Celebrating the Season

The holiday season can be as busy or hectic as you’d like, but many of us find ourselves rushing around, cooking, shopping, and decorating the house. This year, after a full and productive November, I have decided to scale things back for the rest of December so I can focus on what matters most – family, friends, and great health.

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I had a lot for which I could be grateful. My writing is going well, and I have settled into a daily ritual which begins with me playing You Gotta Be by Des’ree softly in the background. 

Remember, listen as your day unfolds
Challenge what the future holds
Try and keep your head up to the sky
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser
You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together
All I know, all I know, love will save the day

The writing time ends with looking at my word count for the day to see if I have kept the pace I set several months ago. Most days I make my goal, but sometimes I am under the count or have gotten so engrossed that I far exceed what I thought I could do for the day.

Speaking of writing, Phyllis Stone, a friend and roommate from my college days at Notre Dame, just published her first children’s picture book. The book is Oh My, Oh My, Look Up at the Sky and it is about the wonder of the sky, seen through the eyes of children. It would make a great gift for a little one. I also attended a reunion weekend for my dorm at Notre Dame and came away so impressed by the students who live there now. Their sense of community and engagement with the world gives me hope for the future, as being around younger people often does. 

I went to see the movie Wicked: For Good and thoroughly enjoyed it. Some viewers have commented that it differs from the book and the musical, but that is not uncommon when books are made into performances. And like nearly everyone else in the theater, the song that Cynthia Erivo (Elphaba) and Ariana Grande (Glinda) sing together, called For Good, left me teary-eyed and grateful for anyone who has ever been a true friend or loved me despite my quirks. I have found that real friendship has changed me in ways I could never have imagined. Love can save the day.

At a later date, I will write about Avondale, the community in Cincinnati where I lived as a child. For over a year I worked on a history project funded by the University of Cincinnati that taught me more than I ever knew about this neighborhood. At the end of November, I facilitated a panel discussion between a church community that has been in Avondale since the late 1800s and a group of Avondale leaders and residents. It was fascinating to hear the different experiences of those on the panel; it gave me an opportunity to reflect on what growing up there has meant to me.

Thanksgiving Day was calm, with family and my first attempt at making cranberry sauce. I posted a photo on my Instagram account (@writepausereflect), joking that I would still have the canned sauce available for those who like ridges in their cranberry sauce. We had a nice meal, plenty of leftovers for the next day, and time to talk and share what is going on in our lives.

December might be quieter, and I am looking forward to some travel, more family and friend time, and reading. As the month moves along, I expect more days inside, candles lit, and jazz in the background. I am preparing to winter and looking forward to it.

In peace,

Ramona

Finding Joie in Provence

If Provence was a color, it would be a lush shade of green. On my trip, I saw green everywhere—the green of the olives and the leaves in olive trees, fern green, celadon, the basil that I picked in a garden, sage, mint green, the various shades of green in the fields—green was the color that beckoned me in France. It was on the hillsides of Gordes and Roussillon, in the clothing, in the lovely linen napkins that were a gift from a new friend. I love nature, particularly trees, and I felt like I was immersed in green while I was there.

I recently returned from a couple weeks in Provence and it was an incredible trip. For the first part of my journey, I was with a small group of women, all open to learning more about how to find more joie (joy) in life. Through strolls around villages, shopping in open air markets for antiques, food, art, and other goods, shared meals at the table, and moments of quiet awe and joy, we had the opportunity to learn more about the region, meet people, and consider what joy meant for us. 

From the welcome toast and apero at our villa, to the goodbye dinner on our last night together, the retreat was the right balance of time immersed in various day trips and time spent alone to reflect on what I was experiencing. I learned about the delight of apero, which is a light meal in the late afternoon or before dinner where you take a pause, enjoy a beverage and fare such as olives, nuts, crackers, vegetables, maybe cured meats. The menu is simple; it is really about community and sharing. 

I went to Provence with an open mind; I wanted to be surprised and not locked into any particular outcome. I had been to Nice and knew I loved the region, but I prayed before leaving that I would be open to receive whatever was there for me. We were encouraged to reflect on what we experienced that was meaningful for us while we were there, and also to consider what we might want to take back with us, such as a new practice, an old one reimagined, or a different mindset. 

Each day held a surprise; we spent one morning at Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, which has the largest antiques market outside of Paris. I saw everything including furniture, copper pots, vintage linens, silverware, plates, clothing, along with fresh vegetables that were displayed like an art installation. Another day, we visited Loumarin where we had a unique cooking experience. The couple who were our hosts graciously provided a menu, detailed recipes, and taught us how to prepare the meal. The table setting alone was exquisite. I loved preparing the meal, but my time in their garden, picking the basil that would be used in our lunch, was meditation for me. I could feel my body shed any stress or concerns that I brought with me; one person said that I was “in the zone.” That kind of peaceful, quiet attention to a simple task is one thing I want to have more of in my life. It gave me not only peace, but joie.

I want to thank Ajiri Aki for her meticulous planning so that we could have such an amazing time. Her vision of what it means to have to a good life is transformative and allows space for people to discern what a good life, one filled with joie, looks like for them. She has written a wonderful book called JOIE: A Parisian’s Guide to Celebrating the Good Life, which is how I first learned more about her. She is on Instagram and Substack and I enjoy her pieces because of her creativity and willingness to share insights on how to enjoy a good life.

For the second part of the trip my husband met me in Aix-en-Provence where we enjoyed strolling Cours Mirabeau, an avenue that was created in the 1650s as a route for carriages. We visited the numerous shops on the side streets, always saying a pleasant “Bonjour” upon entering. This year Aix is celebrating Cezanne 2025 in honor of Paul Cezanne, the French artist, and we were able to visit Bastide du Jas de Bouffan, his family home and garden, for a guided tour that included an explanation of the history of the home and its role in Cezanne’s life. There were more delicious meals in cafes, shopping for gifts to take back home, and winding down in the evening, a glass of rosé for him and something sparkling but no-alcohol for me. And of course, there was chocolate!

These pictures are but a glimpse of the beauty of Provence, but here are some others:

I have always been drawn to France for reasons I no longer try to unravel. I often joke that it is because my people are from Paris, but that’s Paris in Kentucky, so that cannot be the real reason. I think it’s because my experiences there have always been so enlightening and inspiring. I have found the people to be nice and appreciative of my efforts to use their language as best I can. I like the pace of Provence; it’s somewhat slower than Paris. People are clearly engaged with each other, but the volume of conversation and life in general is set at a much lower range than here at home; I like that too. The architecture and the landscape are truly beautiful.

I love a set table, using cloth napkins, and nice plates, etc., but after this trip, I want to slow down when it comes to preparing and enjoying my meals. I hope to take more walks, because I walked every day there. Admittedly the weather was gorgeous, but walking seemed to be the most efficient way to get around in the smaller villages, and I savored the walks on narrow streets without cars racing by at 50 miles an hour. The owners in the market stands were patient enough to talk about what they sold, where it came from, and how things were made. I am certain this can happen here at home, maybe it is more about me slowing down enough to inquire. 

When will I return? I don’t have a date yet, but I know that I will go again. The next time I hope to travel with more of my family; they were as entranced by the photos and descriptions as I was by the experience, so they want to come along. I am grateful for this period in life, what I am calling my calm season, because I have the time and resources to travel in a way that I couldn’t for a while. Beauty and joy can be found in the simplest rituals and places, and it need not be expensive. 

With Joy!

Ramona

Summer Is Still Here

As it has been for years, August was kind of my hiatus season. I slow down and except for a trip to Virginia to spend time with family and friends, I did not add much to my schedule. It is a time for planning, almost like going back to school, and I like to start September with a vision and a plan for what is ahead.

Lately, I have been intentional about taking daily walks. It is more about movement, less about “exercise”, and during these walks I sort out my writing and take in the world around me. I want to be better at observing, listening. I have seen so much on my walks, simply by paying more attention. Earlier in the summer I saw two fawns in a yard, one was resting in a shady corner, and the other jumped up, maybe at the sound of my steps, and watched me.  

I imagined their mother told them to rest quietly, that she’d be back after running an errand. Of course, there is always that one child who is either more skittish or needs to see what is happening. 

That was a joyous moment, and I took delight in seeing them. Weeks later I saw that one fawn had been struck by a car on a winding corner where I always look both ways before crossing, because some drivers think that the wide streets in my neighborhood are an invitation to race. I was sad to see the fawn there, and I wondered about its sibling. Then I wondered why we rush so much these days, not slowing down, speeding past each other, only to have to stop at the same red light.

When I took my walk on Monday, I noticed trees have lost a few leaves, or that the colors are beginning to change, and it reminded me summer is waning, and autumn is approaching. I took pictures, standing underneath some trees; other photos were taken at a distance. This summer has been a progression of colors – fuchsia peonies; red, orange, yellow and pale green zinnias; the orange of butterfly weed; the pink stripes of petunias; the red of roses; and the variegated greens of the ornamental grasses that will soon enough turn golden and burgundy. I want to take it all in, savor it, prolong the delight because I know what comes on the other side of this season. 

Where has all this walking and planning taken me? I realize I am in my calm season, my euphemism for what is something like retirement, but still very fulfilling. It has only been in the last few months that I have felt myself settle into a rhythm after years of work and other responsibilities. At first, I would intentionally busy myself if I sat still for too long, but I do less of that these days. I am learning to be comfortable with less doing, quieting that feeling of I could be more productive. I have my writing, travel, a few gatherings, and of course, my yard work. But mainly I commit to fewer things, seek to do those well, and leave room for serendipity and ease. 

Like a new school year, September feels like a fresh start, and I want to enjoy it while I have the energy of summer to boost me into autumn. I do not want to ignore these outside days, because when the inside days come, I will miss the option of heading outside without first bundling up. I am learning what life is like in my calm season.

Quiet Time

I am just back from a week in New Hampshire with family and now I enter the quieter portion of the summer. The weather was great, sunny days with the kind of humidity that seems mild since I grew up in Cincinnati. We baked make-your-own pizzas in the backyard, visited Klemm’s Bakery for pastries, Hayward’s Homemade Ice Cream twice, and drove up to Cape Elizabeth, Maine for seafood and a stop at a nearby lighthouse. Being together was the best part, and I shared photos with those who could not join us. The only hiccups were flight delays, supposedly caused by “fog” in Boston. When I checked with my family in the area and spoke with a woman waiting for her daughter, everyone said there was no fog on a sunny midafternoon that they could see, but I knew the plane would leave when they said it could, so I read while waiting. I’m currently reading “How Beautiful We Were” by Imbolo Mbue, a novel about how a village in Africa is affected by the American oil company that started production and left the people and their land ravaged by illness and neglect. They resist for years, fighting to restore their homeland. I have not finished it, but there are passages so beautifully written that at times I need to put the novel down and just absorb the language and message.

I meant to write about letter writing, which many of us don’t do as much because it has been replaced with the quick text or social media update. I love writing notes and often will send a card with a letter or an article to folks, just to let them know that I am thinking of them. I don’t always get a letter back, but that is not the point for me—I love the slowing down that letter writing requires.

Last week, I did get some sad news—a friend and mentor, Ellen Doyle, OSU, passed away after living with an illness that she had been dealing with for over two years. Ellen often updated her friends, letting us know of her travels, treatments options, and speaking candidly about the gravity of her illness. I was surprised when I got word of her passing, but she had been letting us walk with her all along, preparing us for what she knew could happen.

Ellen wrote a wonderful memoir, “Dear Uncle Stanley”, which shares letters her uncle wrote during her young adulthood; she also wrote to him over those years. She was discerning and coming to understand her call to spiritual life as a sister in a religious community, and he was an older priest, speaking honestly with her about life and its challenges. I appreciated her love of letter writing and how letters are not just welcome in the moment, they also serve as a record of a moment in time. Mbue’s novel also uses letters between those in the village and a friend in the States to move the story along. There are many epistolary novels and memoirs, and I love how a letter can give an intimate portrayal of a person’s mind and heart. Ellen lived a rich and full life, and I know her spirit is at rest. That doesn’t mean I won’t miss her, but I am grateful to have known her for over 50 years.

In this quieter season, I will make a point to send a card or a letter to more people. It is more permanent than a text, even if the recipient does not hold on to it for decades like Ellen did. It is a way of checking in, letting those we care about know we are thinking of them.

This morning in my Pilates session, my trainer asked me if I was retired. I said, “No, not really; I’ll always have a project here and there.” Last week I said yes to an offer to facilitate a panel discussion, and I am in the planning stages for a few other projects that I will share as they are more fully developed. I appreciate this quieter season. I can be still long enough to let the ideas settle, like a butterfly on the coneflowers outside my window. If you are able, carve out some quiet time for yourself, whether it is a few hours or a few weeks. If we get still enough, if we are comfortable with the quiet, we can hear. And if you can hear, you can dream.

Cape Elizabeth, Maine

O-o-h Child

This is not the time to put a spin on it, today feels a bit heavy because of the rising strife in this country. There is no need for me to count all the ways we are not getting along, you probably have your own list.

While I was driving in the car earlier this afternoon, a song came on and I immediately was taken back to my early teens, summer camp, and a sense that the world could and would be a better place; it would just take some time. One of the songs on the radio that summer was O-o-h Child by the Five Stairsteps, and if you are of a certain age, especially if you are Black, you remember the words:

O-o-h Child, things are gonna get easier, O-o-h child things’ll get brighter. 

Hearing this song reminded me that no matter what is going on — assaults on peaceful protests, a seeming lack of compassion for those who have the least but are expected to give up the most, growing tension in communities that used to be able to coexist — things can seem dire but we don’t give up hope. We remain or get engaged, living out our faith and activism in ways that are consistent with our beliefs and access to resources.

I’ll be at a conference this week, joining writers from across the globe. Peeking at the panel topics, I sense that activism and how to use one’s voice as a writer will be a huge part of our discussions as we gather. In the meantime, here is that song that I learned so many decades ago.

Video of O-o-h Child, sung by The Five Stairsteps. (Press “skip ads” if one pops up, it was not present when I listened to the song.)

May it give you a bit of hope in the middle of the storm.

Ramona

What I learned at Biscuits and Banjos

Spring is here and I am finally getting out more, traveling. In April, I went down to Durham for the first Biscuits and Banjos Festival, hosted by Rhiannon Giddens. When I heard about it last year I was all in—I have been a fan of Giddens since I saw her years ago with the Carolina Chocolate Drops. Rhiannon Giddens is a GRAMMY Award-winning singer, plays numerous instruments, including the banjo and fiddle, has earned the MacArthur “Genius” grant and a Pulitzer Prize. I was also eager to get back to Durham since I have only been back for business a few times since living there while I earned my MBA at Duke, which was decades ago.

Biscuits and Banjos was about more than food and music, although we did eat our fair share of biscuits while we were there. This was a celebration and education on the influence and importance of Black culture on the culinary and music traditions in this country, which include the banjo, blues, country, jazz, and gospel. There were panel discussions, performances, and a chance to talk with some distinguished and interesting speakers. The festival brought together performers from as near as North Carolina and as far as the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

I appreciate how much I learn from other creatives and usually come away from these live performances with a new respect for what it takes to pursue art of any kind. Christian McBride, a bassist, performed with the student jazz ensemble from North Carolina Central University. The students were a bit nervous at first, but I will not forget the light in their eyes when they settled in and played alongside an accomplished musician; it was something to see. When I witnessed the power and energy of the Legendary Ingramettes, a gospel group that has been at it for over 60 years, I took heart in knowing that it is never too late, I just need to do the work that is before me.

I am aware that many are watching their expenses in ways they may not be accustomed to, given the political and economic climate we are in. But I would rather give up spending in other areas, and now that I have the time, I want to immerse myself in live musical performances as much as possible. There are also numerous free concerts, especially in the summer. I seldom come away wishing I had not spent the time and money, and often leave inspired not just to create, but to act, get involved, share my voice. This is part of the power of the arts—it can rally us to get busy in ways speeches and social media cannot. 

Rhiannon Giddens and the Legendary Ingramettes

Giddens, the Carolina Chocolate Drops, and the entire host of musicians take the stage at the Durham Performing Arts Center.

The Joy of Writing and Reading for an Audience

Reading stage for HOME, 2025 issue of SJCPL WRITES,
March 29, 2025

Once people find out that I am a writer, the next question is usually “What do you write about?” The truth is, as an essayist, I write about almost anything that intrigues me or makes me want to delve into my thoughts about an experience, person, belief, or issue. With all that is happening in our world, there is never a loss for topics, even if I sometimes I find myself grappling for the right words.

I recently had the pleasure of doing a reading for an essay of mine that was published in the 2025 issue of SJCPL WRITES, a literary journal published by the library. My essay, Morning at Home, is about how a morning ritual with my mother began in my childhood and changed as we both got older. I was joined by a community of several other writers who shared their own stories and poetry. Being part of a literary community is important.

Publication is never a guarantee, just ask most writers, but it is an honor when your work is recognized and appreciated. However, I truly enjoy the chance to do public readings because they allow for an almost immediate connection with the reader or an audience. And the fact that readers take the time to show up, well, I am grateful for that too. For the last few months I have been immersed in a much longer piece than the essays I usually write. I do not know exactly where this writing journey will take me next but I would not trade the time I have to focus on my writing for anything. Thanks for your support as a reader.

2024 Book Favorites

Every year I set reading goals but it is not about how many books I read just so I can hit a certain number. My reading tends towards nonfiction, including memoir. I read dozens of books in a year, but these are a few books that stood out for me in 2024.

Nonfiction

The Mango Tree by Annabelle Tometich

Tometich’s memoir opens with her Filipina mother being arrested for shooting at a man who was stealing the mangoes from her beloved tree. This incident provides the starting point for the author’s examination of her own identity, her mother’s life, and what it means to be from two worlds and cultures. I met Tometich just before her debut novel was published, when she attended my panel at AWP, an annual writing conference that brings together thousands of writers, teachers, publishers, etc. She uses her humor and introspection to tell a moving story of growing up with loss and its effects on a family.

Praisesong for Kitchen Ghosts by Crystal Wilkinson

Every Christmas since I was child, my family has had my mother’s special black walnut cookies. She would make them Christmas Eve, we could have a few after midnight mass and before settling in to wait for Christmas morning to arrive. You might have a holiday memory like that too, a special dish that sends you right back to family. In Praisesong for Kitchen Ghosts by Crystal Wilkinson, the author melds stories of her family over five generations with her memories of time spent in kitchens, her grandmother’s and her own. She pieces together parts of her family history and their life in the hills of Kentucky, where they have lived since the 1800s. From the biscuits she has mastered after watching her grandmother, to the recipes using fresh vegetables and home-raised meats, she describes how food was a language in her family. I loved this book for the stories and the recipes, which she shares with detail.

Fiction

The Love Songs of W.E.B. Dubois by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers

This book, which is several hundred pages long, is a masterpiece. It chronicles the story of a Black family from the early period in U.S. history when Africans were forcibly removed from home and brought to the United States and Native Americans had their lands stolen, to current times. Although there are sections that are painful to read because of enslavement and family trauma, I came away with a sense of how the pain of enslavement has had generational impact on this entire country and increased respect and compassion for the resilience of people who had to endure it and still survived. In December 2023, I read Let Us Descend by Jesmyn Ward and I highly recommend reading them both. In some ways they seem like companion stories.

The Rich People Have Gone Away by Regina Porter

I am starting to see more novels that are set during the COVID pandemic. This book starts with a mystery because a woman goes missing, but the real story is in the lives and reactions of the people in her circle, including her husband, a friend, and their families. COVID is always there in the background, because of the isolation and fear it caused for so many, particularly those who were affected early on such as those living in New York. Just when you think you have an answer to this puzzle, Porter spills another secret and you cannot stop reading.

My goal has been set for this year – a blend of fiction and nonfiction, authors from various backgrounds, and some books where I study the author’s craft in telling the story. Here’s to more good books in 2025!

Resting in Winter

This morning is a cold one and usually I might complain. But this year I am reminding myself, again, that the coming winter and its colder temperatures with less daylight serve a vital purpose for nature and for me. One purpose is the same, it is a time to rest and rebuild.

Every year about this time a group of black birds settle in South Bend for a week or so, although some days it seems longer because of all of their cawing and screeching. I remember the first time that I noticed the ravens. I was sitting on the couch in my living room, talking to a friend on the phone. A landline, albeit cordless. I looked outside and saw dozens of birds settled in the intersection outside my window, in the street, and pecking at the ground. It was a bit terrifying because there were so many of them, and it reminded me of the scenes from the Hitchcock movie The Birds, where they descended on a town and started attacking people. However, maybe this area is just part of their migration path because they don’t stay long. For them, passing through town, likely led by the winding St. Joe River, is innate and part of an annual ritual.

For years I would bemoan the approach of winter, fretting over the cold and lack of sunshine, and I almost felt forced to stay inside. Two things helped me to change my mindset. The first was my growing love for gardening. Once I saw the winter as a respite for nature and an opportunity for the world above ground to be silent while my perennials preserved energy, I accepted that winter’s cold was part of the process and I could relish what was quietly happening underneath the frozen soil. I would look at the bare trees and think, “just resting, they will be back.”

Another purpose of this season was revealed at a winter retreat I went on in early 2018. I was going through a hard time, kind of low, and the gloomy days did not help. What I did was counterintuitive – instead of heading to a tropical beach, I went to the Berkshires for a week of winter hikes, workshops, and rest. I learned how to identify the tracks of animals moving about in the snow and realized that I did not have to shut myself in because it was cold, I just need to dress for it.

Our home is nearly decorated for Christmas, with lots of reds and greens, Nativity scenes, trees of varying sizes, Grinch decorations, and lights, so many lights and candles. This year has been such a busy one and it is time for me to slow down and enjoy this season. There will be some holiday gatherings, but I am also leaving time to write, sew (now that I finally got a new machine) and learn how to sit still without cooking up the next project. One of my brothers once teased that me and another brother are “always looking for something to do.” That quality has served me well but in this season, I am going to hush the small voice that tells me I could get one more thing done, that the goal is constant productivity and doing. It is not always easy, but I am learning. 

In a few weeks I will share some of my favorite reads of this year, but here is one that might help others who struggle with winter. The book is How to Winter by Kari Leibowitz. In the meantime, I hope you can enjoy some of the stillness that comes with this time of year.

Peace,

Ramona

Having Space Finding Freedom

I don’t believe in writer’s block but I do understand what it feels like to be stuck, looking for the right words when maybe any words will do. I shared over a year ago that I have been working on longer pieces that don’t lend themselves as readily to this newsletter, which was part of the reason I had not been sending as much out or with the same frequency that I used to. 

However, there is more to it than that. I started this year off with the concept of wanting more space in my life. After many years of working hard, six and sometimes seven days a week, I wanted to schedule less, reflect and rest more. But that did not happen, or at least I could not stick with that plan. In June, I wrote about learning to be present with my father as he was beginning the process of transitioning. Two days after my post, he passed on. I was with him that morning and when I got the call a few hours later, I rushed back, quickly going into the responsible mode that is familiar and second nature for me. In the hours, days, and weeks that followed, we all had a lot to take care of, and I cannot completely remember who I spoke to and when. His homegoing was a celebration of his life and I am blessed to have had such a wonderful father. I take comfort that he is at rest, and that he can be reunited with my mother—he missed her so much over these last seven years.

Where does this leave me? In some ways with more space than I have had in a long time. Some of that space is free time, and some is the hole that is there from missing my father and mother. I have wonderful memories, stories, and great family and friends, which helps a lot. And I don’t have many regrets about how I have used my time. 

These days I am trying to develop a new rhythm and routines, and resume old ones that were cast aside because of work, caregiving, fatigue, and other commitments. A last-minute train ride to Chicago with my husband. Pilates classes with different instructors. Coffees with friends who haven’t seen me as much over the last few years. Homemade soups. Reading – on my own or when I can, with an online community that talks about what is going on in our lives as much as it discusses the actual books. And rest, even though sometimes the sleep doesn’t come as quickly as I’d like. I relish my rest. 

Which brings me to my writing. Writing has always been a comfort to me, and usually comes easily. I think I worry too much about getting it right when what is most important is that I get the words down. The bigger project is going to take time, will require revision, and I will get it done, in time. But what I like about this format is its immediacy—if I have things I want to share (and write them down before I forget and get caught up in another task), getting my thoughts out in the world is not hard. I want to thank those of you who have stuck with me and I especially appreciate those who prod me when it has been too long since they have heard from me and ask about my writing. I am learning how to navigate a life that still requires structure and routine, and enjoy the space I have to create a life that works for who I am now.