Making A List... Of Books!

Making A List.... Of Books!

While I’d like to think that the delectable Nigella

Lawson and I have more in common than an all too frequent tendency to lick cake batter off our fingers when we bake, I’m not certain that is true. I don’t know if she owns a dog, or if she knits. I certainly am ignorant of her politics. However, when I saw the photograph of her at her desk, above, I had to giggle. Yes, we do share something else. We are unabashed collectors of books. Books everywhere. Higgedly pigglety on the shelves, teetering stacks in the corners. Several years ago, in an effort to prevent ourselves from disappearing beneath our books, The Songwriter and I built a small library out of what used to be my dressing room. (I’d rather read than primp anyway.) Strangely enough, that library is rapidly filling up and those all too familiar swaying stacks, albeit small ones, have begun to crop up beside various overstuffed chairs in several rooms of the house. But I can’t worry about that now, because, just as Nigella seems to be doing, I’ve been busy compiling my Christmas book list for 2010! Without a doubt, books are my favourite presents to give.

So please enjoy this list and just click on the book's photograph to be whisked away to see more. And do add to the list when you comment!

Happy reading!

Happy Giving!

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For the Cooks and The Eaters

I sleepily sat down to breakfast the other morning and was presented with the fluffiest, tastiest cheese omelet imaginable. The Songwriter, grinning with pride, was the creator of this treat and I looked at him curiously. “Jamie Oliver! ", he said. “I was craving an omelet, so I found a video of Jamie showing me exactly how to do it!”

All hail Jamie!

We are fans of his here, and his newest book is a wonderful take on American food.

And anytime of the year, but especially at Christmas, I simply love to bake.

Bread, cakes, pies, candy... you name it.

This new book by baker extraordinaire Sarabeth Levine is chock full of delicious, creative recipes that any baker would adore.

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For The Curious

There is a fine line between curiousity and nosiness, so fine in fact that, sadly, some simply disregard its existence. I’m not really a nosy person, unless you count my barely controlled desire to know what other people are reading. In an airport, on a train, at the beach - if someone has their nose in a book, I can barely refrain from asking them about it. Fortunately for me, readers are quite like gardeners in their generous tendency to share information.

But here is a great treat for someone like me. This new book by writer Pat Conroy is a fascinating look at the most important books in his life.

He tells us what they were, and why they changed his life.

I cannot resist this one.

And then, for the genuinely curious, here is a treat par excellence.

The Encyclopedia of the Exquisite is just what its title claims to be.

A compendium of the whimsical, a collection of the luxurious, a syllabus of all the wonderful bibelots and trifles that make life so much fun.

Carousels and champagne, confetti and crickets... and those are just from the C’s!

Every guest room should have this book!

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Four For The Cozy Readers

For all that can rightfully be said to recommend beach reading, is there anything really better than winter reading?

Especially when the holiday rush is past and it’s just you, by yourself, curled up in front of a roaring fire, with a mug of mulled wine and a dog, or two, at your feet?

Here are four great suggestions for just that cozy kind of reading.

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Two For Those Who, Like Myself, Love to Walk Furry Dogs Under Tall Trees

Just incredible photography of man's, and woman's, very best friends.

It captures the soul of a tree right on its glossy pages.

Truly a remarkable book.

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For Those Who Love France, Both Then and Now

I remember the first time I read Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast.

So different in style and tone from his other writings, it is a love letter to youth, writing and Paris.

Guaranteed to make you want to grab a bouquet of well-sharpened pencils and a weathered notebook, slap a beret on your head and make haste to a cafe in Paris where you’ll sit, sipping espresso after espresso, until you finish your novel.

You crave macaroons from Laduree.

You watch Sabrina, the Audrey version, over and over just to see those shots of the Eiffel Tower outside her atelier window.

You read Maigret novels and, even when it’s badly sung, La Vie en Rose can make you cry.

You are a Francophile and proud of it.

This wonderful new book by Vicki Archer is for you, and probably for all your friends.

A follow-up to her lovely, My French Life, her new book bears the same name as her delightful blog - French Essence.

A essential gift, especially for yourself!

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Two For Me, and Maybe You Too

It’s probably always been much more fun to read about the fascinating Mitford sisters than to have been one.

Such drama, such wit, almost too much for one family.

This new autobiography by the youngest of the sisters, Deborah, the Duchess of Devonshire, promises to be a window on an incredible life.

And of course, anything about Scotland catches my attention, as there’s rarely a day that passes that I don’t long to be there at least once.

Highland Living centers around life at Cawdor Castle, yes that’s Macbeth’s family home to you and me, as it takes us inside the beauty of the Scottish Highlands.

Really, to me, the most beautiful place on the face of the Earth, and the land that owns my heart.

Sigh.

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For The Children

This beautiful book pays tribute to thirteen imaginative Americans whose ideals have greatly influenced this country for the good. It contains lush and gorgeous illustrations and, with all the profits from book sales being donated to a scholarship fund for the children of fallen and disabled US service personnel, Of Thee I Sing, is a no brainer.

Perfect for any child on your Christmas list.

And yes, I realize this has been out for ages, but that’s the great thing about kids - there are brand new ones coming along all the time that haven’t a clue of what’s gone before.

They’ve yet to see The Wizard of Oz, yet to visit Hogwarts or Narnia, yet to follow Alice down that rabbit hole in the garden.

And they don’t yet know about this sweet comforting snowman in the green scarf who can take take them flying in the air of a cold, cold night.

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For the Thinkers and the Dreamers

Some people are born with a gift of weaving ordinary words into intricate tapestries that keep us warm when the nights are cold.

Dylan Thomas was such a weaver and I never tire of his beautiful words.

I read this each Christmas season and am once again transported to a seaside town in Wales, many years ago, at Christmastime.

Always and eternally a perfect gift.

And finally, a jewel of a book for anyone on your list.

Wise and wonderful, written by a man who possessed these qualities in abundance.

Here’s a few words from John O’Donohue’s Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom.

They seem to describe quite perfectly what I always wish to accomplish through this little blog of mine.

"If you send out goodness from yourself,

or if you share that which is happy or good within you,

it will all come back to you multiplied ten thousand times.

In the kingdom of love there is no competition; there is no possessiveness or control.

The more love you give away, the more love you will have."

Happy Book Shopping!

Skipping The Front Page

Skipping The Front Page

I just need a week or so. Perhaps even a few days will do. Just a clutch of sweet hours without any front page news. Time to clear my cluttered head. Time to delight in the simple folderol and frippery of the holidays. Just some time to sit in front of the fire and follow the shadows of the Christmas tree lights as they dance along the ceiling. A moment to lavishly wrap a present, an afternoon to forage for woodland greenery on a cold walk with Edward underneath the tall trees. Just an hour or so to think about chocolate, to read about Scrooge, or to hum a noel.

An old friend wrote me an email the other night. He was apoplectic over the financial disaster in Ireland. I could tell this from his words as well as from the late hour in which the letter was sent. He was wide awake and fretting. I understand that feeling well. This summer’s tragedy in the Gulf of Mexico gave me more than a few nights like that, and frankly, it still does. There is so much today that is worthy of worry, from Polar Bears to currency, one would have to live underground not to notice.

I try to do what I can, to be responsible for my little corner of the Earth in every way possible but sometimes, just sometimes, I have to unplug from the news of the world. And I do. I take time out for myself, for just a few days, to only watch the oldest movies on television, preferably ones shot in black and white.

To only read words that nourish my soul and embroider my imagination.

To only listen to Christmas music.

To skip past the front page of the Times in the morning and head straight to the Arts section with a smile on my face.

I am feeling this way at the moment.

Mind you, I won’t stay in this blissfully vacant spot for too long, but sometimes I find it essential for beating back those incapacitating feelings of despair. Otherwise I begin to feel as if I have to hold up the sky and, knowing my limitations, I crumble.

There is more than enough reason to hope, I know, and when I emerge from my contented exile I seem to see that much more clearly. Why, just last week, The Songwriter and I entertained a young artist at our dinner table. A beautiful girl, with an enchanting voice, she is poised for a stellar career. I was heartened beyond measure to hear her speak of wanting to use her life to help bring about change in a positive way. She spoke of so many problems worthy of her attention, so much need in the world. We talked of the importance of focusing on one or two issues that speak to her heart, lest the magnitude of concern overwhelm her. She had recently performed at a large benefit to help those who work to stop the dreadful problem of human trafficking, and she thought perhaps that was an issue on which she would devote her considerable energy. So young, such talent, such passion. Reason for us all to hope and be glad.

Then, on the far other end of the spectrum of years, I was leaving the neighbourhood yesterday and passed by the house of an elderly friend. She’s rather circumspect about her age, but she has to be well over ninety, so I was astonished to see that she had a crew of men in her front garden, planting an oak tree sapling.

I couldn’t find words to wrap up my feelings about this.

Think about that.

At her age.

A baby oak tree.

God Rest Us All Merry,

Let Nothing We Dismay.

I just might read the front page tomorrow.

For Those Who Can't Sleep

For Those Who Can’t Sleep

He enters the world through the forest at midnight.

The fir trees hold their emerald dresses aside to let him pass while the snowy owl watches from a hiding place atop the slowly swaying branches.

A silent wind ruffles his fur.

He leaves behind paw prints of diamonds and silver and the white light of his passing passes over the face of the fox and the hare like a blessing.

He nods his fair head and, far beyond view, the stars start to tumble, changing their colours to red, green and gold as they land on the spruce trees and light up the dark.

Somewhere snowflakes dance.

Somewhere hope awakens.

He is the most magical of all the sweet twelve, the one who brings joy and lightness of heart.

He paints the holly berries crimson. He hangs a wreath upon the wooden door.

His icy breath is scented with chestnuts and pine and he’s hungry for gingerbread, cocoa and fudge.

His is the laughter we hear in the sleigh bells, his is the song that we sing in the choir.

He stands guard over our memories, and makes our dreams manifest no matter our age.

The spirit of Christmas forever journeys alongside him, this great champion of fellowship, peace and goodwill.

There might still be time to be there to greet him,

for those who can’t sleep or who wish hard enough.

So, grab your red coat and your warmest green mittens

and I’ll meet you in the most ancient forest as the clock strikes twelve.

He is December.

He arrives tonight.

Painting above by Theodor Severin Kettelsen