General Maxims, Cynthia Style

Every so often, my brain likes to parse out the habits I live by as a set of small working principles. These aren’t grand philosophy, exactly, nor advice in any stern sense. They’re more like rules of thumb, tested out by daily practices: walking, writing, reading, birding before breakfast, coffee, and the recurring need to do the unlovely task before breakfast. Here are twenty of them. 

1. A walk will make it better.
2. So will coffee.
3. Read it twice. You’ll notice different things the second time.
4. That applies to beloved fiction too.
5. Take joy in little things. Count the birds. Sample the cheese. Listen to the flowing water.
6. Sunrise is beautiful; go enjoy it.
7. Write early, write often.
8. Ask yourself questions. Sometimes, you’ll even have an answer.
9. Kiss the toad before breakfast – get that ugly task done and out of the way!
10. Not every bird in the flock is the same. It’s okay to be different.
11. Breathe. Pauses are productive.
12. Revel in delight. Momentary pleasures are the stuff of life!
13. It’s okay to do hard things. Just keep plugging away.
14. There’s wisdom in breadth. A different perspective might be just the thing.
15. Remember your thank-you’s.
16. Planning is its own pleasure.
17. Think of the possibilities. Act on them.
18. It’s more fun to have fun. Trudge only when necessary.
19. Surprises shouldn’t always be a surprise. The unexpected is a feature, not a bug.
20. Joys shared are doubled. 

Gratitudes

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, so I tasked myself with coming up with as many things that brought me joy and fulfillment as I am years old. As I wrote, I realized how much richness there is in small, often overlooked moments -- those little sparks that quietly shape our days, and add up to a successful and joyful year.

I’ve now grouped my list, since 62 random things is, er, reeeeeally random. Which of these bring YOU that momentary plip-pop of happiness?

Nature: sunrises, the smell of pine needles, the fuzzy feel of lambs ear, acorn mast years, the crunch of autumn leaves, the deep and humid stillness of caves, the color of fall leaves, Bob the raccoon and his (her?) begging ways, textured tree bark

Music & literature: Brahms (all of Brahms), T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, poetry, musical sequences with appoggiaturas, online Doctor Who, kazoos (and collecting kazoos and sharing kazoo wisdom)

Family & community: turkey with family, parallel play, the hubbub of togetherness, passenger seat productivity, the instantaneous transpacific chat world

Everyday joys: the smell of brewing coffee, warm-water showers, wool socks, the set of ten garden clippers so one is always to hand, bubbles in my seltzer, the light tug of a brush in my hair, chapstick, the potato masher – the most useful single-purpose tool, baby wipes as a cleaning tool

Activities and their accoutrements: walks at the beach, birding with dad, hiking boots, amazing artwork, arrows for archery practice, compost!, pickleball, another training (and one more than that), the garden cart, campfires (with marshmallows, or even without)

Specific joys: plans (they’re their own goodness!), books, so many books! a snuggle blanket on the couch, photo collections, birdseed, cat snuggles, a really juicy footnote, stretchable gloves , felt-tip pens, a good book on tape, a fuzzy hat with chin flaps, afternoon naps, frisbee

Teaching joys: That “we can do this” feeling at the start of a class discussion, the direction the discussion goes that you weren’t expecting, the lightbulb moments, medieval dancing

Foods: dilly bread, raspberries, peapods warmed by the sun, fresh-baked cookies, dehydrated apples with cinnamon and cloves, corn and popcorn and hominy and corn pudding, potstickers

Little sparks like these, when counted up, turn into a year full of happiness.  

What is it that brings YOU that slight little “plip” of joy to your day? 

Sister Anna Wittweilerin Looks Up

A comet and a winter scene from Bregenz, with the theme: Worry into joy

In the early 17th century, Anna Wittweilerin was a Thalbach sister when, at age 40, she found herself promoted to convent Maisterin in 1619.

She had joined the convent in 1589 at age 10, and was given holy orders in 1592 at age 13. She professed in 1595 on St Ursula’s day. Thus, she was a young and newly-professed sister – age 16 – in 1595 when the convent’s liturgical practices were reformed (Chronicle p. 31, P1360 and Gathering 6 #15, P1464). She served as convent Superior for 22 years, and died at age 62 in 1641. (See Chronicle p. 20 and Gath. 2 fol. 3r). The chronicle points out that she “endured a great deal of hardship,” (Gath 2, fol. 3r), not least of which was the 30-years war.

Wittweilerin’s personal interests add nuance and depth to the convent records, for it is thanks to her diary, much of which was incorporated verbatim or in close paraphrase into the Convent Chronicle, that we have accounts of the weather extremes and of the comet of 1619. She started the diary at age 33 in 1612 and continuing until 1641. For today’s post, we’ll concentrate on events before 1620.

We learn from Wittweilerin’s diary of the year that snow held off until Lent (1612), so that flowers were available on Christmas. The sisters used the extra-long season of greenery to make fresh wreaths for the statue of St Anna. Other years weren’t so lucky; a tree fell due to snow in 1613, and the winter of 1613 to 1614 was one for the record-books.  As the Chronicle tells it, “in the fall it was cold and wetter [than normal], on the 19th of September it began to snow, and the ground never became dry until St. George's Day (April 23) in 1614.”  That’s 31 weeks – 217 days – of muddy or snowy footing on the ground. The snow wound up going all the way up to the shutters of the gatehouse – and the Holunder account, drawing on her diary, says that “In front of the window in the hen garden the snow was 13 feet 7 inches high.”

An outdoors person by heart, she reports that “In Feb 1617 it was so fine and warm that people thought they should go out in the fields.” One can hear the desire to enjoy the unseasonable weather, and the joyful spirit with which she celebrates the various things of the outdoors: trees, fields, flowers. Later that same year, however, she finds the weather more oppressive, “it became so hot that people thought they would burn.” (Holunder 1934). Working in the heat can be enervating at the best of times; heat exhaustion could be a real fear.

Yet it is from Wittweilerin, too, that we have stories of fun. She tells the story of the sisters’ snowball fight (!), when the sisters went out into the still-snowy yard on the Thursday before Pentecost and pelted one another with their hand-crafted zingers (Chronicle, Gath 4 p. 86; Rapp p. 625). She tells as well of their wreath making, and of crop tallies from their work in the fields. The sisters themselves, for example, harvested the wine (that is, the grapes that would become wine).

And, we learn that they indulge in a ready bit of star-gazing:

In the month of December [1618] a comet was seen with a tail in the sky, which had appeared a short time before. We grant that the dear God may graciously turn it away from us, and have mercy on the Christian Church, which is in the greatest danger, as well as the noble house of Austria. [On the pamphlet-wars that this comet inspired, see: Stillman Drake and C.D.O'Malley, The Controversy on the Comets of 1618:Galileo Galilei, Horatio Grassi, Mario Guiducci, Johann Kepler (U Penn Press 1960).]

To her, as to so many of her peers, the stars are still portents; she sees the “rod” – the comet tail – as a potential for God’s punishment. Through prayer and God’s grace, however, this pointed threat can be averted. By her account, the prayers worked, since the next year’s harvest was especially fine, though the political scene did not fare nearly as well. “We praised God that we may proclaim [our wine] with health and enjoy it in peace with one another since things are going very badly in the war. May the lord strengthen Christianity! It is well needed!” (Holunder 1934).

Sister Anna Wittweilerin’s diary and its close parallels in the Convent Chronicle offer a rare and intimate glimpse into the daily rhythms of convent life, framed by the larger forces of nature, faith, and war. Her observations remind us that even within a monastic environment, the world outside remained ever-present—whether through the creeping cold of a relentless winter, the heady promise of an early spring, or the celestial warnings streaking across the sky. She looked up, not only to track the stars but also in hope, finding solace in shared labor, seasonal celebrations, and the enduring rituals of convent life. Though she lived in a time of uncertainty (to which we’ll return in a future post), she answers her own worries with joy. To her, the snow becomes an occasion for play, and the comet an occasion to celebrate the peace of community, in hopes that such peace might ripple ever outwards. To Anna Wittweilerin, looking up is looking into the promise of a world touched by the divine.

WORKS CITED:

“Das alte Frauenkloster zu Thalbach (3. Fortsetzung),” Holunder: Wochen-Beilage für Volkstum, Bildung und Unterhaltung zur Vorarlberger Landes-Zeitung No. 38 (28 Sept 1934), from the series, Nos. 36-43 (8 weekly entries, 8. Sept to 27. Okt 1934). Quotes heavily from Wittweilerin’s diary. https://texte.volare.vorarlberg.at/viewer/fullscreen/Holunder1934/154/

Rapp, Ludwig. Topographisch-historische Beschreibung des Generalvikariates Vorarlberg, Bd. 2.  Brixen 1896.

Stillman Drake and C.D.O'Malley, The Controversy on the Comets of 1618:Galileo Galilei, Horatio Grassi, Mario Guiducci, Johann Kepler (U Penn Press 1960).

Thalbach Chronicle (consulted from manuscript): Bregenz, Vorarlberger Landesarchiv, Kloster Thalbach Hs 9, Chronik des Klosters 1336–1629.
 

A NOTE ON NAMING:

I typically use the "-in" suffix that designates females in surnames, following the conventions the sisters themselves used. Thus, her father was Herr Wittweiler, but she is Anna Wittweilerin.