“Think not of the books you’ve bought as a ‘to be read’ pile. Instead, think of your bookcase as a wine cellar. You collect books to be read at the right time, the right place, and the right mood.”

– Luc van Donkersgoed

Years ago, one of my relatives indicated the piles of books in his house and told me “Booksellers love Jews, because Jews buy books. Why? Because we’re always the ones that have to remember.” It could also be that we’re historically not that great at sports and needed something to do on the playground.

When I was growing up, my family had at least two sets of Encyclopedia Britannica, a dictionary you could beat yourself to death with, and any number of books on health, diet, Judaism, food, child-rearing, and any other books my parents found useful or figured we might enjoy. This was in addition to the collections my sisters and I had of science fiction, fantasy, the occasional non-fiction book for school or special interests, comics, and the positively massive collection of classic science fiction and adventure novels my dad had from his youth that lived in his study.

To be sure, we didn’t go outside much or do a lot of sports. I tried repeatedly, but running around and getting sweaty with kids I didn’t like and who didn’t like me paled compared to sitting comfortably in my room and reading horror novels. “Too much TV” was the domestic goblin of the 90s and early aughts, so while a chunky Jewish kid with glasses and stammer wasn’t ideal, in my parents eyes it definitely beat the wiry jock kids in the community who were watching The Simpsons or Beavis and Butthead. It’s worth mentioning here, though, that while my parents didn’t have patience for that kind of humor, Monty Python and CDs of Bill Cosby routines were always allowed. That kind of humor was smart you see. If we’ve ever worked together and you’ve wondered why I laugh at the shit I do, you can blame that and the fact that they were my primary sources of comedy until the internet and meme culture took root.

The internet wasn’t quite the nightmare presence yet that it would become, though- so cable TV was Enemy #1, the answer was Books, and my wife and I learned well from our respective households.

Despite the technology addictions we both deal with, Em and I schlepped a good portion of our respective libraries out West with us and have only added to them in the ten years since. Most of the books we have in the living room are more “professional” material. Atop the bar in my corner is my small library of food writing so it can shame me whenever I crash in my rocking chair and putz around on my phone for hours. Directly behind me is a small bookshelf containing our combined cookbooks except for the two or three that live on the shelf directly above the kitchen counter where Em can reference them easily.

Dominating our living room, however, is a tall bookshelf that largely contains Emily’s sheet music collection, books of music history and pedagogy, and down toward the bottom are my old collections of poetry and creative writing. The bookshelf in our bedroom- depressingly dusty and rarely touched, all considered- is our books of fantasy, science fiction, comics, and any books that once meant so much to us and now, even if they get taken down rarely, we just can’t let them go.

Our “To Read” piles tend to live on our nightstands. Cheekily enough, I have a pen cup on mine that holds two pens, a highlighter, and normally all of my favorite bookmarks. It’s a little empty right now because- and this is something I think I picked up from my dad- they are all currently in use. I’m one of those guys that can not only stand to read several books at once, but have little problem putting it down if it’s not vibing with me just then.

As of writing, my bookmarks are in:

• A nonfiction book about the history of Israeli-American-Jewish relations (my current “active” read)
• A compendium of food writing by M.F.K. Fisher
• A fantasy novel I was recommended. I got bored after recognizing a likely trope coming, but not enough to give up on the book entirely
• A nonfiction history book about the Kellogg brothers
• A book on how to be a foodwriter (Physician, Heal Thyself…)
• The Zohar
• A book on the mythology associated with food
• A collection of David Foster Wallace writing.

This does not include eBooks. You are welcome for that.

Part of getting off of social media for me was about returning to this pile of procrastination and possibly even thinning out the collection. I feel better when I read, and I feel nearly nothing when I’m scrolling through YouTube and dodging the news. That means I’m numbing. We can’t numb selectively, and I don’t want to switch myself off to the good shit the world still has to offer.

Yesterday, I decided to make a point of setting myself up for literary enjoyment. I have a gliding rocking chair out there, and it was rainy and just starting to get cold. I came out with a small dram of bourbon and my pipe. I don’t smoke with any regularity, but the taste, smell, and feel of pipe tobacco are soothing. I never smoke before the whiskey is gone, though. Tobacco dulls the tastebuds, clouds the sense of smell, and so does a disservice to whatever food or liquor you are trying to enjoy.

My book of the moment was a short one off my metaphorical To Read list. Yeah, we’re getting meta. That’s the list of books I don’t yet own but WANT to read eventually. I was just told it was a good book for me “for obvious reasons-” Jacob the Baker by Noah ben Shea.

Yeah. That tracks. I had no idea how hard it would track though.

I spent part of the afternoon picking through various apps and services. Before I buy a book someone suggests to me, I generally like to borrow it or at least get a copy for cheap/free. That way if I don’t like it, there’s nothing lost but time and I can give it back clean. My local library, however, didn’t have the book in paper or digital. Amazon had it, of course, but I hardly wanted to support them when small businesses and local libraries could still bear fruit. Finally I settled on a scanned copy from the Internet Archive that I could borrow for as long as I kept the browser on my tablet open. A less-than-ideal reading experience, but it’d be alright. This was just to check it out- my copy of Saint-Exupery’s “The Little Prince” is a scanned PDF that I had to zoom in on while running on an elliptical.

I sat down in my rocking chair, looked at the last of the light that had made it through the rain clouds starting to dwindle, sipped a bit of the whiskey, and dug in.

Jacob the Baker is one of those books that is as much philosophy and fable as poetry- like Khalil Ghibran’s The Prophet or Paolo Coehlo’s The Alchemist. They are the kind of books that I seem to come across at exactly the right time for me to read them. The Earthsea Cycle was like that too- books where you start to read them and you can feel your brain’s wiring changing. You get a feeling of “This book came up to teach me something I need to know right now.”

The premise of the book is simple. Jacob is a baker who wakes before dawn to make the bread in his village bakery. While the oven warms and the bread proofs, he enjoys the quiet and solitude (BIG mood…) and writes down notes to himself about life, the world, and moving through both. One day, one of his notes winds up in a loaf and gets found by a customer. The customer is entranced by his wisdom, and the quiet, humble old baker resigns himself to becoming a local luminary. Besides his own observations and ideas, the book talks about how his interactions with the townspeople change but he remains himself. “How can I sell what was never mine?!” He laughingly asks a coworker who suggested he might charge people extra for his time.

A craftsperson living a life of quiet wisdom, clarity, and service to his community. I want that. I have always wanted that. Here on the porch, in my quiet way, I was having that and I barely realized it. Somehow this book came up in my mind to hold a mirror up to my life and ideas and say “See- not as far off as you think!”

I returned the book (closed the browser,) firm in the knowledge that I need to make room on ONE of our shelves for the book, and stared out into the darkening day. It felt like the light was still glowing somewhere though- just out of sight, but there and warm even if it wasn’t in my yard.

In a podcast, an Appalachian narrator referred to sitting on the porch quietly drinking as “talking to the Lord, with a little Holy Spirit to help,” and having finished the book I felt it. My whole little ritual of sitting on the porch with my whiskey and my (still untouched) pipe felt like a prayer for solace and guidance. It was the feeling I look for in synagogue every week.

A quiet space, a “holy” beverage (is there a blessing for whiskey?), a little reading from a “holy” text (Jacob would cringe to hear it described such). What more could you want from an experience like that?

I reached for my pipe, and just then my wife came out to the porch. I try not to smoke around my wife- not out of any particular sensitivities, but she’s not fond of the smell and smoke makes her cough. She was making dinner- steamed artichokes- and asked if I wanted sage or garlic and cheese in the butter dip for the leaves. Artichokes are a special little treat for us, so I thought for a moment and asked for the garlic. She nodded in an agreement, looked at my whiskey glass, closed tablet, and cold pipe. “That sounds good. We’ll be ready to eat soon.”

I smile and set the pipe down again. Em loves cooking, and loves it when we are able to eat together. That part of my little ritual can wait. It might be soothing and I might be deep in my spiritual feels at the moment, but it would be like praying and then ignoring it when the prayer is answered.

I’ll bring one of my “in progress” books up later if it’s not too cold. Artichokes aren’t to be missed, and they are definitely to be lingered over.

Stay Classy,