Making chit-chat with one of my friends at church Sunday morning, I inquired as to how she was going to spend the rest of her New Year’s Eve day. “We’re going on a hike,” she said. “Want to co—?”

“NO!” I bellowed, and then added apologetically, “I mean, thank you but no. It’s way too cold.”

But then we kept talking about the hike — other friends were going, it was only two miles in and two miles out, the start time wasn’t until mid-afternoon so I could still have my after-lunch rest time and coffee, etc — and the idea began to grow on me. I was on the brink of cabin fever, after all. The combination of no longer running in the morning (thanks to the bitter cold — 20 degrees? fine; 10 degrees? not so much), more rich food than normal, and a whole string of leisurely, stay-at-home days was beginning to grate on me. Perhaps a hike was just the thing I needed?

By the time we got home from church, I’d decided I wanted to go, but trying to convince my husband — the poor guy spends every day, all day outside in the freezing temps and really, really, really just wants to read books by the fire in his spare time — was no small matter. 

“Really, Jennifer?” he sighed. “Do we have to?”

But I kept after him, sticking out my lip and mumbling things about my mental health being on the line until he eventually said, Okay, fine. Whatever.

I’ve never found hikes to be all that thrilling, but, it turns out, sub-(celsius)-zero temps rather elevate the experience. Pausing, even briefly to, say, remove the lens cap from the camera or to pee in the snow or to study the tracks of other hikers, and suddenly — Oh no, there’s no feeling in my fingers and toes!

And then I realized that this nice little cardio workout was practically a life-or-death experience. The stakes had been raised: IF I STOPPED MOVING I WOULD DIE.* What fun!

The hike turned simple things, like not getting frostbitten (yay!) and making it back to the van without losing the keys (again, yay!), into real accomplishments. I am successfully surviving death, go me!

But the best part, by far, came after I was back home when I was standing in front of the blazing fire, my teeth chattering uncontrollably (and this, after a 45-minute van ride), and realized that my cabin fever had disappeared completely. That high-stakes hike had shivered it right out of my body!

*My husband read this and promptly reminded me of the guy in the Everest movie who was left for dead (so he was clearly not moving) and then, hours later, came stumbling into camp.

“It’d take a little more than simply not moving for a few minutes to kill you, Jen,” he said.

“That’s what you’d like to think!”

“Also,” he added, “You sound pathetic.”

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (1.2.17), 5-grain porridge with apples, when cars dance, the quotidian (1.2.12), lentil sausage soup.

This same time, years previous: 2017, Christmas, quite frankly, constant motion, cranberry crumble bars, loose ends.

When I write down a title, I jot down a couple notes to remind myself what I thought of the book. This, it turns out, is fortunate because many times — even though I read the book less than a year ago — I can not, for the life of me, remember anything, not the characters, not the setting, not the plot. Sometimes I don’t even remember the book itself. Am I losing my mind?

*The History of Love, by Nicole Krauss. Lovely and rich, but it left me confused. I felt like there were lots of pieces that should fit together but didn’t.

*Tiny, Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life by Dear Sugar, by Cheryl Strayed. At first I loved the book, but towards the end I tired of the grinding details and reverted to skimming.

*Kitchens of the Great Midwest, by J. Ryan Stradal. A light, fun read.

*In the Sanctuary of Outcasts, by Neil White. I quit about halfway through: lack of plot.

*The Clean House, by Sarah Ruhl. A play: entertaining and fun.

*The Nest, by Cynthia D’Aprix Sweeney. Fast-paced, but shallow and slightly dull.

*A Square Meal: A Culinary History of the Great Depression, by Jane Ziegelman and Andrew Coe. Some parts were fascinating, but much of it I skimmed.

*The Woman Said Yes: Encounters with Life and Death, by Jessamyn West. Interesting stories — I learned an awful lot about tuberculosis! — but the book seemed poorly edited and organized.

*Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis, by J. D. Vance. After all the the hype, I expected more…

*Are You Anybody?, by Jeffrey Tambor. A pleasant read about an interesting (but difficult, I imagine) person. Bonus: I gleaned some helpful acting tips and perspectives.

*Anything Is Possible, by Elizabeth Strout. Quiet and meandering, exquisitely written.

*A Man Called Ove, by Fredrik Backman. Absolutely splendid! My husband loved it, too. And then we watched the movie and thoroughly enjoyed it. (And my husband, who hates slow movies, got a huge kick out of it, probably because Ove reminds him of himself.) (ALSO, the engagement scene is ours completely: car, parking lot, averted gaze, etc. The only thing missing in the movie version is the turkey plant/factory in the background.)

*The Wonder, by Emma Donoghue. Quite good, and the ending was superb.

*Modern Lovers, by Emma Straub. Lightweight, but entertaining.

*Option B, by Sheryl Sandberg: Facing Adversity, Building Resiliance, and Finding Joy. My world wasn’t rocked, but I appreciated some of her perspectives.

*You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me, by Sherman Alexie. A wonderful book — enchanting writing style and enlightening (and hard) subject matter. Even so, I felt like the book was about a hundred pages too long.

*Books for Living: Some Thoughts on Reading, Reflecting, and Embracing Life, by Will Schwalbe. What a fun read! I loved the format: a memoir stemming from the books he’s read. Bonus: the book provided a good bit of read-aloud material to share with the family at the supper table. 

*The King is Always Above the People, by Daniel Alarcon. A collection of engaging, and slightly strange, short stories.

*Turtles All The Way Down, by John Green. It’s a best seller for a reason! I inhaled this book in one day, on our trip home from Tennessee. One of my favorites for the year.

*Manhattan Beach, by Jennifer Eegan. Well-written, but the story didn’t suck me in.

*Sing, Unburied, Sing, by Jesmyn Ward. Fascinating subject matter, but a bit odd.

*Future Home of the Living God, by Louise Erdrich. Supremely excellent … until the final section when the author’s tone changed from realistic and believable to dreamy-weird. The change was so jarring (and so crushingly disappointing because the story was so good — if nothing else, read it for the seven-page birth scene) that it made me wonder if Erdrich simply got sick of writing the story and decided to quit. Um, Editor? Hello???

*The Rules Do Not Apply, by Ariel Levy. A fast read, engaging and well-written.

What memorable, life-changing, page-turning books did you read this year? What are you reading right now? (Currently, I’m reading two books — The Ninth Hour by Alice McDermott and Where the Past Begins by Amy Tan — and I have a couple other books in my queue for when those are done, but after that I’ll be casting about for suggestions, so … help?!)

P.S. Book Lists of 2016, 2015, and 2014.

This same time, years previous: 2016 garden stats and notes, remembering Guatemala, our apocalypse, tamales, eggnog, throwing it down.