Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now

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  • I paused on the threshhold, then went all in

    Courtesy Penguin Random House

    I came upon author Richard Roper’s novel quite by accident at the library, checked it out, but didn’t commit to it right away. It’s like hovering at the door of an event you don’t quite get, but feel curious about.

    How much of my reading time do I want to give to a book about a guy whose job is tidying up after the deaths of the forgotten, whose social life occurs almost entirely online in the realm of model train nerds?

    But story’s voice felt right, which is always the first hurdle for me. I stuck with Something to Live For and came away grateful. It’s a tale that exposes deep pain through a character’s extreme strategies at hiding it. And then there’s the dry British wit arriving just as it’s needed.

    The book rewarded me with the thing I crave: Scenes that linger well after I’ve closed the book. Among my favorites — and this is only a slight spoiler — occurs when the formerly online-only friends agree to meet in the actual world. In a bar. Expectations get upended, then adjusted to. It’s a sweet bit of truth about real life.

    If you come to the book, don’t strive for the story to make itself known quickly (this is my major flaw as a reader). I am glad the rushing-around me got talked down by the patient me. I’m glad Richard Roper’s novel and I found each other.

  • How these alleys beckon

    How these alleys beckon

    Alley in Cassis France. Photo by Susan Palmer

    The narrow alleys I’ve encountered in trips to France and Italy linger in memory, more perhaps than the cathedrals and art galleries and sweeping views. In the particular case of Cassis France, that’s saying something, given the massive capes that rise straight from the sea to surround the little harbor town — a place best visited in the off-est of seasons. The alleys don’t have a “wow” factor. It’s more of an “oh, my” thing, a “nestling in my heart” thing.

    Those European alleys may have some longevity going on, hundreds upon hundreds of years of inviting people in. But the alleys in my little neighborhood in Eugene, the most beautiful among them, just a few steps from my door, could teach a thing or two about the art of beckoning.

    I snapped the picture above on my way to our little neighborhood grocer last week. Something always blooms, and the senses engage: the sound of gravel crunching under my shoes, the aroma, just now, of lilacs. Once in January, a lone rose in a sunny spot had pushed its way through an old fence, coral-orange and almost fully open. Despite all.

    A footpath. The alley says, “Come walk this way.” It’s human-sized and human-paced. The traffic noise from other streets fades. You are here. You are now.

  • She had game

    She had game

    It’s not quite a year since my mother passed. She was such a gift. If I started to talk about her, we’d be here all day. But here are two things.

    That photo above? I snapped it in January 2024 when I visited her. She lived in southern Alberta and that particular week, the temperature had dropped into serious minus zones. That day it hit minus 30 F.

    She was 97. And wanted to check it out. I’d driven up from my home in Oregon and had my emergency gear in the van, including a down sleeping bag. I bundled her up and took her out. I lasted almost two minutes. She was laughing when I took her back inside.

    Second thing: The week before she died, she organized a luncheon with her two best friends.