The Frozen River

I finished reading The Frozen River by Ariel Lawhon the night Wayne called me out of the blue to tell me he was missing his dad. We had a nice conversation, and then I couldn't get back to sleep so I stayed up until 11:30 pm (late for me) to devour the end of the book.

Reading this book was a multi-step process for me. The journey began when Lisa recommended it, and I immediately put it on hold at the library. After waiting a long time for my turn, I was not initially super impressed with the writing. 

Phase 1: I was definitely drawn in by the vivid depiction of a harrowing scene in the beginning: a body violently traveling down an icy, turbulent river in 1789 Maine. The book is historical fiction, which I love, but with a torrid twist and a mystery. At first I thought it was written with  a bit too much sensationalism for my liking.

Phase 2: To my surprise, I discovered the novel was based on a real woman, who kept an actual written diary chronicling her life as a midwife during the early days of America. Some of the book is fictionalized because many of the journal entries are sparsely detailed, but it is still a compelling commentary on early American society.

There is a nonfiction account of this story titled A Midwife's Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary 1785-1812 that I started to read but ran out of time. I hope to pick it up again and learn more about this earnest and vibrant woman. Published in 1990 by historian Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, the book is a Pulitzer Prize winner. A documentary version of A Midwife's Tale was produced in 1997 by the PBS series, The American Experience. I'm very annoyed that I have to purchase the DVD on Amazon for $19 or subscribe to PBS Documentaries for $4.99/month in order to watch it.

Phase 3: Naturally I turned to other sources to uncover more about Martha Ballard and her diary. Cool fact from Wikipedia, "Under a 1668 Massachusetts law, midwives were often asked to pressure young unwed mothers into naming the father of the child in the throes of labor, an action which Ballard frequently participated in." Maine, of course, was part of the Massachusetts Bay Colony at that time.

The provenance of the journal itself is interesting as it turns out it ended up in the hands of "Ballard's great-great granddaughter, Mary Hobart, one of the first female US physicians to graduate from the New York Infirmary for Women and Children in 1884, the same year that she received the diary."

Eventually the journal found its way to the Maine State Library where it was unearthed by the historian Laurel Thatcher Urlich who began to piece together stories by cataloging journal entries and cross-referencing with other documents, bringing to life the post-revolutionary world of Hallowell, Maine.

Here are a couple of quotes, in Martha's own words that demonstrate her thoughts about her record-keeping. In the beginning of her diary she states, "Memory is a wicked thing that warps and twists. But paper and ink receive the truth without emotion, and they read it back without partiality." Towards the end, she concludes, "Or maybe-if I am honest- it is because these markings of ink and paper will one day be the only proof that I have existed in this world." As a writer, I certainly relate to both of those sentiments.

One final note that touches my heart as a writer and a lover of history.

"I want the world to remember that small acts, done in love, matter every bit as much as the ones that make the newspaper and the history books."

The Dog Who Followed the Moon

It’s apropos that I listened to the audiobook version of The Dog Who Followed the Moon by James Norbury, the day Uncle Ron died, on his birthday, at age 87. It is a sweet story about a lost dog named Amaya who is rescued by an old Wolf who joins her on a quest to find her parents.

As one review states, “Eerie woods, forgotten cities, and other obstacles await Amaya and the Wolf on their adventure. As they make their way through the wilderness, the two learn profound lessons about love, sacrifice, and the importance of embracing change.”

I was moved to tears by the story’s gentle commentary on life’s journey, loss, grief, and death. This quote especially spoke to me and my particular search for meaning:

“Somewhere inside you is a poem that you alone can write—a unique blend of what you love, what you fear, and all the things that only you’ve experienced.”

Here is more of the Wolf’s Zen advice:

“Most of our lives are spent doing the traveling, and the arrival is only a tiny part of that journey. We should do our best to enjoy every part of the adventure. Maybe we will never get to where we want to be, and wouldn’t it be sad if we had not even enjoyed the ride?”

“How do I do that?” asked Amaya. 

“Slow down, look around, breathe, take in the sounds and colors. Imagine you’d chosen this moment as your destination, not just a point along your journey.”

Finally, the Wolf reflects on his circumstances: “He’d led the pack to great victories and bitter defeats. His life was a tapestry of successes and failures, and he wondered what different choices he could have made that would have saved him from dying on this mountaintop exiled from his pack.”

The Wolf’s contemplation of his life is not so different from that of most humans in the end. As it turns out, the wolf was exactly where he needed to be, in a moment that would forever impact his new friend Amaya and countless other lives moving forward. It’s reassuring to know that a life well lived will lead each of us to the same place.

At first, it was disappointing listening to the audiobook because I missed flipping the pages and seeing the stunning illustrations. By the end of the hour-long reading, my weeping eyes would not have been able to focus on the beautiful pictures. I plan to treat myself to a hardcover copy of the book.

 

 

Here One Moment

Here One Moment by Australian author Liane Moriarty is unnerving. It poses a lot of questions about how we live our lives and think about death—the choices we make, coincidences, and how we react to challenges. It’s a mind-fuck of a book.

It delves into personality disorders like sleepwalking, OCD, depression, and introversion. It documents  relationships between spouses, parents and  children, roommates, coworkers and bosses. As SNL’s Stefon would say, “This place has everything!“

During an unexpected delay, an airplane full if people are trapped as an older woman systematically predicts the how and when of their deaths. That in itself is terrifying— being trapped for hours on an airplane with kids puking and babies crying—then some random crazy lady in a trance starts predicting when and how every passenger will die. Her mantra, “Fate can’t be fought.”

I love this reviewer’s perspective: “A riveting story so wild you don’t know how she’ll land it, and then she does, on a dime.”—Anne Lamott

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning

The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson caught my eye last summer, when after threatening for years to undertake a serious purging of my basement, garage, and shed, I finally followed through. I assumed it was an oldie but goodie; turns out it was published in 2018 and has even been turned into a TV series produced by Amy Poehler airing on the Peacock channel.

It was winter as I listened to the audiobook version on Libby, six months after I first requested it during the “dumpster days” of last summer. Better late than never to be introduced to the idea that your descendants won’t hate you if you put your stuff in order before you die.

“Life will become more pleasant and comfortable, if we get rid of some of the abundance.”

It’s hard to know just how much of this quirky little book is tongue-in-cheek. The proper English accent of the reader, Juliet Stevenson, combined with the dry Swedish wit of the author, Margareta Magnusson, make me smile first, and then question whether or not I’m in on the joke.

Throughout Magnusson refers to her age as “somewhere between 80 and 100,” and she has also authored The Swedish Art of Aging Exuberantly, which I might also want to take a peek at. Magnusson clearly has the credentials for both literary creations. Her perspective is straightforward and no-nonsense, seeping with common sense and practicality.

Upon beginning the daunting task of death cleaning, Magnusson suggests, “Choose a category that you believe is easy for you to handle. An easy category is one that is extensive and without too much sentimental connection.” Her recommendation is to start with clothing, and she shares helpful strategies for minimizing excess items in your wardrobe. After discussing the rationale for several of her choices, she tartly states, “But this is not a style manual. We must keep investigating, cleaning, organizing, and sorting.”

Indeed, this is a chore from which it’s very easy to become sidetracked. I can definitely relate to this observation, “To hunt for misplaced things is never an effective use of your time.” Too much of my precious time is spent pawing through piles and boxes searching for things I think I might have saved decades ago.

Many Swedish words translate to English in a fitting way. Here are some examples. Swedish  junk is called “skräp”. The term for toolshed that has also come to signify man cave is “snickarbod.” Another, “mansdagis,” literally means ‘a male kindergarten.’ A “fulskap” is ‘a cabinet for the ugly’ or a place to stash unwanted gifts. Magnusson disapproves of this practice. “If aunts and uncles see their gifts on show, they will only give you more….If you don’t like something, get rid of it.” Finally, “klumpig” is a clumsy person. 

It didn’t work for me, but I am aware of the Marie Kondo method of holding possessions in your hands and only keeping Ty hose that bring you JOY. This month whilst cleaning my house, having been reminded of my allergy to dust, I had a brainstorm. The monotony of cleaning provided me time to reflect about how so many of the items collecting dust in my home actually hold special meaning for me. Maybe I should take pictures and write little blurbs about some of my favorite knickknacks to assemble into a book of my own.

Photographs are particularly hard for me to part with; thankfully Magnusson offers this practical advice. 

“When you have lived a long life, it is so easy to get lost among memories from a long time ago…..By making games and events with family and friends out of the difficult job of death cleaning photographs you’ve gathered over a long life, it can be less lonely, less overwhelming, and more fun. You also do not have to carry the weight of all those memories by yourself and you are less likely to get stuck in the past.”

Magnusson’s tips are useful and sincere, and chapter titles illustrate the humor she brings to her knowledge of this gentle art.

Chapter 23: “If It Was Your Secret, Then Keep It That Way or How To Death Clean Hidden, Dangerous, and Secret Things.”

Chapter 25: “Collections, Collectors & Hoarders”

Chapter 33: “My Little Black Book of Passwords!”

Chapter 34: “Death Cleaning Is As Much Or More For You As For The People Who Come After”

In the last chapter of the book titled “After Life,”Magnusson concludes, “I am not qualified to give legal advice; I am just a death cleaner.”  

Indeed. I appreciate the warmth and fun Magnusson brings to this important topic.