally by Marcia Young)
Drinking: Grasshopper tea (chocolate and mint flavors) from TeaSource

Spring-Winter

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Each year in December, Swedish television runs a new julkalender, or Advent calendar, with new episodes daily through Christmas. This year’s story followed a family running a ski resort that had, mysteriously, not gotten any snowfall, while the areas/resorts all around them had. (Magic may have been involved.)

Though I chose not to follow the daily episodes, I did feel a kindship with the family and their woes. Last year was the first time in my lifetime–going on half a century–where we didn’t have a proper winter in MN. In the past, I would cringe at how brown everything was when visiting family in Texas over the holidays. Yet in winter 2023-2024, they received snow and we didn’t. In fact, most of our winter temperatures were in the 40s and 50s Fahrenheit, too warm for snow, so we were in a world of tan-beige for months. We had two snow spats (too wimpy to be considered storms), one in October and one in April. The former didn’t last, and the latter was too little, too late.

This winter, we did manage to get a decent coating of snow before Christmas (enough for some lovely snowshoeing), but rain and high temps had erased it by early January. Poling the folks in our online Swedish class, we determined that there was no snow in central Minnesota, the flatlands of Colorado, or in Pennsylvania, but there had been snow south of all of us. Eventually, we did get another dusting in MN that stuck, but it’s melting this week.

Back when the last round of snow melted in mid-January, I heard an out-of-place sound: the beginning of the arboreal chorus of toads and frogs. They experience brumation rather than hibernation, which is a slowing (torpor) rather than a sleeping. But stirring early because of abnormally high temperatures, as many frogs, toads, and bats did last year, can lead to starvation, as there are no bugs for them to eat. This year, the chorus did eventually quiet when temperatures dipped back down (and eventually became downright frigid), but I’ve been listening for it to start up again.

I’m not against warm temperatures; I’m just against them arriving out of season. One of the reasons I didn’t stay in California after college was the lack of seasons. It just feels wrong on a gut level.

The Swedes (especially in the far north, likely borrowed from the Sami), often separate out the seasons beyond the usual four. There’s summer, fall-summer, fall, fall-winter, winter, spring-winter, spring, and spring-summer. I’m all for the hopefulness of spring-winter (vårvinter), but it’s too early. I’ve been trying to make friends with the cold and snow via snowshoeing, or even more extreme practices like a winter dip/ice bath in one of the local lakes (checked off my bucket list last year), but the unpredictable, fluctuating temperatures make it difficult to fully engage.

I’m not ready for spring, or even spring-winter. I’m reading Root Beer Lady by Bob Cary, a biography of Dorothy Molter, the last resident of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northern Minnesota. Though the winters the book describes are often brutal, they make more sense to me as winter than the brown I’m seeing out my window. The worst part is the uncertainty. There might be more snow, or there might not. Who knows? (Punxsutawney Phil did see his shadow this year, but I believe he’s right less than 50% of the time.)

Stockholm is a bit further north than where I am in MN–about 60 degrees north to my 45. As a result, their summer days stretch into the late hours (not quite the land of the midnight sun, but close), and their winter nights are longer and darker. The Swedes appreciate snow not only as a sign of winter but also because of its ability to reflect light. Winter nights–and even days–are brighter with a coating of snow on the ground.

Some people in MN say that we don’t have much of a spring here, that we often go from winter directly into summer. But I’d prefer that to going directly from fall to spring, or even to spring-winter (which if feels like it might be at this point). “A long and lustrous winter” (to quote Bob Murray in Groundhog Day) is part of our identity as Minnesotans. Its loss is felt in our bones.

Have you gotten snow this year? Is it expected or not? What part does winter play in your life?

2025 Book Reviews, Part I

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Initially, I’d planned to review the books I read this year individually. Then, I thought I’d do a write a summary of the first five. Then ten. I’m up to twelve books at the moment, so I thought I’d better dive in.

The Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie – This is the first Miss Marple mystery. Over the course of Christie’s books, the local authorities eventually learn to respect Miss Marple’s insights, but since I’ve been reading them out of order, I wanted to curse them out for being so blockheaded and disregarding older women. (Or maybe that’s just a reaction to the fact that things haven’t changed all that much?) In any case, the solution to the mystery was both a surprise and satisfying. And they would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for meddling old women!

Making It So by Patrick Stewart – I listened to the audiobook, which is narrated by Stewart. For the first half of the book or so, I declared that he could read the phone book, and I would be happy to listen. I really enjoyed hearing about what it was like for him to grow up in a small town in England after WWII, as well as the hard work–and lucky breaks–it took for him to become the world-famous actor he is today. Once he had joined the Royal Shakespeare Company and was well on his way, I had to return the CDs to the library. (Yes, I still have a CD player in my car. Lucky me!) By then, I’d lost interest in the recitation of works and theaters and celebrities he’d met. Not that he is anything but humble and gracious as he talks about his accomplishments, but as with fiction, the struggles in his life were much more compelling than the successes. I’d finished over half of the book by that point, so I rounded up and marked it as complete.

Here by Richard McGuire – This book was well-regarded enough to have been made into a movie starring Tom Hanks and Robin Wright, but I had to read it quickly as it was one of many library holds that arrived at the same time. As a result, I had a difficult time trying to disentangle and follow the storylines playing out at different times in the house/location’s history. In the end, I gave up on the story and appreciated the art. For me, North Woods by Daniel Mason did a better job telling different stories set in the same location.

Seven Brief Lessons in Physics by Carlo Rovelli – I bought Rovelli’s book The Order of Time after listening to it because I wanted to better understand some of his arguments about what time is. So I’d had high hopes for this book presenting an interesting perspective on the basics of physics, though it turned out to mostly be an overview–with a bit more about the physicists themselves, which I appreciated. I like to know more about the human faces behind the discoveries. He also included an overview of his own ideas about quantum gravity, which were new to me. But overall, I wouldn’t recommend it.

Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less by Greg McKeown – Eddy Hood, host of The Read Well Podcast and YouTube channel, went on and on about this book, so I bought a copy. I sat down with this book and tried applying the podcast’s mantra: “Read slowly. Take notes. Apply the ideas.” I did the first two. But by the time I reached the end, I still hadn’t gotten a lot out of it and couldn’t find much to apply in my life.

Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman – I listened to the audiobook in 2024 and bought a copy in hopes of rereading it and taking the ideas in it to heart. (It’s difficult to take notes when you’re driving.) Unlike with Essentialism, I didn’t take notes while reading, just marked passages I thought were particularly insightful. Mistake! Now I’m going back only as I make time (i.e., very rarely) and attempting to suss out what key idea I had previously identified. I’m currently still on Chapter 2 of my re-re-read, but that’s not to say the book isn’t worth reading. I very much appreciated the central idea that we’ll never get everything done that we want to do, so we need to be deliberate in our choices of how to spend our time by identifying what’s most important to us and how we can best focus our efforts to support those areas of our work and/or life.

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain – By the end of this book–which was much longer than I remembered it being–I wanted to punch Tom Sawyer. He is a terror. Huck Finn isn’t a saint by comparison, but at least he tries to be a decent person, though his definition thereof is a commentary on the times. I didn’t really enjoy this book (I wished they’d drowned the king and the duke), but I finished it as background for reading James.

James by Percival Everett – I really wanted to like this book. The beginning set it up to be both witty and heartbreaking . . . but after it abandoned the source text, it didn’t work as a story on its own. If I hadn’t just read Huck Finn’s story, I would have been confused by some of the characters and set pieces (the stranded steamboat, the king and the duke, the feuding families). And while we’re told that James really wants to get home and free his wife and daughter, he seems to content to hang around with Huck on his adventure until he decides to drop his grand revelation. This is James’s story, but I didn’t feel like the book provided a strong sense of who he was and what motivated him. I understand that he didn’t have a lot of agency, but he mostly just reacted to what happened to him, which contrasted with his strong internal life (which I would have loved to see more of). People who are much more discerning readers than I am have celebrated this book, but I couldn’t find what they found in it.

Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart by GennaRose Nethercott – As a lover of science (and narrative structure), I always want to know why something is happening. But slipstream? (the New Weird? magical realism? I wasn’t sure what to call this collection) laughs at such requests. The idea is that things may be unexplained/unexplainable, but the story still provides a satisfying conclusion or emotional resolution. Were they all successful in this? Not for me. Still, there were a few stories that stuck with me: “Sundown at the Eternal Staircase” (with a list of things you should and shouldn’t do on the staircase that reminded me of the first episode of Welcome to Night Vale), “A Diviner’s Abecedarian,” “Drowning Lessons,” and “A Lily Is a Lily.”

In Praise of Walking: A New Scientific Exploration by Shane O’Mara – I somehow missed the subtitle when I bought this book at Nowhere Bookshop in San Antonio (owned by the lovely Jenny Lawson), but if I was looking for a prod to get outside and walk more, this is definitely the book to read. This is very not much Thoreau’s Walking. Instead, it is a scientific exploration of the neurological, physical, psychological, social, and creative processes of walking. I enjoyed it much more than I expected to, and I learned a lot about how the brain and walking are interconnected. Random fun fact from the book: the larval sea squirt has a rudimentary brain, eye, and spinal cord until it goes from a mobile creature to a stationary one, fixed to a rock. Once it stops moving, it absorbs? consumes? these organs, becoming “a stomach with some reproductive organs attached” (p. 30). Having a brain, it seems, goes hand-in-hand with movement. Note to self: Move more!

Headstrong: 52 Women Who Changed Science–and the World by Rachel Swaby – While I love hearing the stories of women who succeeded in STEM-related fields, their stories always make me feel like I should have pursued a career in math and/or science, BUT also remind me that I never had the drive to explore. I had a telescope and a microscope and rarely used either. I was the type of student who was most happy in subjects where the correct answer could be found by following a simple process. Breaking out of that is difficult. In any case, these women’s stories were inspiring. Even those I thought I knew–Heddy Lamar and Florence Nightingale, for example–had aspects of their stories I’d never learned about. Perhaps if I’d had these women as role models when I was younger, I might have stayed on the science path.

The Lost Words by Robert Macfarlane and Jackie Morris – I bought this book when I was on Alfred Wainwright’s coast-to-coast walk across England in 2019, inspired by reading Robert Macfarlane’s book The Old Ways. There’s video somewhere of me reading the poem “Conkers” from this book on one of the last days of the trip. While I initially bought it for the words–and the reminder, which Macfarlane echoes in his book Landmarks, that words describing the natural world are disappearing from our dictionaries and our discourse–I love it for the drawings. I aspire to write like Robert Macfarlane in his other books (Underland was amazing), but I don’t think I’m his intended audience for these poems. On the other hand, I also aspire to create art like what Jackie Morris produced for this book. I’m tempted to read The Lost Spells (another collaboration between the two) to see more of her art.

Have you read any of these books? If so, do you have a different take? If so, I’d be curious to hear what you thought of them.

Reading: Unraveling by Peggy Orenstein and The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd
Drinking: Genmaicha (toasted rice green tea) from TeaSource

What’s Next

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Slow progress. I’ve advanced one chapter in the calculus book, stumbled through Fat Chance before my free access was cut off, and made it about halfway through my repeat of the Python course. Then I accidentally enrolled in the data science programming course when trying to look up some information on what it was all about. Oops. My only option is to forge ahead in the hope that I’ll finish as much as possible before my access is cut off on March 26. “Jump before you’re ready,” etc.

In other news, I just joined a community band that (surprise!) will be traveling to Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania this summer. So I’ve doubled down on practicing, trying to keep in mind that I do not have to be as good as the people in my section who’ve been playing the clarinet consistently for 40+ years.

Speaking of which, I’ve recently noticed the trend that I am one of the youngest people in the room when participating in my interests. Not because I’m particularly precocious, but because I’m interested in things often associated with older–read, “retired”–folks: the Master Gardener Volunteer Program (and volunteering in general), crafting, group tours, and community bands. Even though I’m decades from being eligible for Medicare, currently adrift in middle age, I appreciate their perspectives. They help me prepare for what’s next.

I’ve heard plenty about knee and hip replacements. Rounds of cancer treatment. Heart attacks. Rotator cuff surgeries. Caring for one’s sick or dying parents and siblings. Dealing with estates. These challenges come up for many people at one time or another. But listening to those who’ve been through them makes facing them seem less terrifying. I had my own existential crisis back in 2017, and anything that helps shine a light in the darkness is welcome.

It’s not all bleak. As a lifelong learner, I enjoy hearing about Road Scholar and OLLI, which I’ll likely be trying out as soon as I’m old enough. I’m also learning to play American mahjong, even though it’s not quite my thing, because I enjoy the socializing. Still, if I join a pickleball league, you’ll know it’s gone too far. (I’ve played pickleball once, with my brother and sister-in-law, and I fell over backward after trying to run and keep my eye on the ball at the same time. I think my ponytail saved me from a concussion.)

Children look up to those who are older, and so do I. Though I may not be in as much of a hurry to grow up as I once was, at least I have less anxiety about what will happen along the way.

What’s the most useful thing you’ve learned from someone significantly older than yourself?

Listening: Fifty Beasts to Break your Heart by GennaRose Nethercott
Reading: James by Percival Everett and Crafting the Personal Essay by Dinty W. Moore
Drinking: English Rose (tea) from Whittard of Chelsea (purchased in Covent Garden, London) and Eldfjalla Te (Volcanic Tea) from Islensk Hollusta (purchased in Iceland–I’m drinking my souvenirs)

Varför?

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The question “Why?” is important in goal setting, which is popular around this time of year. The answer to that question provides the motivation that drives you to accomplish said goal(s). Many of my goals are learning-related, and for me, the “why” is where things often fall down a bit.

For most of my compulsory schooling, as well as college, the “why” was a distant carrot. Do well in school so you get good grades; get good grades so you get into a good college; get into a good college so you get a good job. Practical applications of what we learned were few and far between; much of what we learned was presented as a foundation for what came next. We had to find ways to love learning for the sake of learning.

I am a professional word nerd, and I’ve been taking Swedish since the winter of 2022. I love that the word for “Why?” in Swedish–varför–translates directly to “Wherefore?” in English. They’re both Germanic languages, so this makes sense. For their shared roots, think back to Shakespeare: Wherefore art thou Romeo? So, wherefore (or “for what,” per Merriam-Webster’s) am I learning Swedish?

Originally, I had a goal: I wanted to travel to Sweden to meet my mother’s second cousins and their families. A bit over a year later, at a family reunion in Sweden, I was asked about my “Swedish plan”: Was I going to continue learning Swedish? If so, why? I muttered something about maybe wanting to live in Sweden at some point, but I didn’t have a real answer. (When I was in Sweden, I had issues with the affective filter, often freezing up when trying to talk to someone. They, in return, often took pity on me and started speaking in English, which kinda defeated the purpose of learning Swedish.) So why do I keep signing up for classes?

Beyond being part of the American Swedish Institute’s (ASI) community of learners, I enjoy reading in Swedish. While in Sweden, I bought a copy of En Man Som Heter Ove (A Man Called Ove) to read. I also received several books in Swedish from the ASI, including one about handweaving (no loom needed!). So far, I’ve finished Short Stories in Swedish for Beginners by Olly Richards and En Droppe Midnatt (the condensed version) by Jason Diakité. Next up, Astrologi (a graphic novel) by Liv Strömquist, which I need to return to ASI’s lite bibliotek at some point.

I have more ambitious learning goals as well:

  • Relearn/refresh my calculus via Barron’s E-Z Calculus by Douglas Downing (Despite the cheesy title, and the fact that the learning is narrated via a fantasy story, I’m getting more out of it than I was out of the intro to calculus course I was taking via Coursera. I’m currently on chapter 5.)
  • Take Introduction to Probability (which requires calculus) or Fat Chance (which doesn’t) via edX
  • Refresh my Python knowledge (which will likely involve going back through CS50’s Introduction to Programming with Python)
  • Take Introduction to Data Science with Python
  • Complete my Master Naturalist Volunteer certification and maintain my Master Gardener Volunteer certification
  • Profit???

These goals may not seem related, but they all converge around citizen science and research involving the natural world. I want to find ways I can contribute through my interests. Though I have a general idea of what citizen science entails, I need to educate myself more about that world before I get too far along. That’s where my last endeavor fell apart. From helping students with math homework at a local library, I thought I would enjoy tutoring students in math at a local elementary school.

. . . Let’s just say they didn’t want my help and leave it at that. Here’s hoping that groups asking for volunteers will be more welcoming. (I like the quote from Rumi “As you start to walk on the way, the way appears,” but sometimes it’s not the way you really want to be going.)

What are your ridiculous goals for 2025? Are they grounded in reality, or are you soaring on a wing and a prayer?

Big Round Numbers

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I read more than 100 books in a year for the first time in 2023, with a grand total of 125. 2024 looks to be the second year I pass that mark: 102 books read so far, plus a few I forgot to record on Goodreads.

Sounds impressive, right? As a culture, we seem obsessed with quantifying our activities, and big round numbers (100, 1,000, etc.) are the ones deemed worth celebrating. Just look at all those zeros!

But what if I said that 37 of the books were audio books? Or that 11 of the books were picture books? Or that I didn’t actually finish 7 of the books, just finished more than half and rounded up? Or that 13 were comics or manga or illustrated short stories? Do they all still “count”? And why do big numbers matter, in the end? Looking back on the list for this year, I can barely remember what some of the books were about. (I want to say, “They went in one eye and out the other,” but that doesn’t have quite the same ring as “in one ear and out the other.”)

I often think that “my eyes are bigger than my free time,” a play on “my eyes are bigger than my stomach.” I feel greedy for words, for the experiences promised by books. There’s so much out there that I want to read, even if they’re not all worth the time I spend on them. Some, like audio books, can be helpful distractions that make the walk I didn’t want to take or the cleaning I didn’t want to do a bit easier. But others contribute to a habit of “virtuous” procrastination I’d like to stamp out: I couldn’t possibly do any writing right now! I have to finish this book before it’s due back at the library.

Out of the 100+ books I read this year, these were the ones I got the most out of reading (in order of date read):

  1. When We Cease to Understand the World by Benjamin Labatut (historical fiction)
  2. The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan (nonfiction)
  3. Hit by a Farm: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Barn by Catherine Friend (memoir)
  4. Burial Rites by Hannah Kent (historical fiction)
  5. The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman (mystery)
  6. The Alchemy of Us: How Humans and Matter Transformed One Another by Ainissa Ramirez (nonfiction)
  7. Building Great Sentences: Exploring the Writer’s Craft by Brooks Landon (nonfiction)
  8. Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals and The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking by Oliver Burkeman (nonfiction)
  9. At the Mountains of Madness, Volumes I and II, by H.P. Lovecraft, illustrated by Francois Baranger (horror)
  10. The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World by Andrea Wulf (nonfiction)
  11. Something in the Woods Loves You by Jarod K. Anderson (memoir)

My friend Sabrina recently recommended The Read Well podcast, which has the tagline “It’s better to read well than to be well read.” In the first few episodes, Eddy Hood talks about the challenges of slowing down and focusing on a book and then doing something with the information you’ve acquired (such as writing an essay) that adds to the conversation about a particular topic. I ended up buying my own copies of some library books I read this year, including Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman and Building Great Sentences by Brooks Landon, with the intention of rereading them in order to take notes. I wanted to explore the ideas they discuss more deeply–after all, it’s hard to write things down when you’re listening to a book while driving. Here’s hoping. I’m also going to scale my reading goal back from 75 to 52 books for 2025. I don’t want to feel that I have to read books just to finish them.

At the same time, I want to use 2025 to start clearing the overflowing shelves taken up by my to-be-read pile, which grows every year because most of the books I read come from the library. I likely won’t read or finish all of them (there are somewhere around 150 books), but I want to give most of them a shot. So I’m cut off from reserving books at the library until that’s done. This is a resolution that has quickly fallen by the wayside in the past, so I need to make better use of the “For Later” button on the library’s website.

What are your 2025 reading goals? How did you finish out 2024?