Some months ago I stumbled across a novel so amazing, Tell the Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt that, at first, I refused to believe it was the author's first work, but it was.
I couldn't tell you how I came to have it or what motivated me to acquire it, at the time, or why, once I did open it and became nearly overwhelmed by its scale and scope and breathtaking beauty and sweet sadness I would persist in reading it to its end.
It is a remarkable book and a terrifically told tale but it wasn't until the early morning hours of this past Tuesday that I figured out why it was I was supposed to read it in the first place.
The news of the passing of Pete Seeger at 94 years of age generated volumes of brilliant obituaries, eulogies, retrospectives and insightful analysis that went far beyond the man, his music and his (and our) moment.
Any, and/or all, them will do but I picked this one to share not merely because this is my space and these are my things but also because it's from National Public Radio which I dearly love and its gracefulness and deft touch so complements Seeger's life.
But I haven't told you yet what joins him to Brunt's first novel. It's her words from a passage that stopped me in my tracks when I first encountered it while reading at which point I said to myself, I would like to be just such a person though I've accepted I never shall.
"... If you always make sure you're exactly the person you hoped to be, if you always make sure you know only the very best people, then you won't care if you die tomorrow.” Sweet Dreams.