Read less!
When it gets so you stop remembering what you read, it’s time to slow down
Check in
Haystack
Welcome to the needle in the haystack! I read somewhere that there are 1.8 million Substacks, and out of these 1.8 million you have found me. Becoming and I hope to meet your expectations. Which they will, if your expectations are to be charmed, enlightened or surprised, or even just diverted. Otherwise, as Peggy Lee so sapiently sings, “Deal me out, thank you kindly, pass me by.”
Dreaming on a cup
The inside of a coffee cup that once held a cortado now shows a strange striated landscape. Who lives there, do you suppose? And do they know about the strange, clear window that seems to be opening in the bowl of the spoon?
My morning coffee
Cream, cinnamon, sweetener (I’m keto, no sugar) My cup has no handle A simple white vessel. Maté some mornings, Powdery leaves in a cup. Add water from a Thermos, And sip through a straw. Tea in the morning? Not my cup of coffee. Keep it for later; call it An afternooncap.
Winter moods
Winter is a shamanic time, when the membrane between reality and dreamtime is thinner. A time of frosty earth and foggy air. Snow in some climes, gray days and rain for the rest of us. Time spent inside. Time spent regrouping. Time for ourselves. Time to take for ourselves. Time to make—new things and memories.
Time to shake up our shamanic bag and pour out—what? Scrabble tiles, puzzle pieces, coins, M&Ms? Books, gambling receipts, ski tickets, starfish?
Items of joy and junk, important stuff and dross. Things that move you. Things you want to get rid of but somehow can’t.
Perhaps your bag contains as well things you’ve been carrying around because they are just too much trouble to clear out: empty liquor bottles, empty condoms, burnt matches, burnt bridges.
Shake all this out, dear shaman. Winter calls you to action.
Separate the stuff you want to keep—the baby pictures, postcards from France, one surviving My Little Pony from your daughters’ vast collection. A recipe for cornbread, a four-leaf clover found pressed in an old dictionary, the ashtray your kid made in craft camp, even though you’ve never smoked. You know what’s important; your bones will tell you.
Clean up, clean out
January is early for spring cleaning but close enough to the beginning of the year for a new, fresh start.
So empty your bag, your backpack, your burden. Ponder your belongings, your baggage. Sort and repack. Lace up your boots and get back on the track.
Your load is lighter now.
Peanuts and tree toes
This week, I got stuck in the mud at Portland State University. I wanted to photograph the base of a massive elm that has what look like giant toes.
Here’s how I got stuck: I wheeled my power chair off the pavement and onto the grass in an attempt to get closer to the trunk. Not watching exactly where my wheels were going, I ran into a muddy depression and got stuck there. The chair wouldn’t move.
I called Campus Security, who promised they would send help to me after they sorted out a traffic accident.
In the meantime, I was able to snag help from a passerby, a nice middle-aged man named Richard, who told me he splits his time between downtown Portland and Carlsbad, Calif.
While in Portland, Richard takes a walk every day in the South Park Blocks, his pockets stuffed fuller than a squirrel‘s cheeks with unsalted peanuts in the shell. While he was standing with me, Richard tossed a peanut to a willing squirrel that caught it on the fly. He wondered aloud whether the squirrels had come to recognize him.
Maybe so. After Richard walked away, another squirrel came up to me and, standing on its hind legs, looked at me beseechingly with his big brown eyes. Sorry little guy, I told him, I’m not the one with the peanuts.
Inside the library
Following my rescue by Richard, I finally made it to my original destination, the PSU library, where I could plug in my wheelchair while getting in some concentrated writing time. Workers have been rebuilding the library’s elevators these past few months. They have installed new button panels with the PSU logo on the buttons.
Have you ever noticed how this logo incorporates the letters P, S and U in a visually pleasing design? It’s one of my favorite logos.
Read less
I had a very big epiphany this week: I am reading too much.
And here I’ve been thinking I was so behind in my reading. Piles of books await my perusal. Dozens of well-written Substack entries crowd my email inbox. The occasional print magazine languishes on the coffee table.
This pile of unread books is one of several that clutter my living space. Notice I’m not trying to impress you by showing the titles. I’m not going to read most of them, much as I would like to.
It is beyond my capability to get to even a portion of this reading. And this week’s big realization was: stop trying. Read less. Stop biting off huge chunks of literature while retaining too little of what I do read.
Where did I see that?
I’m sure you share this experience. So many times I find myself trying to clearly remember something I read just a day ago. What was it? Where did I see it?
This is happening to me too often. Time to slow down.
Also, I must take time to appreciate what I do read. Reread it if necessary.
I recently picked up Nightwalks: A Bedside Companion, a compendium of writings about insomnia collected by Joyce Carol Oates.
The first entry in Nightwalks is an essay titled “Nightwalks” by Charles Dickens, about how he would walk the streets of London from past midnight till dawn, working out his sleeplessness.
As I was reading this wonderful essay, I had two flashes of insight. Flashes, hah! They were regular lightning bolts. One was that, as is my habit, I was reading too fast, trying to finish the work so I could get on to something else. And two, I was not going to remember much of what I was reading.
I needed to slow down. Way down. Slow down and savor. Slow down and remember.
I promised myself I would read the piece again the next evening, and I did, taking care to enjoy Dickens’ experience and his wonderful words in expressing it.
So this was my lesson: read less, read slower, read better. Take time to absorb.
Absorb
Pull it in, suck it up, remember The point is not doing, it’s being. Being present even from afar; Being with the thought, the idea, the wonder. The universe arrays a banquet How can we deny such a feast? But sup as we might, we’re still hungry, Still grasping for ambrosia and tea. What I read, what I see, what I think of, All laid before me to savor What I read, what I see, what I ponder— Let me breathe and remember the flavor.
Now do it
If you are like me, it’s going to be tough to put “read less” into practice. The reason I want to read so much is that there is so much to read. So much of it excellent. Things I may already know, but stated in fresh and imaginative ways. Writing full of wonder and kindness, humor and insight.
This year, I’m not going to keep a list of what I have read. And I’m not going to read in any organized manner. I’m going to read what comes to hand, in whatever order the universe presents it.
But not all of it. Not most of it. Only a tiny part of it.
I am going to stop, and savor, slow down, reread.
Good writing, good thoughts, good ideas deserve a careful read. They deserve the repose, the release, the retelling.
Go forth and read, read, read. As much as you can. Just not too much.
Treasures slipped into books
Valerie Cotter in Fruits of the Forage writes about finding an antique bookmark in an old used book. I once found a 50-shekel note in a used book, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, by E.L. Kongingsburg.
I remember enjoying this children’s book, which won the Newbery Medal in 1968. I decided to read it again.
The Multnomah County Library has 41 copies of this 59-year-old book (it was published in 1967). Presently, 21 of them are checked out or on hold. One of those check-outs is to me.
I often read YA and children’s fiction. I like the characters and plots, less complex than grownup lit but still compelling.
What a splendid novel! The story is intriguing and original: two kids from Greenwich, Conn., run away from home and hole up in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they have some adventures, including falling in love with a marble angel that may have been sculpted by Michelangelo. More importantly, they grow and learn about themselves. And they finally meet Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, a rich old eccentric who wears a white lab coat with pearls. She’s the one who donated the angel to the Met.
The writing is so fine and fun! Here, the kids snuggle down in a canopied bed that’s part of an exhibit.
It had been an unusually busy day. A busy and unusual day. So she lay there in the great quiet of the museum next to the warm quiet of her brother, and allowed the soft stillness to settle around them: a comforter of quiet. The silence seeped from their hands to their soles and into their souls. They stretched out and relaxed. Instead of oxygen and stress, Claudia thought now of hushed and quiet words: glide, fur, banana, peace. Even the footsteps of the night watchman added only an accented quarter-note to the silence that had become a hum, a lullaby.
I had a thoroughly enjoyable read. Then, when I was all done and wiping the last crumbs of satisfaction from my lips, I looked at the back of the book. There were some other titles by Konigsburg, including The View from Saturday. Oh. The View from Saturday . . . Now I remember. That is the book I found the 50-shekel note in.
I’m not sure where that 50-shekel note is today. Nor do I know where are the old $20 bills I found stashed in a skein of vintage yarn a couple of years ago. I stuck the cash in some drawer, someplace. I forget where.
This money will turn up. Things always do. Like Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler’s files, my possessions are all mixed up.
Check out
Winter hopes
Every year, Ankeny Hardware on Southeast Stark Street puts up the same sign, hoping for winter business. But when was the last time you bought a snow shovel in Portland?
Finish line
Until next week
Another take is ended. To my friends who gather most, Thank you for your attendance. And don’t forget to like this post. You may even send me money, Hit Subscribe and see. Or send to PayPal here To buy me a cuppa tea. Comments always welcome, I always respond to all. Thank you for your loyalty. I love you, love you all.
Finnish line
Not being able to resist a dorky pun, I went in search of Finnish jokes. I couldn’t find much. Finnish humor is notoriously dry and doesn’t translate well. But here’s one email exchange:
“Yesterday marked 21 years since I arrived in Finland.”
“Did you celebrate with a beer and a sausage?”
“No. I’ve become Finnish. I told no one. I sat in the dark in silence and thought about herring.”
Ooh, herring. Soon I will write about herring.
Till then,
Keep on reading
But not too much.
Love, Fran
—30—
A great read and many thanks for the mention — may your 2026 be filled with finding wonders in books.
Such interesting “tree toes”! Very glad the passerby helped you get unstuck.