You're in Good Hands, Numerologists

Numerology has never been of even passing interest to me. That said, some random unconnected stuff from my life that culminated during the writing of this post will keep me alert for at least the next thirty-three minutes.  

In order:

1.) After publishing A Shoutout on Myrrh's Day on 2/26, I was reasonably sure what the likely subject of my next blog post would be i.e., the fact that each of the last three novels I'd read prominently featured twins. This struck me as blog-worthy for two reasons: a.) All the books are worth reading so I'd planned to combine three recommendations into one post, soon. b.) Each book came at me from a different direction. The three have nothing in common, except for those twins. Considering the number of possible book subjects vs. the ratio of single to multiple births worldwide, just that coincidence is a little weird, no? 

2.) Life interfered. My next post - on Saturday 2/28 - ended up marking time. And I still wasn't ready to write about much of anything else as today began.  

3.) When my sister asked me early this a.m. what I'd been reading recently, I told her about the weird twins-in-three-books-in-a-row bit. Then I offhandedly asked for her guess of the percentage of the world's births that are multiple. I had no idea of the answer and told her so, just a casual question, not unlike many such questions we've asked one another our whole lives. Her guess = 10%; I said I would have placed it closer to 1%. We left it there. 

4.) About an hour ago, after realizing I'd recovered enough from Saturday's curveball to write about something other than that, I came back to the books, those twins, and then recalled the conversation with my sister. Decided to ask Siri the multiple births question. Any guess before I get to the finish line? It's 3%. 

Before the last odd bit, I'll mention the books to ensure you at least get some reading ideas. a.) One of Us (2025) by Dan Chaon; selected in a pure library drive-by - on the strength of my adoration of an earlier novel by Chaon (Await Your Reply - 2009) - while looking for a novella by John Cheever. b.) The Sea (2003) by John Banville; a short meditative novel I've been meaning to get to ever since enjoying Banville's The Untouchable (1997), and also because Booker prizewinning books rarely let me down. c.) The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett; been sitting in our home library since soon after its publication in 2020, a novel my wife read and recommended to me years ago.    

Ready, numerologists? Last three finished novels about twins, 3% worldwide multiple birth rate, the post I planned to write postponed - because life interfered - now being published on 3/3.  If I were shameless, I'd wait to publish this until exactly thirty-three minutes past the hour. But I can't risk freaking out the numerologists. I need every reader I can get.   

Not Today

Since the inception of my blog, life has thrown a fair share of curveballs at me. I'm certain all of you have had just as many tossed your way, perhaps more. 

What do I know this moment? None of us get through life unscathed. What do I do next? Be there for the people who depend on me. 

When will it feel OK to publish something here that is unconnected to my pain?     

A Shoutout on Myrrh's Day

Over a music-obsessed lifetime, I've yet to run across a single song that uses Thursday as its focus, let alone in its title. I'm certain some have been written - a quick AI search no doubt would uncover a few obscurities that have escaped this geek - but surely Thursday holds the record for least celebrated day of the week, musically. 

And there's a plausible explanation for Thursday having remained forever in the musical cold. I mean, what is it exactly that sets today apart from its brethren? What feature gives Thursday any distinct flavor at all? Monday is all about getting busy, Saturday is a bad day to run errands because everyone has the same idea. Wednesday = hump day, thank God it's Friday, don't depend on everything being open on Sunday, day of rest, family dinner, etc. Thursday's only competition for being without a personality is Tuesday. But in that case at least the Moody Blues sang about Tuesday Afternoon. And many years before, Ira Gershwin memorialized that almost-as-nondescript day by rhyming it with "my good news day" in The Man I Love. Rhyming possibilities for Thursday? A little thin. Try it. Maybe it's her day? Perhaps liverwurst day? 

What we clearly have here are two musical tiers. That is, even folks who've given this admittedly arcane matter no thought - most folks, I would imagine - could readily name at least one song with Monday, Friday or Sunday in its title. That's the top tier. The bottom tier - Tuesday, Wednesday, Saturday - has definitely gotten far less musical attention. But Thursday? Tier-less, barely a mention (I don't count that throwaway line "Thursday goes too slow" from Friday on My Mind), a day without a notable theme song. If I get on it right now, this could be my shot at musical immortality. Stay tuned.

Upending Low Expectations

Given my indiscriminate movie jones, my low expectations for genre films are bound to be upended periodically. Such was the case when I recently stumbled across The Marksman (2021). 

Although this Liam Neeson vehicle dutifully checked off many of the "action" boxes - car chases, lots of gunfire, stoic hero and cardboard villain - there were several touches that helped elevate it above pure popcorn fare. Here are a few:

* The actor playing Miguel (Jacob Perez) is wholly believable as a young boy grieving his mother. The solid script deftly juxtaposed Miguel's grief as counterpoint to Neeson's recent loss of his wife. 

* The vast reach of Mexican drug cartels using modern technology is presented matter-of-factly. That wise choice made the scary parts of this tense story credible and even more terrifying.

* The final two scenes - no spoilers - are perfectly balanced.   

Bottom line: With my low expectations for action films going in, I was prepared to be diverted, at best. Instead, I was involved throughout and more surprisingly, quite moved at the end. Can't recall the last time I used the word "moved" referring to an action film. What was the last instance when your low expectations were similarly upended, by a film, a book, some music, or otherwise? 

Request for Musical Assistance

Though it's only been sixteen months since his initiation, I'm pleased to report my grandson's musical instincts are nearly flawless. Because my daughter and son-in-law are doing a reasonably good job with the music they curate for the little man's enjoyment, I'll begrudgingly take just 99% of the credit for his impeccable taste. 

So far, his jazz chops are rudimentary but that will dramatically improve as soon as I can persuade my daughter to have my Spotify playlist - fifty-three ever-expanding hours - playing during his every waking hour. On the other hand, his latest "find" from that unimprovable playlist - Those Shoes - is a clear sign that his ear for expertly crafted popular music cannot be questioned. If that mesmerizing lesser-played Eagles song from The Long Run is not on any playlist of yours, my condolences. 

Despite his unimpeachable musical tendencies - thanks to the extraordinary tutelage his grandfather is providing - much remains to be done. First, more concert music needs to be added to his diet. Second, that playlist must continually reflect the best that contemporary popular music has to offer. Allowing my inner fuddy-duddy or any conservative and/or stodgy musical propensities to interfere with the little man's education is unacceptable. That's where you can help. If you have ideas, please share them with me. I will listen to whatever you suggest without judgment or comment. If a song you turn me onto ends up on that playlist? Thank you in advance on my grandson's behalf. And I'll ask him to give you a shoutout on his fifth birthday at his Carnegie Hall debut.    

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Initiation to the Miracle of Music              

Creating a World with Words

"We don't see the world as it is but as we are".

Because of work I began doing in the early 90's, I've spent the last 35+ years paying a great deal more attention to the way my language shapes my world. Early on, behaviorist Albert Ellis helped me learn of the effect of "shoulding" on myself and others and also to avoid the trap of "musterbation". Then Deborah Tannen and other linguists helped me reduce my over-use of absolutes like always/never and everybody/nobody when speaking. Later, my mentor - who'd studied with Fernando Flores - assisted me to shed weak and/or insincere expressions like "I'll try". All these teachers guided me on a journey toward speaking more powerfully and authentically. 

My latest challenge in this world of cognitive restructuring is to stay mindful of language that sends a message of rigid certainty. You've all heard many of these expressions casually tossed around: "I'm sure (or positive or certain) of it".  Or ... "I know this for a fact". Words like these send a clear message to others i.e., "This is the Capital T Truth". Which expressions of certainty do you routinely use that might shut down inquiry or meaningful dialogue with others? Ever been trapped in a certainty loop like I was recently? 

I'm driving with a friend. Though the GPS was directing us, I said more than once I was sure we were going the wrong direction. My patient friend did not react. Only after realizing I was incorrect did it occur to me how my certainty had temporarily blinded me. Was that repeated word of certainty (sure) before or after the thought of being "sure"? Doesn't matter. My language had let me down. We create our worlds with words. In this instance, I'd tried - in vain - to make the world fit my words. Work to be done. 

Music Supervisor for Hire

On the strength of Solo (2013), William Boyd has joined my destined-to-never-be-completed list of 100 favorite authors. Though spy thrillers are not a go-to for me, this novel clearly demonstrates how an author as talented as Boyd can adhere to a formula and still remain fresh. His control of the narrative, his prose, and the way he effortlessly integrates all the expected elements of the spy genre are masterful. It's easy to turn the pages and lose sight of the expert hands holding you. What a gift.

Because this is an authorized "James Bond" novel, the central villain needs to hold his own alongside Dr. No, Goldfinger, and Jaws, to name just a few from Ian Fleming's stable of memorable bad guys. Boyd's creation - a sadistic mercenary named Kobus Breed - is that guy with "...his usual shifting cocktail of moods - at once jovial, wired, and sinister." Boyd also handles other predictive Bond tropes, e.g., the alluring women, the compelling intrigue and double/triple crosses, the lethal gadgets and sleek cars ("...the virile baritone roar of the engine...") with equal finesse. 

When some astute filmmaker gets around to adapting Solo - or any of the other three William Boyd novels I've greedily devoured that have yet to make it to the screen - I'm available as music supervisor. In that made-for-me capacity, I won't even insist on using one of my own compositions for any of those film scores, although I have been lobbying my daughter into making something like that happen with her upcoming film gig for Disney. Just saying. I did help pay for her college education.    

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Another Keeper

Blogging Ain't for Sissies

After almost fifteen years, the blogosphere still mystifies me. For example, analytics-wise, 2024-2025 was particularly weird. Take a look at the chart below.

According to Google God, my monthly view numbers climbed to almost 150,000 in mid-2025. See it? The last "spike" I had before that? Late 2016 - early 2017, easily spotted above. See the tiny bump? That earlier spike topped out at app. 10,000 views per month before returning to my previous baseline. (BTW, though that baseline appears to be "0", it is not. In order to accommodate the huge recent spike, the first horizontal line on the chart had to be increased to 25, 000. In previous years, it was 5,000.) 

Man, was I juiced during those months in 2016-17. Thought for sure viral fame was fast approaching. Subsequently tried every shameless groveling technique I could dream up to keep my numbers climbing, or at least steady anyway. Alas, my rapid return to blogosphere obscurity brought my first pathetic fantasy to a screeching halt.     

Which brings me back to now. How to make sense of what appears to have occurred beginning in late 2023, culminating in mid-2025? What do you think happened? While you're considering that mystery, please know I welcome any idea you care to offer to help me reverse the current death knell before it's too late. I'll stoop to any level, climb into any gutter; nothing is beneath me. In these early days of 2026, I'm shifting from mystification to mortification watching another precipitous plunge almost a decade after my first - much smaller - fantasy crumbled. I know, I know; numbers aren't everything. Tell that to your favorite ego-less Buddhist monk. Me? I'll crib Bette Davis's words. This blogging gig ain't for sissies. 

Monday Morning

How long will it be before Monday morning feels like any other morning?

I left the full-time work world in March 2010. It didn't take long for Tuesday - Friday to all begin feeling like Saturday or Sunday felt during the full-time work years. But somehow, Monday - particularly the morning - has stubbornly held on to its identity as the start of the week. It's weird.  

Almost without exception, I'm up on Monday morning earlier than I am Tuesday - Friday. I'm also usually done with breakfast sooner. And if a Monday gets off to a slow start and I'm idle for more than a few hours - no exercise, reading, guitar, etc. - I'm much more likely to notice than on those other days. 

Decided last night to skip a morning hike I'd scheduled for today; too cold to be outdoors. I'm pretty sure if today was any day between Tuesday-Friday, I'd have paid this no mind. But it's the start of a week, isn't it? Who cares? Apparently, I do.     

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Nine

"The part of you they'll never see is the part you've shown to me."

How many of us ever feel really known by more than one person? What song lyric has ever captured that thought as succinctly as those fourteen words from Do What You Gotta Do?

Awards for artistic merit are notoriously arbitrary. Still, the fact that Jimmy Webb has yet to receive the Library of Congress Gershwin Prize for Popular Song is arguably the most egregious oversight in the eighteen-year history of this particular award. Look at the list directly below and try defending the selection of a few past winners of the Gershwin Prize when the composer of Up Up & Away, By the Time I Get to Phoenix, The Worst That Can Happen is still absent. 

Gershwin Prize - Wikipedia

Putting aside the sentimental selection of Tony Bennett in 2017, of the thirteen songwriters on this list, I submit there are at least a few who have never written a single song that - end-to-end - can hold its own against the elegant craftsmanship of Wichita Lineman, Didn't We, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. There are dozens of other perfectly realized popular songs I could cite from Webb's sixty-year body of work. And he - unlike a few Gershwin Prize recipients - writes his own lyrics.     

OK, my rant about the fickle selections of the musically obtuse people responsible for awarding the Gershwin Prize - i.e., the ones who have overlooked Jimmy Webb - is over. Back to the concision and wisdom of that lyric from Do What You Gotta Do. I cry nearly every time I hear Roberta Flack sing those words. But if dirges are not for you, the Johnny Rivers version of this song - taken at a brighter tempo - is equally moving.       

For Your Consideration

Begin today's reflection by thinking of a seven-year-old you know well. Could be a relative, the child of a good friend or neighbor, perhaps a student. Bring that child into focus via hearing their giggle or watching them as they eat or doing something they enjoy. 

Now try picturing that same child walking hundreds of miles of arid landscape across a country enmeshed in a civil war. There are no adults anywhere nearby, food and water are scarce, menacing soldiers with automatic weapons routinely appear. Many of those soldiers are just a few years older than the child you know. 

Sadly, the story of Valentino Achak Deng - masterfully rendered by Dave Eggers in What Is the What (2006) - is far from unique. Seven-year-old refugees across the globe face circumstances like Deng's nearly every day. In lieu of recommending this disturbing and important book, let me instead pose a question to readers of my blog, many of whom I know to be responsible and humane citizens of the world.

Doesn't each of us have a moral obligation to at least expose ourselves to stories like Deng's, no matter the discomfort that exposure creates in us?

  

Let's Do It Again

Because almost everyone I've ever known has seen Groundhog Day at least once, let's play around today with the central premise of that film. If you could choose one day of your life to live over, what would you pick? 

To ensure our thought experiment is enjoyable, discard the notion of being forced to live that day over and over endlessly like the Bill Murray character had to in Harold Ramis's goofy masterpiece. Instead, tell me and others about a day you'd like to re-live, just one time, no matter the reason. 

I'd pick September 24, 1983. That was exactly one week after my wife and I were married by the mayor of our town in a private ceremony in our new home. The only witnesses for our ceremony were my sister and brother-in-law. We'd already invited about 100 people to our home for September 24. Almost everyone thought we were hosting a housewarming party. Only our families knew we'd been married for a week. Mid-party my other sister asked everyone to raise their glasses to us, announcing why we'd gathered everyone on that day.  

We called that first celebration The Party of the Century (POTC) and used it as a reason to re-gather many of the same people each year around the third weekend of September, a never-ending, it never-was-a-reception-in-the-first-place wedding reception. Word spread - live music, activities for the kids, three or more meals. By year seven - 1989 - attendance had climbed to 250+ people. No rain date was ever announced. If it rained, massive tents sheltered everyone, the live music continued, the food was served. We began at 11:00 a.m. and always went well past midnight. Each year more folks stayed overnight; bagels were served the morning after. We paused from 1990-1992 and resumed on the tenth anniversary in 1993. The final POTC took place September of 1995. 

And though each POTC had its highlights, the one I'd pick to re-live would be that first one. I'd love to again see the look of surprise and joy on all those faces when my sister proposed that toast. What day would you pick? 

Some Stuff Oscar Missed

Here's a full list of 2026 Oscar nominees | PBS News

How many nominees from that recently released best picture list have you seen? Which would get your vote? Do any of the ten baffle you? Of the 5.5 I've seen to date, Train Dreams gets my vote, though it's way too quiet to have any chance of winning. Maybe the screenplay adapted from Denis Johnson's terrific eponymous novella will get the nod, although the competition in that category this year is fierce.   

Next question: In your view, what did Oscar miss this year? I can't recall the last time the list of nominees for best picture didn't have at least one glaring omission. Case in point: How did Kathryn Bigelow and A House of Dynamite slip by? Is it because Chloe Zhao is nominated for Hamnet? Are we allowed just one female nominee for best director per year? Come on!

Reflections from the Bell Curve: A House of Dynamite

I want to keep griping (How did Carey Mulligan miss getting a nomination for best supporting actress in The Ballad of Wallis Island?) but I've still got to watch the second half of Sentimental Value. BTW - if you haven't seen that one - be forewarned; it's a bit on the sleepy side, at least the first half anyway. I've also got to re-watch Sinners and try to figure out what I missed the first time, apparently. Then there's the other four to get to before March 15. Trying to keep those film geek bona fides solid.

What If?

Enjoy learning about less celebrated episodes from American history? I can guarantee Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine, and the Murder of a President (2011) will enthrall you, start to finish.

Before devouring Candice Millard's scrupulously researched and masterfully executed book, all I knew of James Garfield was that he was the second U.S. President to be assassinated. Millard persuaded me that Garfield had the potential to become one of our greatest chief executives, an early and ardent abolitionist, i.e., a man fully committed to preserving the Lincoln legacy.   

Learning this about Garfield led me to reflect on a few counterfactuals, a term historians use when they speculate about "what if?" If Garfield had served his full term, would the ill-advised dismantling of Reconstruction initiated by his predecessor have been halted before it did its irreparable damage? Further, what if he were then re-elected in 1884? How I'd welcome hearing an historian like Stephen Ambrose or David McCullough or Candice Millard create a plausible counterfactual based on James Garfield having served eight years instead of just a few months.  

And now some good news if reading is not a high priority for you right now. The recent four-part Netflix series Death by Lightning is a reasonably faithful adaptation of this excellent book starring the always reliable Michael Shannon as James Garfield. Several moving pieces in the script (e.g., "And I tell you now, in the closing days of this campaign, that I would rather be with you and defeated, than against you and victorious." - Garfield to a group of "freedmen") are taken verbatim from the primary sources used by Millard in her book. Kudos to creator/screenwriter Mike Markowsky for making those wise choices. I'll save my quibbles about Death by Lightning for anyone who has read or later reads the superior book and comments either here or offline. I suspect some of you will notice the same missteps in the series that I did. Quibbles about Destiny of the Republic? None. 

  

Bi-Coastal Pleasures & Challenges

With my only child and grandchild firmly ensconced in Los Angeles - at least for the next few years anyway - a bi-coastal life has fast become a new norm for me. Like most major life changes, this one has brought pleasures and challenges in roughly equal measure.   

* Enjoying the climate; increasingly worn down by hassles related to flying.

* Grateful my son-in-law's guitar is always nearby; stymied by his state-of-the-art coffee maker.

* Thrilled to be witnessing many of my grandson's milestones in person; still searching for a steady reading rhythm. 

For those who share or have had an experience similar to mine, what have been your pleasures and challenges?        

Get It Right, Will You Please?

Is it too much to ask for filmmakers to get it right when depicting musicians playing an instrument? If an actor is not particularly adept with the instrument they're supposed to be playing, there are skillful ways to get around that fact. The actor in a medium shot with their hands doing something not even remotely close to what they're supposedly playing is not one of those ways. Why not a long shot? Even better, how about shooting just the hands actually playing the riff or passage in question? Isn't one of those preferable to the alternative, i.e., subjecting those of us who know better to watch someone "act" as though what they're doing resembles what we're listening to? 

Before asking you to indulge the brief rant below connected to my most recent experience with this kind of sloppy musical filmmaking, let me first ask a question. When were you last annoyed by a filmmaker not getting it right vis-a-vis your line of work? Lawyers, police officers, teachers are three vocations - among others - frequently depicted on film, right? How many of you have ever been triggered by a scene from your profession analogous to the way a scene near the end of Song Sung Blue triggered me? I refuse to believe I'm alone in my nitpicking. 

Michael Imperioli - a talented actor - is a guitar-playing Buddy Holly impersonator in Song Sung Blue. In a scene early in the film, it is clear he knows how to authentically play guitar chords. That makes what happens in a closing scene - accompanying Kate Hudson on a Neil Diamond song - even more egregious. In a medium shot, Imperioli is shown flailing around meaninglessly on the first to third frets of the guitar in the brief instrumental interludes between the stanzas Hudson sings. I submit even novice guitarists watching carefully could tell you what he's doing is not close to what we're hearing. This is not Imperioli's fault. It is careless filmmaking and sadly - at least with respect to musicians - not unusual.

Lest you think my kvetching excessive, I'm happy to provide a list of worthwhile, authentic movies about musicians, e.g., The Fabulous Baker Boys. I'm guessing there was a good musical consultant on hand for that film, or for many others that get it right. It's not that hard.    

Book Club Report: Year Nine

Year nine of the No Wine or Whiners book club was a particularly memorable one. I'm leaving out several highlights in the interest of ensuring this post is no longer than the usual length. 

Most well-received novel of the year: The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store (2023) - James McBride. The bonus accompanying this discussion with my book club was the opportunity I had to evangelize on behalf of McBride's first book - The Color of Water (1995) - one of the best memoirs I've ever read. 

Most well-received non-fiction of the year: The Wager (2023) - David Grann. My selection of this exceptional title inadvertently broke a guideline established in January 2017 at the club's inception, i.e., never to repeat an author. I'd forgotten we'd read Grann's equally masterful Killers of the Flower Moon a few years back. In the end it didn't matter because The Wager was universally well-received and inspired a rich discussion.

In August, the club hosted Jim Thomson, author of A Better Ending: A Brother's Twenty-Year Quest to Discover the Truth about His Sister's Death (2025). The event drew almost forty people and was followed by a reception at our home. This was a first for the club, helping to make our ninth year special. 

Coming up in the early fall of year ten: A celebration when we reach book #100; more in next year's report. In the meanwhile, I'd welcome hearing highlights from any club you're involved with, though I can't promise I won't steal some of your good ideas.          

Requesting Input for Improving the Republic

Beginning January 2014, I decided the start of a new year would be a good time to promote an idea that might then open a meaningful dialogue about a way to improve our republic. Given the response that greeted my idea that first year for a 28th amendment to the U.S. constitution establishing term limits for members of Congress, I've since been emboldened to use my platform in the blogosphere for additional ideas in the hope of continuing the dialogue. How can this hurt? Won't we all be enriched if we make a sincere effort to live up to those lofty ideals of ours?    

For this iteration of my series in civics, I'd like your input. Which of the previous suggestions made here do you believe would deliver the greatest benefit? 

* 2014:  Establishing mandatory term limits for members of Congress

* 2015:  Abolishing the Electoral College, i.e., using the popular vote to elect the President

* 2016:  Revising the wording of the 2nd amendment to reflect contemporary realities     

* 2017:  Setting an age limit for the President using evolving science re average onset age of dementia 

* 2018:  Converting one of the fifty states into a self-governing territory for white supremacists

* 2021:  Ending the term of any Supreme Court Justice caught sleeping during sworn testimony   

* 2024:  Requiring every individual on the national presidential ballot score 100% on a standardized test re the U.S. constitution

Only the 2021 suggestion is "new". That time I requested you first send your ideas before I revealed my own. The post that year was met with radio silence. I then kept my promise, petulantly holding onto my brilliant notion until this moment.  

 

What do you say? BTW, any of the seven earlier posts in full are available upon request. Yeah, right. 

Kryptonite and Spinach

Just to be sure we're all on the same page before beginning today's thought experiment: Kryptonite strips Superman of his power. Spinach helps Popeye surmount challenges. Ready?

Put aside the hyperbole. Avoid being overly literal. And remember: We all have at least one Superman-like superpower, something exceptional that has been in us from the start. If that premise strikes you as immodest, forgive me in advance, but stay engaged long enough to tell me about your kryptonite and your spinach. I'll go first, of course. Been at this blogging thing for almost fifteen years; I know the deal. 

The kryptonite that can strip me of my energy - my superpower - is apathy. I realize I'm giving away too much by feeling low when people don't respond enthusiastically to my energy. Knowing that and dealing with it well in the moment continues to be a battle for me.    

My spinach is the innate goodness I see in many people I meet. I'm not naive. Nor am I oblivious to cruelty, hate, and injustice. But I am able to surmount challenges easier knowing I'm bound to soon run across another kind and gracious person. 

Please join me.

Happy to Pay This Debt

"I felt dizzy again from aliveness. Flush with baffle and excitement, like the first person to touch snow." 

Martyr! is a novel that deserves a reader's full attention. Kaveh Akbar's 2024 powerhouse has narrative momentum, inventive architecture, and prose that sings. Twenty-seven-year-old Cyrus Shams is a memorably flawed, thoroughly modern protagonist, one you will root for at the same time you're laughing at his frequently comic missteps. My sole regret connected to this recent reading experience has nothing to do with either this exemplary book or author. 

Upon finishing a highly lauded, maddeningly discursive novel I'd started on the same day as Martyr!, it was clear that reading the two novels at the same time was a tactical error. My mistake was apparent from the moment my full attention turned to Akbar's tour-de-force. After reviewing the few notes I'd made to that point about Martyr!, I then re-read a few earlier key passages. Good decision. From that point, I was re-assured that I'd been in capable hands all along. Any previous doubts? Misplaced. I had quite simply bit off more than I could chew.   

Though I don't plan to abandon my longstanding practice of sometimes reading more than one book at a time, I am re-considering my approach, effective immediately. If a dense or discursive book is using an undue amount of my mental bandwidth, I now plan to devote my energy to that book alone. I owe that to storytelling prose stylists as talented as Kaveh Akbar.

"They sat there ... each quietly measuring the texture of the silence, the history between them."  

The Crab and the Prattler

 "Uh-huh", "no kidding?", "really?", etc. 

When did you most recently overhear an extended conversation wherein one of the two people involved repeatedly used some variation of those three polite responses? How long did it take before you began to wonder when the second person in this ostensible conversation was ever going to stop prattling?

Although sometimes perversely intrigued by the oblivious prattler in these situations, what fascinates me more is how creative the polite listeners can be. In my most recent experience, I lost count after about ten polite, non-committal responses. Aside from the three reliable chestnuts above, I also heard "wow", "you don't say", and - the one that really got my attention - "interesting". Crab that I am, I was most taken by that particular response probably because of how little I found mildly interesting in the jabberer's non-stop monologue. Churlish of me I know but there you have it.

In the thirty or so minutes I was privy to this interaction, the jabbering prattler didn't ask a single question of the listener. And that polite, creative, much-more-gracious-than-Pat person? Didn't seem to mind. This churlish crab will benefit a great deal more by remembering to emulate the grace of the listener vs. dwelling on the cluelessness of the prattler. Begin, again. 

Stop & Start, Continue: 2026

Today's post is the 13th iteration featuring the Stop-Start-Continue model as a new year begins. For an obvious reason, this one combines the stop and start components. If you decide to join me - as many of you have since 2012 - use any combination of the three components that works for you. The important piece is to make a commitment, public or otherwise, about something you plan to stop as this new year begins, and/or something else you plan to start, and/or something else that has worked for you that you plan to purposefully continue doing as 2026 unfolds. 

In 2026, I plan to stop focusing as much in my daily journal on the past and instead to start looking forward and writing about the future. This intention for the new year became clear to me in part because of an insightful conversation on New Year's Eve with good friends. One of them said that keeping a journal had never appealed to her because she saw little value - for herself - in reviewing the past. The other - who, like me, keeps a daily journal - indicated her journal was purposefully future focused. The more I thought about what both of them had said, the stronger my intention to stop and start became.

In 2026, I plan to continue ramping up the number of open jazz jam sessions I attend. Though I disappoint myself frequently in these situations, I know there's no better way to improve as a musician than by performing in front of a live audience. And, for anyone who has doubts about using a stop-start-continue model to hold yourself accountable, I encourage you to read last year's post from this same series, directly below. Note the continue pledge therein.

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Stop - Start - Continue: 2025 

Wish me luck and best of luck to anyone who joins me.   

Best of 2025

Please consider sharing with me and others some things you're grateful for that came your way in 2025. There's ample research citing the mental health benefit connected to a regular practice of acknowledging gratitude. Use the headings below or invent your own. I've used a few of these headings on and off since initiating the series in 2012; others were created for this year. 

Best book finished in 2025, also published in 2025:  Today marks the third time in under five weeks I've mentioned Lily King's 2025 novel Heart the Lover in a blog post. That alone indicates the impact it had on me. A brand-new book in a "Best of..." post has happened only once before - in 2024 - when Percival Everett's James pummeled me, albeit for different reasons altogether. 

Best moment of musical communion: During the maiden voyage of my music course entitled Women of Heart and Mind, I scanned the room of about thirty adults as we all listened to Karla Bonoff's Goodbye My Friend. Witnessing their reaction to that song was a gift I'm reasonably sure I'll never forget.

Best inspirational quote discovered for future blog use: "If love will not swing wide the gates, no other power will" - James Baldwin. 

Best tribe-related moment: I'm auditing a class on short stories led by a reading soulmate. In the same class are - a.) a new friend from my hiker's group; b.) another friend who belongs to my book club; c.) the moderator of a writer's group I joined early in 2025, fast becoming a friend; d.) a regular attendee of my music classes. This wasn't planned; I was as surprised to see the four of them as they were to see me.

Best news: No competition here. Early in December, my daughter and her partner landed a deal to write an animated film for Disney based on the irrepressible Junie B. Jones from the children's book series by Barbara Park. Stay tuned for future bragging. 

Happy new year!