Author Archives: John Cutrone

May 24 2026
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Pentecost, Whitsunday

Wyt and Wysdome

It’s Pentecost Sunday, also known as Whitsunday. I’ve a quote for you for the day, but it’s in Middle English, which is the same form of English that Geoffrey Chaucer spoke and wrote when he put The Canterbury Tales down on paper in the late 14th century, and if you’ve ever read those tales, perhaps in high school English classes or in British Lit in college, you’ll remember well that Middle English takes a bit of getting accustomed to –– much like it took a bit of getting accustomed to my Aunt Lil’s accent and speech patterns when we’d go visit her in Augusta, Georgia. The quote is from John Mirk, an Augustinian canon who lived and preached in Shropshire, England, between 1382 and 1414, so… a contemporary of our Geoffrey Chaucer.

I’ll admit that’s a lot of set up for a short sentence, but here it is: Goode men and woymen, as ye known wele all, thys day ys called Whitsonday, for bycause that thee Holy Gost as thys day broth wyt and wysdome ynto all Cristes dyscyples. Or, in our contemporary tongue: “Good men and women, as you all well know, this day is called Whitsunday, because the Holy Ghost on this day brought wit and wisdom to all Christ’s disciples.”

Wit and wisdom. Two things that are in short supply these days, along with kindness and empathy and respect. (How did we get here? I have my own theories (they begin, innocently enough, with the sitcom Seinfeld and reach their apex––let’s hope so, anyway––with the people currently in charge in Washington), but we’re not here today, on this beautiful day in May, to discuss this.) Wit and wisdom in the form of inspiration and the Holy Spirit: this is what’s behind Whitsunday: Pentecost Sunday celebrates the coming of the Holy Spirit to Christ’s disciples on the fiftieth and last day of the Easter season, which is where Pentecost takes its name, from a Greek word meaning “fiftieth.” And in the teachings of the Church, the Holy Spirit is the third person in the Holy Trinity, as in, “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” as everyone in my family says when we cross ourselves, which, for some of us, can be several times each day.

John Mirk, as you may have noticed in the quote above––not to mention Geoffrey Chaucer, and everyone when I was a boy, and probably every English speaker in between (the Catholics, at least)––did not call this third person the Holy Spirit. We called it the Holy Ghost. The Latin languages use spirit (my Italian grandparents used to say, “Nel nome di Padre, del Figlio, e dello Spirito Santo“) and in recent decades there’s been a shift in that direction. But I rather miss the word ghost. Especially on Pentecost, when I always think of my most memorable Pentecost celebration, at the Sabbathday Lake Shaker Community in Maine. I won’t tell you about it here, because I feel like I tell you about it every Pentecost, every Whitsunday, and so I will pass today… but if you care to read about it, here is one of many chapters about this day where I describe it. It is very much a story of ghosts and spirits, of spiration: of gusts and ghosts and spirit and breath and respiration and inspiration. It is, I think, a beautiful story.

And with that, I will wish you a most inspiring day, and a most inspiring life, and a wish, for us all, for more wit and wisdom, more kindness and empathy, and more respect for each other.

SHOP HAPPENINGS
The shop is open today, Sunday, May 24. The first of our summer workshops, Botanical Monotypes, which is sold out, is happening this morning, but we’re open for eclectic shopping toward the end of the workshop and once it’s done, from 11 AM to 4 PM. Two weeks later, I’ll be teaching a Case Bound Journal bookbinding workshop on Sunday, June 7 (3 seats left) and our next Convivio Cookery workshop is my favorite pasta, Mambricoli, on Saturday, June 13 (5 seats left). And we’re making plans for our Midsummer Solstice Market… it’s planned for Friday June 19 through Sunday June 21. We’ll have some good Midsummer Magic in store for you!

 

Image: “Retabla of Holy Ghost” by E. Boyd. Woodcut with watercolor and colored pencil on paper, c. 1936 [Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons].

 

 

 

 

May 18 2026
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Birthdays & Anniversaries, Transitions

A Century, or the Pinky Ring Club, Part 2

It’s my dad’s birthday today. He would’ve been 100 years old: a century. And so it feels especially fitting tonight to make a celebratory gin & tonic and a Porterhouse steak, which, when asked, he’d tell you was his favorite meal, but truth be told, Dad was always content with whatever was put in front of him. Be that as it may, to have Seth fire up the grill tonight is, I think, a good idea, in honor of Dad and this milestone year.

As I type this, I’m also wearing Dad’s pinky ring, the one that has his initials, JC, encased in diamonds. Same initials as mine, and though I am so not a pinky ring kind of guy, this, too, feels right tonight. It’s flashy, sparkly, a bit like my Dad, who, though he did not like to call attention to himself, used a pseudonym for wait times in restaurants (John Monte) and who did love himself some bling on his fingers. When he bought himself that pinky ring, Dad drove a 1960s Cadillac and he liked the finer things in life, as he always did––things he worked hard to attain. He was of the Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra age, and he would have fit in nicely shooting pool with them wearing this ring. I wore it at his funeral in 2017. I wish I could remember which New York cousin it was of mine who I think was wearing his own dad’s pinky ring then, too, and who said we were all members of the Pinky Ring Club now. This is all right by me.

I don’t know what Frank or Deano would have thought of me wearing this ring, but I imagine John Monte wearing it, leaning over the billiard table to get the eight ball in the far left pocket, the sparkle of the diamonds catching the light. The ice in Dean Martin’s glass would clink as he’d say, “Johnny: Nice ring.” And then he’d wonder what the C was for.

Happy Birthday, Dad. We all love you and miss you something crazy.

 

 

SHOP HAPPENINGS
Our series of early summer workshops begins next Sunday. First up is Botanical Monotypes with instructor Kim Spivey on Sunday, May 24 (2 seats left); then Case Bound Journal, a bookbinding workshop that I’m teaching, is on Sunday, June 7 (3 seats left); followed by our next Convivio Cookery workshop: Mambricoli, on Saturday, June 13 (5 seats left). Mambricoli! Another of Dad’s favorite meals.

The shop will be open next Sunday, too, during the Botanical Monotypes workshop and after it, until 4 PM. That’s Sunday, May 24. Come see us!

 

May 09 2026
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Independent Bookstore Day

How Lucky Am I

The shop was open two weekends in a row in late April and early May: a rare event indeed! The first weekend was for Independent Bookstore Days; the following weekend was for Open Studios Days with the Palm Beach Cultural Council. So many good folks came by. What a thrill! We operated the Nolan Tabletop Press one weekend and the Kingsley Hot Foil Press the next, and we made books with everyone who wanted to at both events, including the How Lucky Am I accordion book you see above, which was last week, during Open Studios Days. (The book takes its title from a longer sweet and melancholy line by A.A. Milne: “How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”)

At both weekend events, our visitors also enjoyed cookies and our new Horn & Hardart Automat Coffee and, most importantly for this particular chapter of the Convivio Book of Days, many of them participated in a community writing project: an Exquisite Corpse story, in which each person wrote two sentences of the story, based solely on the previous two sentences that had been written. It’s a literary game thought to be invented by the French Surrealist writer André Breton, perhaps in 1925. Here is our community story, written by three dozen people, most of whom more or less followed the rules. The result belongs to us all. It’s a bit surreal. If you have an idea for a proper title to the story, do let me know in the comments below. And so, here we go:

An Exquisite Corpse Story
Begun on Independent Bookstore Days at Convivio Bookworks, Lake Worth, 2026, and completed on Open Studio Days the following weekend

It had been snowing all day, but it was precisely 2:20 in the afternoon when she looked up, and out the window, saw just how much snow had accumulated. She put on her coat and hat. With a smile on her face, she raced outside and grabbed the shovel she had left near the doorway. She began piling the snow, hoping to transform the white dust into her very first snowman. When she was finished, she stepped back to admire her work of art. Within seconds, inspiration struck again. This inspiration was to take a different form, though. She grabbed her quill and some parchment, took a deep breath, and scribbled, “Dear Mama, I know we haven’t spoken since I left all those years ago. I’ve missed you and I need your gooseberry pie recipe. It is a matter of life and death. Sincerely, your daughter.”

Mildred hastily finished her letter and folded it into the shape of a boat while running down to the overflowing stream.  When she reached the water, a new obstacle emerged. A tower of coral emerged from the cerulean depths of the water; out of place for the fresh water, but a magnificent sight to gaze upon. She couldn’t help but stop and stare. When suddenly a voice whispered in her ear, “Come inside, my pretty. There is a world within –– beyond your most wild imaginings.”

As she took her first step inside, the smell of bergamot immediately transported her back to her grandmother’s sitting room. She felt safe and secure, but unsure if she could trust her instincts –– or should. Her instincts usually never failed her, especially in matters of the heart. A soft whisper from the dark corner of the room, however, shattered that sense of security. Even at a whisper, she knew the sound of his voice. It sent a shiver up her spine and caught her breath so she couldn’t make a sound. She thought she would greet him with a kiss, but her cat, Casper, jumped on her shoulder. She opened the door to let Casper roam in the garden.

Not a gardener, per se –– flowers grew close to herbs, shrubbery next to tall ferns, and tall ferns towering low-lying moss. Her cat immediately settled on a bed of moss, stretched, and purred in complete contentment. If only she could be so content –– lying in a carpet of verdant life even as the decay of her own body seeped, poisonous, into her innocent surroundings. There was something beautiful about the feline’s surrender to nature as she inhaled her final precious breaths.

She opened her eyes to her own personal version of heaven, with puddles of milk, mice to chase, and treats to consume. This was what she had been waiting for, as she started roaming the endless grassy expanse. There was a dread that evaporated as she approached the opening located in the center. Sliding her body into the thin circumference, she felt a cool relief. The surface felt odd & alien, yet familiar. She thought it resembled the flesh of a fruit, plum or orange. She carefully trailed the tips of her fingers. Swirling in circles, reminiscing on childhood adventures. She thought of her time in Sweden: the cold and darkness and the Midsummer sun. She thought of the birches, the bike trails, the stone streets and green hills. But in the end, her head cleared, her eyes opened, and her tightly clenched fist softened. This wasn’t Sweden; it was home. It was here. It was Florida… She walked into the waves, and her beloved followed her.

They gently swam further out, past the surfers, toward the lights twinkling on the boats in the dusk. A porpoise joined them, nuzzling the wolf’s fur, and the three of them –– the woman, the wolf, and the porpoise –– wove together through the water. The water carried the lights from the boats. Hand in hand, as they swam, they looked into each other’s eyes, both filled with love. It felt like time stopped. They went under the water, the light seeping through the water, washing them in a great ocean fantasy together.

They came up out of the water to see the most glorious sight: A castle in the middle of an ocean isle. The castle was covered in colored glass that sparkled in the light. Up at the highest, most beautiful tower, a woman with long golden hair stood looking toward the water. She looked, longingly, toward the horizon, gold and crimson in the distance. What lies beyond? With a martini in hand, contemplating her next chapter, she sips and exhales her worries. Inhale: she has time for one more breath.

What is next for her? To inhale new air in a new place; there is nothing left for her here. She looked behind to the now still space, where the evening settled a blanket of shadow over what she knew. In front, she began to hear the shore line echo the calls of life. The echo drew her closer as she became unburdened by what had been. The waves now leaping toward her toes, before washing away, into the dark. She was without regret, knowing that the way forward would be revealed. The universe opened a portal through which she stepped.

As this new world opened in front of her, she knew then what her purpose would be. Then she saw another person, whose eyes were as full of wonders as hers. The Mad Hatter approached her! Dorothy & Toto smiled at her, as well. Along they walked on their journey toward internal greatness, when suddenly they approached… Pero se miraron a los ojos, se dijeron «Hasta luego, nos volveremos a encontrar.» Ella le regaló un beso en el aire y salió.

And meet again they did, only this time his shoes were filled with sand, and her skin tasted like salt. The roof over their heads was an infinite star-studded firmament. Then the heavens opened and the rains came. And they held each other all the same.

 

 

We’ve made a bunch more of the How Lucky Am I books and copies are available at our website and in the shop. The shop will be closed for a bit, but open again for a series of early summer workshops: Botanical Monotypes with instructor Kim Spivey on Sunday, May 24 (2 seats left); Case Bound Journal, a bookbinding workshop that I’m teaching on Sunday, June 7 (4 seats left); and then our next Convivio Cookery workshop: Mambricoli, on Saturday, June 13 (5 seats left).

We’ve also got a Midsummer event in the works to celebrate the longest days of the year. Mark your calendars for the weekend of June 19 through 21. We’ll conjure up a particularly good and festive celebration at the shop for you!

 

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