on the twelfth day of Christmas
a stack of stories to share & more gifts to give (or receive)
It may come as no surprise, but words rather than gifts will always be my love language, those either to give or to receive. I find solace in a stack of books, even those I may never read.
There was a time I believed otherwise - that costly presents were equivalent to presence and expressive of love, but I've come to know otherwise.
In my former life, I sometimes gave overly extravagant gifts, which I've discovered often made others uncomfortable.
They were not true to me or my character; they were more aspirational and reflective of my wanting you to see me more than I saw you. If I did so to you, please accept my apology and believe I did my best until I could do better.
Like everything else, I've learned what is mine to give through time. While my gifts may be less extravagant than in the past, they have never been more from my heart.
So, in the spirit of the twelve days of Christmas, I'm sharing six stories that spoke to me:
The Baby on the Fire Escape: Creativity, Motherhood, and the Mind-Baby Problem, Julie Phillips. I've spent a lifetime creating a body of work in reference and in relationship to the maternal body—work that defines how I've come to know myself and the depths of my capacity. To become a mother. To choose to mother. It's been the most exhausting and exquisite journey to carry and care for my two children in my own way and time. Julie Phillips's collection of essays was the first book I read way back in January and one that I return to often because what does it mean to create not alone in "a room of one's own," but in a shared space? what kinds of work have come out of a creative mother's life each and every day. It's a question worth considering whether or not you are a parent because not one of us can help but create something in relation to another.
The Chronology of Water, Lydia Yuknavitch. While The Chronology of Water had been recommended to me repeatedly, 2023 was the year I finally took the plunge. It is a story that reminds us of the many ways to drown but also to swim on land—that rehab, relapse, remember, and recovery all begin with the letter R and the many ways we can write and right our way home. The Chronology of Water is nothing short of stunning.
Drawing Breath: Essays on Writing, the Body, and Loss, Gayle Brandeis. I learned of Gayle Brandeis by way of an interview with
and immediately pre-ordered the book. Because I am my body, and I am not my body. Because I teach people how to breathe and be breathed, yet there are days I can barely remember to do so myself. Because the body has limits, but within those limits, we still have the capacity to hold everything and to trust the ways we are complete unto ourselves. Because we can draw breath and be held in breath as the everyday miracle we already are.You Could Make this Place Beautiful,
. This is not my divorce story, yet the power dynamic in Smith’s marriage and the feelings invoked are frighteningly familiar. Regardless of your identified gender or marital status, if you have ever sought balance between making meaningful work inside and outside the home or for wholeness from within, this memoir will speak to you. I consider Maggie Smith to be a tutelary spirit in many ways, and her Substack, For Dear Life, is a gorgeous read, chockfull of generous craft lessons and more.The Everlasting Meal Cookbook: Leftovers A-Z, Tamar Adler. My new favorite cookbook because when I look in the fridge, I am forever entranced by the possibility of making more from what is already there. Adler takes me back to my youthful love of Laura Ingalls Wilder and her little house in the big woods. She includes recipes for transforming anything into anything: stale brioche becomes bread pudding, avocado pits and peels swirl into a dusty rose dye for cloth, and eggs can become virtually anything. Whereas John once told me his crisper drawer was where "good vegetables went to die," this book challenges us all to reconsider all things wilted and old.
The Covenant of Water, Abraham Verghese. A confession: I’m only three-quarters of the way through this 776-page sweeping story, but I have no qualms about considering it one of the best books I’ve read/listened to this year. Verghese’s soothing voice kept me company for sixteen hours on a recent trip to Maine, taking me back to my time in South India in the most exquisite detail and yearning for the day I can return again.
I've linked these books by publisher rather than citing a specific place to purchase. If you don't have a favorite indie bookstore, you can always support one of mine.
Tell me, what books spoke to you in 2023?
And because it’s not always about books, allow me to share some of the gifts I have given or will be giving and a little inspiration from what I have received.
So, in no particular order, here we go:
Despite my love of the outdoors and of bringing it inside my home, I have zero interest in gardening. Sorry, I’ve tried. Repeatedly. The only place I’ve ever found favor is to force flowers in winter. Paperwhites, to be exact—I’ve grown and given them often over the years.
There is something so satisfying about the clink of smooth stones in the bottom of a mason jar, then allowing nature to take its course. The jar method gives the bulbs enough support that they don’t topple over. This year, I’m giving germination plates a go, too.
Here’s a fantastic gift idea for Christmas (or anytime) courtesy of a friend from a college friend. When Sam stayed with us in the Fall, she gave me a bag of wild rice, accompanied by a handwritten recipe passed down from her mother-in-law. Simple, delicious, and from the heart.
My eldest child is the owner-operator of Rathaus Press, both a for-hire print shop and a space for artists to learn about risograph printing and make their own work. Among other things, Evan prints notepads and custom stationery. Last year, I received these letterpress wishbone bookplates, which I use as bookmarks!
I’m looking forward to the two of us printing a series of poems together. Do you want to work with Evan on a project or place a custom order? Send them an email, or reach out to me, and I’ll put the two of you in touch.
Continuing my love of all things ephemera, check out this miniature 2024 calendar!
It features barn quilts of WNY and is bound with a binder clip for easy hanging. Thanks for putting one aside for me, Frances ~ it’s even better in person than I imagined. I can’t wait to give it to… . ..
“I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.”
Emily Dickinson
Visiting Emily Dickinson’s home in the Berkshires is on my 2024 list of things to do. Although a bit extravagant, I can’t imagine anything more delightful than spending a “sweet hour” (hint, hint) writing at her desk in her bedroom. What about you?
One more: I’m also (currently) obsessed with the writing of Kerri ni Dochartaigh. I’m almost certain her books will appear in this year’s Monhegan retreat. On January 12, she is offering this online masterclass, Writing through Emergency: bruised, burning, beautiful. Doesn’t the title say it all?
And finally, you can also give the gift of Narrative Threads! For the holiday season, I’m offering 20% off all annual subscriptions.
While there is no difference in what you receive as a free or paid subscriber, if you value my work and what it means to you, I hope you consider becoming a paid subscriber.
thanks for reading and happy reading! until next week ~ xosew
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my deepest gratitude to all who are already sharing, liking, recommending, and restacking narrative threads: from breath to pen.
Meet me at Emily’s.
🤍