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the bookstore lenox ma

168 Hours: You Have More Time Than You Think, Laura Vanderkam
I reread this one after reading Vanderkam’s three short productivity guides. Vanderkam is practical, insightful and no-nonsense: she believes everyone has time to create a life they love. I’m rethinking my routines and hoping to make some good changes.

Goodnight June, Sarah Jio
June Andersen has built a successful career as a New York banker. But when her great-aunt Ruby dies and leaves June the children’s bookstore she owned in Seattle, June must return home and face her painful past. Sifting through Ruby’s papers, June finds a stack of letters exchanged by Ruby and Margaret Wise Brown – the genesis of Goodnight Moon? A sweet, bookish story with surprising depth. To review for Shelf Awareness (out May 27).

May B., Caroline Starr Rose
Thanks to Serenity’s enthusiastic rec, I picked this one up and read it in one sitting. It’s a spare, lovely tale of a pioneer girl hired out to work in western Kansas, then stranded alone when her employers disappear. Written in verse, but reminiscent of my beloved Little House series.

Restoring Grace, Katie Fforde
Grace, a lonely divorcée scrambling to restore her huge, dilapidated house near Bath, meets Ellie, a struggling (pregnant) artist, and the two join forces. Romance, art restoration and tangled family relationships all play a role here. Fforde’s writing is light and fun – just the ticket during a crazy week.

Cress, Marissa Meyer
An action-packed sequel to Cinder and Scarlet. Cinder and her band of fellow outlaws attempt to rescue Cress, a young hacker imprisoned on a Lunar satellite. But the rescue misfires and the group is separated, scrambling to reunite as the planet hurtles toward war. Confusing at times – too many characters and plotlines – but entertaining. Now to wait for Winter, Book 4, which comes out in 2015…

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry, Gabrielle Zevin
An irascible, widowed bookstore owner adopts a toddler who was left in his store, and gradually opens up to life (and love) again. A charming tribute to book lovers, bookselling and the ways books shape our lives. The characters are great (I especially loved the non-reading cop who becomes a book nut), but I wanted the author to explore them more deeply.

Mrs. Hemingway, Naomi Wood
“Each Mrs. Hemingway thought their love would last forever; each one was wrong.” Naomi Wood deftly portrays each of Ernest Hemingway’s four marriages – each one’s beginning tied up with the previous one’s end. Ernest is a central figure, of course, but this story belongs to the women: Hadley, Pauline, Martha and Mary. Gorgeously written, elegiac, deeply melancholy. To review for Shelf Awareness (out May 27).

The Gilly Salt Sisters, Tiffany Baker
In their isolated Cape Cod village, the Gilly women have farmed salt for generations. Sisters Jo and Claire each struggle to come to terms with their family’s destiny, especially after a fire leaves Jo badly scarred and Claire’s marriage later falls apart. I could not put this one down. Haunting and gripping.

The Amazing Adventures of Father Brown, G.K. Chesterton
A friend brought me this pocket-sized collection several years ago and I finally picked it up. Father Brown is quietly clever – a mix of Father Tim Kavanagh and Miss Marple. Gentle, ingenious, entertaining detective stories.

Highland Fling, Katie Fforde
When Jenny Porter gets sent to assess a failing Scottish woolen mill, she never expects to make friends with the locals – or fall in love with the man who could foreclose the whole business. Light, entertaining chick lit. I especially loved Meggie, the outspoken but kind daughter-in-law.

Links (not affiliate links) are to my favorite local bookstore, Brookline Booksmith.

What are you reading?

Marathon Monday

boston marathon finish line heart

Today and always, we are Boston Strong.

boston marathon finish line copley square

running shoes boston marathon memorial

Photos taken this weekend, at the finish line and at the marathon memorial exhibit at the Boston Public Library.

empty tomb oxford easter

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion – put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn’t go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

green blooming tree appian way spring

This Good Friday, as we prepare for both Easter (on Sunday) and the 2014 Boston Marathon (scheduled for Monday), seems a fitting day to practice resurrection.

My teatime ritual

queens lane

Strong black Yorkshire Gold with milk and a spoonful of sugar. Bergamot-tinged Earl Grey with a swirl of milk. Sachets of black tea flavored with orange peel, stone fruits or cinnamon, brewed strong and drunk unadorned. Paper bags of peppermint or lemon-ginger tea drunk plain, with a squeeze of honey added if I have a sore throat.

Teatime. It’s my morning-daytime-evening ritual.

I grew up in hot, dry West Texas, the land of endless summers and pitchers of dark, strong Lipton iced tea. I am still one of the only Texans I know who will turn down a glass of iced tea for a sweating glass of ice water. I like my tea hot, in a ceramic mug, and it had better not be Lipton.

I’m over at TRIAD magazine today, talking about my several-times-a-day tea habit. Click over there to read the rest of my essay.

#100happydays

I first heard about the #100happydays challenge on Kate’s blog, and several of my other friends have since taken it up. The idea is to post a photo each day for 100 days in a row – on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, wherever – of something that’s making you happy.

A few weeks ago, stuck in a post-vacation funk and disappointed at the still-chilly weather, I decided to join in. Here are some highlights from my first 25 days:

100happydays photo collage

Frozen yogurt (and weather warm enough to eat it); new green shoes; Monday night yoga. Daffodils and blue skies; tiny crocuses peeping at me in Harvard Square. A map of Cambridge in a shop window. My husband (on the far left) performing with his a cappella group. Zucchini quesadillas for dinner. A playful, floppy eight-week-old puppy who belongs to one of our interns. And good books. Always good books.

This is a perfect companion to my one little word for this year – light. (And it’s a much-needed corrective on the days I tend to spiral toward grumpy or morose.)

If you need a bit of extra happy in your life, I invite you to join in!

jfk library atrium boston ma

When I was a senior in high school, I took an economics course, which focused mostly on big-picture principles: supply and demand, opportunity costs, the law of diminishing returns. Most of those concepts seemed hopelessly abstract to a group of 17- and 18-year-olds. We were more worried about homework, college applications, the always-shifting social politics of high school, and where to go for lunch that day. The economics we understood were the practice of stretching our lunch money as far as it would go and juggling our packed schedules to fit in as many activities as possible.

But one day toward the end of the school year, we sat down for a totally different lesson.

“This is a Form 1040,” Mr. Franks told us, handing us each an official-looking paper booklet covered in fine print. “Probably none of you have had to fill these out yet, but you all will someday. You need to know how to do it, and you need to know that you can do it.”

There’s nothing wrong with hiring a good accountant, he explained. But for our first few years as income earners – in college and beyond – we could get by with a Form 1040 or 1040EZ. Armed with a calculator and a bit of know-how, we should be able to fill the form out ourselves. And we should understand how the system worked before handing over our financial information to anyone else.

People don’t do their own taxes because they’re intimidated, Mr. Franks explained. They’re terrified of making a mistake and getting audited by the IRS. Everyone wants to make sure they receive the biggest refund possible. And many people have multiple jobs and other situations that make their taxes complicated. The tax code in this country is absurdly long and confusing. But the basics are just that: basic.

The first section was easy: name, address, filing status. Then Mr. Franks explained about exemptions and withholding, and talked us through taxable income and a few common deductions. The room grew quiet as our pencils scratched on the forms. I had always thought of taxes as a vague, far-off thing to be dealt with one day when I was an adult, but Mr. Franks’ lesson made them accessible, clear, even simple.

At the end of class, I stuffed the Form 1040 in my notebook and forgot about it. I didn’t fill out a tax form until several years later, when I received a W-2 from my first “real” post-college, full-time job. I am a bookworm who feels more comfortable with novels and poetry than financial statements, but that W-2 triggered a long-ago memory and a flicker of confidence. I picked up a Form 1040EZ, got out a pencil and a calculator, and set to work. I double-checked my calculations, made a copy of the form for my records, and sent the original off to the IRS. Several weeks later, I received my first tax refund check in the mail.

These days, my husband and I have multiple jobs, freelance income, student loan interest and other circumstances that justify our annual investment in TurboTax. We’ve recently started paying estimated quarterly taxes, as my husband’s work situation has changed. But we always sit down together to work through the forms and make sure we know exactly how our finances break down. When I click the e-file button to send our return to the IRS, I feel a surge of satisfaction.

The forms are longer and the calculations more complicated now, but that long-ago session in Mr. Franks’ room continues to empower me, all these years later. I am grateful for the guidance of TurboTax and the “help” pages on the IRS website. But I still believe in doing my own taxes – because Mr. Franks told me I could.

sand glitter beach coronado

When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over, I want to say all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

—Mary Oliver

Married to amazement, indeed. That’s what I want.

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