Is it possible to read “too many” books at once?

Before I went everywhere with a loaded digital book device, I would always choose the wrong book. I would go to the airport with one book and before my flight left, I would know it was the wrong book, and I would buy something different. I once did this and then foolishly lent my new purchase to a fellow traveler with nothing to read at all. I then spent the rest of the flight—a decently long one—struggling and failing to read the book I originally selected for the trip.

I read a lot, but I do other very time consuming things too, like cook, draw, teach, and amuse my kids. The question of whether it’s possible to be reading “too many” books at once is not a question about spending more or less time reading.

Some people, including readers more avid than I, read one or two books at a time. Intellectually, I have always known this to be true. I have not always been fully aware of this on an emotional level.

“I’m going to try not to read so many books at a time,” a colleague confessed, as we chatted about changes we might make after a workshop on mindfulness and academic life. I was intrigued by this resolution, as it was frankly not one that had occurred to me over the course of the workshop.

“How many do you normally read at once?” I asked innocently.

I am not sure what number she admitted to—maybe three or four. Maybe five or seven. She wanted to pare that down!?!

I read so, so many more books at a time.

Part of the difference is semantic: if I start a book a few times before committing or rejecting it, it’s on my list. If I’m re-reading two or three or four books, maybe just late at night or before my morning coffee, maybe just on the weekend, that counts. If I’m re-reading part of a text that I’m studying or reading a batch of books for an upcoming course, that counts too. To say that I’m reading these books, even if someone else wouldn’t “count” them, is not the result of a desire to inflate my “current reading” count.

This isn’t a matter of virtue or commitment.

If not that, then what? To be currently reading a book is to hold that book in mind, the shape of it, my sense of it, my expectations of it, my perhaps faulty memories of past reading experiences, my anticipation of a range of interpretations or receptions the book might have gotten or might get… or these overlapping ideas and feelings hover in reserve at the edge of my mind. If this all sounds awful, my colleague’s goal of reducing the list of books in the current reading stack is an excellent resolution.

But for me, being limited to a few books would prevent me from reading. My book would always be the wrong book for the moment. When I’m reading many books, I don’t have this problem. One of them is ready for me, or I am ready for one of them. Or I just start another book.

Genoise cake and the pursuit of perfection

I started making Genoise cakes when I was in high school. I had one recipe in one book. I didn’t have a baker’s scale or an instant read thermometer. Such tools are now commonly found in the kitchens of amateur bakers. At the time, we didn’t know what we were missing.

Instead of precision, I had practice. My intuition developed with each attempt at scooping and filling a measuring cup, with each double boiler of eggs and sugar. I stirred with my hand so that I didn’t overcook the mixture. My fingers learned when to turn off the burner. I can still feel the dissolving sugar and slightly thickening eggs, the heat of the bottom of the pan, even though now I use a thermometer and therefor use a whisk.

When you’re making a Genoise, one of the most efficient and spectacular ways to make a disaster is to let this mixture get too hot. I did this once, and only on the edge of the pan, and from then on, my fingers knew something, knew what just too far past 149 degrees felt like. I wasn’t making sweet scrambled eggs. I was making the dry, ethereal masterpiece that is a 2 plus inch Genoise.

Many aspects of the Genoise Cake experience remain the same: the fear of some element of the alchemy going awry is not eliminated by the new tools. My very worst Genoise came into its disappointing existence not long ago. I was possessed of a desire to try a different method of combining the whipped eggs and sugar, the flour (and cornstarch—I’m a proponent, 8 grams, maybe?), and the butter (How much can you get away with? How much do you even want to get away with?). The cookbook author was so enthusiastic about Genoise, and he directed that the butter be added directly to the whipped eggs and sugar, all at once, before the flour. I’m sure this method has worked for some people before, but it will never work for me because there is no way that I will volunteer to risk having to watch the massive deflation that took place as the butter went in.

Knowing that such a disaster is always possible is half of what makes this cake so appealing. Usually, though—fortunately—the disaster is simply a sinking middle during cooling that results in a still tasty cake than can be easily split in two layers.

The unique quality of a successful Genoise is the other half. What a cake! It is not moist but, equally, it is not dry. It absorbs soaking solutions and syrups while maintaining its integrity. It’s not too rich or too sweet to be eaten daily, plain with coffee or tea. It is delicious with jam, if you must. The fact that its detractors characterize it as dry, bland, and boring simply adds to the appeal.

I just took a lemon Genoise out of the oven, and it sank a bit in the middle, and it will be delicious anyway. I’m disappointed but resolved to enjoy it fully and try again another day. I’m honest enough to admit that if I could get it to work every time, I would make far fewer Genoise cakes.

A Prompt and a Catalogue

Sometimes you need a prompt, right? As I know from teaching, a good prompt sets the stage and evokes something’s making it easier to find a creative path. I recently received a collage card from a friend. Her creativity was a delightful prompt for my own. I would not have thought to make a collage at all, and I opted to reply in kind: she made a stylized flower garden and I replied in kind.

I went my own way, too. I developed the prompt for myself by limiting my materials to orange construction paper and a catalogue called Cuddledown: Devoted to your luxurious comfort and style. I am not kidding.

This catalogue is filled with pastel sheets with high thread counts, cozy robes, richly patterned bedspreads. The blue rosettes with cream, the modernized paisley in magenta, chartreuse and ecru (it’s not as outrageous as it sounds!), the watercoloresque impressionistic meadows made the project almost too easy. Sometimes that is the point.

It made for a fun card collage, and now suddenly my white on white sheets and comforter (in my gray bedroom no less!) seems unspeakably boring.

Writing as Frustrating and Satisfying

Having said I was back to daily posts, I immediately failed to post daily. The reason for that is more interesting than the usual business.

Here is what happened: I wrote, in an unpostable way, in a notebook. Because I had written, and felt that I had written, I failed to notice that I hadn’t posted until it was too late.

There is a sense of frustration and satisfaction that comes from writing, and my day felt complete yesterday, with my daily measure of frustration: as I have been known to say to my students in writing classes, to write is to try. An essay is what you’re writing and it is an attempt. See—words are fun.

A bit of daily writing is like a daily walk or jog. You try it, and in the trying, you do it.

The Satisfaction or Baking Bread

I’ve been baking more bread lately. Other people have too. There is no better time to have previously been a flour collector: I normally have many different kinds of flour—cake flour, three kids of all purpose, bread flour, assorted whole wheats, to say nothing of semolina, almond flour, potato flour and other speciality items. On a practical note, I keep many of them in the freezer.

Yesterday, I made King Arthur Flour’s Pain de Mie . I usually have trouble with the second rise. But this time, when I forgot to set a time and got interrupted, and messed up the timing and temperature to the point of over-rising, which I find is generally worse than under-rising…The bread turned out beautifully.

It is an undeserved success and I may not be able to replicate it, but I’m going to enjoy it.

Collaboration and Creative Freedom

Collaboration can be a great way to jolt your creative process. Sharing control can be frustrating, but knowing that you have to let go is freeing.

Also, for the purposes of creative exploration, I’m not focusing here on collaboration where one person follows another’s directions.

I recently have been inveigled into a number of this sort of collaboration by my kids. One of them will start a drawing, and then firmly request my assistance. Sometimes my job is to “add ten caterpillars,” each with a red head like the quintessential very hungry caterpillar. Sometimes my job is to “add a touch of blue to the brown soil so it’s wet.”

I’ve tried to assert myself a bit here. Collaboration is a back and forth, a conversation: I made a floral pattern and let one of my young artistic partners have at it. The result is whimsical and better than you’d think possible under the circumstances, and the process was a pleasure. Collaboration is letting yourself communicate creatively, letting yourself go, and letting yourself get inspired.

Maple Acorn Cakelet Party

Sometimes you just want a party. As every kid knows, a party means cake, or, in this case, cakelets.

We had a lot of fun with this two day party project. On the first day, we baked the cakelets and on the second, we made the frosting and decorated with red, green, purple and rainbow sprinkles. We ate tasty cake both days.

We used this acorn-shaped cake pan that makes absolutely adorable tiny acorn cakelets. We followed the recipe for maple spice cakelets, more or less (no nutmeg, no maple flavoring, water instead of milk).

They were delicious, and we were happy, and we’re planning to have a doughnut party this weekend. Sometimes you’ve got to treat yourself, and there’s nothing quite like a party.

Multiples

Make multiples. It’s calming and promotes creativity. I made 27 butterflies today, with help.

Once you select what you’re making and give yourself a goal, you’re set. You have a specific task. You can pursue mastery of this task; you can explore widely within the confines of the task. It’s much easier to explore within the confines of that task. And your goal will be motivating.

If you happen to be trying to keep kids busy with a craft for more than long enough to pour yourself a coffee. multiples might help do that too. That depends on the kid , though. I make no promises.

Today, our house began a 100 butterflies project. We chose butterflies because we have a butterfly hole-punch, and it’s fun to punch them out, and then everyone can color them. It’s great because we have the confining butterfly shape and then anything goes. It is an almost all-ages collaboration. We are making a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Some are semi-realistic. Some are patterned—polka dots, chevrons, stripes, rainbows. Some have flowers and succulents . Some have scribbles.

One of the kids has already asked if we have to stop when we complete our 100.

Tornado Warning

My first attempt to write this post got erased as I went to the basement due to a tornado warning siren. Now I have something different and more succinct to say.

Apparently there is something called the Four Stage strategy from the comedy Yes, Prime Minister, which I have not watched. I just read a blog post about and am now fairly expert. It is a simple four stage non-strategic strategy beginning with denial of the problem and ending with regret that any action is too late.

When a tornado warning comes, the wise course of action is to go to the basement or nearest shelter. It is not to look out the window to see if there is a tornado. It is not to try to film the tornado with your cell phone while you wait to see if it is really coming for you. Just do the cautious thing. And don’t assume that because the other ten tornadoes didn’t actually pull off the roof over your head you’re immune.

It costs relatively little to assume that a tornado warning means a tornado is, as my kids say, “out to get you.” By the time you know for sure it is out to get you, it’s too late. The right process is to heed the warning and, if you can, to hope for the best.