on random book earworms

This week, I’ve been reading Table for Two, Amor Towles’ new collection of short fiction. (He’s an elegant writer, though so far I prefer his novels, especially Rules of Civility.) Every time I glance at the book cover, though, my mind re-registers the title and then goes somewhere completely different: an old George Strait tune from an early nineties album, which begins, “At a table for two / With candlelight and wine…”

It is, of course, not the first – and I’m sure not the last – earworm occasioned by a book.

Some of them are inevitable, the book’s title chosen deliberately to evoke a certain song: Let the Circle Be Unbroken. How to Save a Life. Dream When You’re Feeling Blue. In the Bleak Midwinter (or, really, all of Julia Spencer-Fleming’s wonderful series featuring Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne). Some titles are about music, invoking handfuls of titles within their pages, like Marissa R. Moss’s brilliant Her Country (pictured above), Matt Hay’s memoir The Soundtrack of Silence, or Jack Viertel’s highly entertaining The Secret Life of the American Musical.

But some earworms are unique to me, matching my musical fingerprint to the books I come across. For example, Nicola Yoon’s Instructions for Dancing always evokes “The Book of Love” by the Magnetic Fields. David Whyte’s Consolations had me humming “Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus” (“Israel’s strength and consolation…”) Kathrine Switzer’s memoir, Marathon Woman, sometimes puts me in mind of “American Woman.” And Sarah Smarsh’s Heartland, perhaps fittingly, takes me right back to George Strait: “When you hear twin fiddles and a steel guitar…”

Does this happen to anyone else? I’m curious – am I the only one, or do you also sometimes find a book title puts a song in your head that you can’t shake? Please share, if you’re so inclined – then we can all spend days humming those random tunes!

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saving my life: tiny midwinter joys edition.

Hello, friends. We are (technically) halfway through winter, and I tell you, that long stretch of grey days at the end of January just about broke me. February, as always, is still cold and dark, but we are one step closer to spring AND THE SUN IS BACK. In these chilly, often monotonous days, here are the tiny things saving my life, over and over again:

• Citrus: clementines and blood oranges by the handful (see above).
• Olive + June nail polish in Hibiscus – a bright and cheery pop of color on my toenails.
• Pretzel pillows stuffed with almond butter or peanut butter.
• Stacks of library holds, the walk to the Eastie branch library along the greenway, and chatting to my favorite librarians.
• The NYTimes crossword and Spelling Bee games online.
• Strong black teas, especially Canadian Maple and Winter Chestnut from Sullivan Street, and my trusty English Breakfast and Earl Grey from MEM Tea.
• Reconnecting with a few local friends (after we all cocooned in January).
• Every single ray of sunshine + scrap of blue sky I can find.
• Cozy v-neck sweaters in bright pink and red.
• My favorite candles: beloved citrus + pine from Pink Olive and a new grapefruit one I found in Austin.
• Fun novels, thoughtful nonfiction, poetry in the mornings: reading is my oxygen.
• Sweet interactions with the good humans (and dogs) at work.
• A vase of tulips, fresh each week from my beloved florist.
• The latest season of All Creatures, the coziest show on TV.
• Yoga, several times a week. I’m so lucky to have a studio down the street.
• Texts and Marco Polos from my stalwart faraway friends.
• Finding a bit of writing community, in person and online.
• Looking forward to a little spring magic.

What’s saving your life in these cold winter days?

P.S.: my February newsletter comes out soon. Sign up here – it’s going to be a good one! xo

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grateful

For a deep breath yesterday as I stepped outside, between emails and yoga and so many zoom meetings, and caught the glow of twinkle lights against the almost-dark Eastie sky.

For an invitation to a friend’s Thanksgiving table, warm and gracious and delivered just in time.

For that song by Nichole Nordeman, whose delicate piano and deep, honest lyrics have woven into and around my heart for two decades now.

For small moments of joy with the folks at ZUMIX: ukulele chords and happy dogs and sharing bits of news about our lives. For the moments when we go deeper, unfolding parts of ourselves we don’t always share, and meet each other with kindness and welcome.

For a local art show in Eastie last weekend; a walk with my cousin through Piers Park; yoga teachers and kind librarians and all the people who make this my neighborhood.

For stacks of great books – moving, thought-provoking and fun – and the people who work so hard to tell stories and make sense of the world through words.

For morning runs along the harborwalk and the greenway; for fresh air and blue skies and jewel-toned leaves; for a healthy, strong body and the ability to care for it.

For live theatre and Ted Lasso and all the stories that move us; that make us laugh and cry, that help us recognize our common humanity and feel less alone.

For a group of wise, thoughtful alumni and others who are calling for LGBTQ+ inclusion at my alma mater.

For family and friends scattered far and wide; for the bonds of love that hold strong over years, decades and many miles. (And for all the ways we keep in touch – all the texts and emails, memes and GIFs, hugs and phone calls, that are really saying I love you.)

If you’re celebrating this week, I wish you a lovely Thanksgiving.

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crowded in a good way

Last week, after making my morning cuppa, I opened up the cabinet to put the tea (was it ginger peach?) away. Cue an almost comical cascade of tea tins, bags and boxes: I hadn’t paid much attention to the Tetris-like arrangement, and several teas came tumbling out when I opened the door. I tried to shove everything back in, but had to take a minute to arrange them properly.

My tea cabinet contains the essentials, like English Breakfast, ginger peach and Earl Grey; some herbal standbys (peppermint and lemon ginger); and some other flavors, like raspberry or cinnamon spice or a moody Lapsang blend. There are also a few outliers, like green tea (which I rarely drink) or a random single bag knocking around. As I moved things around, fitting them into a new arrangement, a phrase came into my head: crowded in a good way.

This, of course, prompted a look at my bookshelves (above), which may be neatly color-coded but are, by all accounts, stuffed. There are stacks of books around as well: on the kitchen table, the bar cart by the window, my bedside bookshelf, the catch-all console table. Some are current reads, some recent; there’s a review stack, a library stack, the current books of poetry and prayers. My little studio is crowded with books – but in a good way.

Life feels like that, recently: so many events at ZUMIX, so many emails and book reviews, so much travel (though I’ve loved every minute) and so many details to attend to. Ushering at theatre shows; morning runs and yoga classes; adding a new team member at work; keeping up with laundry and library holds and finding time to call my parents. All the things that both nourish and undergird my life; all good and necessary, but all of them take effort. And, occasionally, a few of the pieces come cascading down when I stop paying attention for a minute.

I do worry about the opposite, sometimes: long stretches of time without community, especially as winter approaches and I adjust to life truly on my own. But mostly, these days, life feels full where it needs to, with space to catch my breath, sometimes. Crowded, yes, sometimes chaotic – but in a mostly good way.

Does this make sense, or resonate? How does life feel for you, right now?

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in 2022 I have…

It has been a year, y’all. There’s no way a list can capture it all, but here are a few highlights from the past 12 months:

• run miles and miles through my beloved neighborhood of Eastie, mostly in the mornings before work
• knitted myself a pair of gloves, a cozy headband and two sets of legwarmers
• lived in leggings, jeans, Allbirds sneakers, scarves and my green coat (see above)
• discovered volunteer ushering and leaned hard into it
• returned to Vermont, and adventured to western MA and the North Shore, with my guy
• spent a couple of sweet solo weekends in NYC
• delighted in hearing and promoting our young people’s music at ZUMIX
• made lots of chickpea curry, ratatouille, black bean soup and other simple meals
• drunk hundreds of cups of tea
• spent a sweet Thanksgiving with my guy
• interviewed several authors for Shelf Awareness
• read roughly 230 books
• done a lot of yoga, mostly at The Point
• sung in a local carol choir for the fourth year
• said goodbye to my beloved Darwin’s
• written a couple of pieces for ACU Today
• spent a little time in Texas
• hosted my parents for their first joint visit to Boston since 2018
• continued to savor my writing class on Tuesdays
• worked the polls again, twice
• gone to the movies alone (and with my guy)
• helped pull off the ZUMIX Gala and Walk for Music
• started a newsletter
• done a “Southwest tour” to visit friends in Arizona and California
• become a regular at the Eastie library
• published a couple of essays online
• gone back to some local museums
• been to Portsmouth, Amherst and Westerly with my girl Jackie
• taken a salsa dancing class
• been to my first Comic-Con
• survived having COVID
• attended a number of outdoor concerts here in Eastie
• seen both the Indigo Girls and the Wailin’ Jennys in concert (!!)
• loved All Creatures season 2 and Magpie Murders
• turned 39
• tended geraniums, a fern, an African violet, paperwhite bulbs and cherry tomatoes
• tried my best to pay attention, love my people and be brave and true

What has this year looked like for you?

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Saving my life: deep summer edition.

It’s suddenly August (how??) and between work, a couple of weekend getaways and serious summer heat, here’s what’s saving my life right now:

• Poetry Unbound. I had missed the most recent season, but am catching up, and it’s a joy to hear Padraig’s lilting Irish voice and discover new-to-me poets.
• Daylilies, echinacea and sunflowers – it’s hot, but these beauties (like me) are hanging on.
• The teeny tiny cherry tomatoes I’m growing on the back patio.
• Sitting out back in the evenings with a book and some lemonade, when I can.
• My favorite denim shorts, my trusty Allbirds sneakers and a few new tops from a friend, which amounts to a mini wardrobe refresh.
• Lots and lots (and lots) of water.
• Tea, always tea: MEM ginger peach, Trader Joe’s watermelon mint, the occasional iced chai.
• Texts from a couple of lifesaving faraway friends.
• Planning a couple of August adventures.
• Watermelon facial mist from Trader Joe’s, which sounds ridiculous but is very refreshing.
• Ukulele fun at my workplace: “Ode to Joy,” Bruno Mars’ “Count on Me” and assorted other tunes.
• Fun books: rom-coms, mysteries, middle grade, a super nerdy nonfiction book about blurbs.
• An occasional walk to the neighborhood park to watch the sunset (see above).

What’s saving your life in these deep summer days?

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Thankful

For leggy geraniums in my kitchen window and brilliant afternoon light.

For morning runs along the harbor and the greenway. For so much outdoor public space in my neighborhood, and a body that is strong and healthy, beautiful and resilient.

For a kind, brilliant, passionate, funny, fierce man whose love sustains me.

For a few local friends who are my lifelines, every single day.

For my faraway family, both blood kin and chosen.

For texts and calls with my girlfriends scattered across the miles. For the technologies that allow us to share in the details of one another’s lives.

For vaccines, nurses, doctors, public health officials and everyone who is (still) working so hard to keep us safe.

For a job at a neighborhood nonprofit that I love, working with good people to bring music and creative empowerment to our young folks.

For nourishing trips this summer and fall – to Texas, Minneapolis, Vermont and beyond – to explore new and beloved places and spend time with folks dear to me.

For music in all its forms: the Wailin’ Jennys and the women of country on my long runs, humming favorites in my kitchen, singing carols with others at Christmas choir rehearsal, hearing our ZUMIX students play ukulele or drums or guitar.

For good books, those who write them, and the chance to read and review them regularly.

For a place – my studio, my neighborhood, this city, my communities – where I have built a home and been welcomed into other people’s homes.

For all – as my friend Amy would say – that we have been given.

If you’re celebrating this week, I wish you a wonderful Thanksgiving.

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saving my life: midwinter 2021 edition.

Hello, friends. It’s February, which is always a long month, even though it’s a short one. (See also: endless pandemic fatigue, etc.)

We’ve had some snow and will have more, and I keep thinking of E.B. White’s words about cold weather: “firm, business-like cold that stalked in and took charge […] as a brisk housewife might take charge of someone else’s kitchen in an emergency.” My kitchen, thank goodness, is full of tea and flowers, but I can see White’s point.

Last week, my friend Anne Bogel shared, as she does every winter, the surprising daily things that are saving her life right now. (This year, it’s laundry.) I am a whole week behind in sharing my own winter lifesavers, but I wanted to do it because I believe the practice is important, even in this pandemic year.

I am still job hunting, still missing my people, still spending a lot of time alone in my apartment. But here are the things getting me through these midwinter days:

• Strong black tea, forever and always. I mostly drink MEM teas from Somerville, but have also been enjoying David’s Cream of Earl Grey lately.
• Clementines by the handful (I say this every winter) – tart, sweet and cheery.
• Nina’s writing class on Tuesday mornings – best Zoom of all, by far.
• Daffodils! So cheerful and bright. Spotted at the florist and at Trader Joe’s.
• Mini peanut-butter-filled pretzels, also from Trader Joe’s.
• Morning runs and daily walks in the neighborhood, even when it’s frigid. (I’m still aiming to leave the house at least twice a day.)
• Some really good books: New Yorkers by Craig Taylor, Wintering by Katherine May, A Cuban Girl’s Guide to Tea and Tomorrow by Laura Taylor Namey.
• Good pens and my Wingardium Leviosa Moleskine journal.
• Vitamin D pills, my happy lamp, and (best of all) real sunshine, some days.
• Daily check-ins with my guy, my friend Allison in California, and a couple of other dear ones.
• Martina McBride, whose music I have loved for years – but I’m rediscovering her badass-women anthems and sweet love songs, and they are saving me.
• Yoga – on Zoom for now, and maybe back in the studio soon.
• The knowledge that we have a competent administration in Washington working to combat this virus and other problems.

What’s saving your life these days? I’d love to know.

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My (nonfiction) #unreadshelfproject2018.

Like so many bookworms, I buy more books than I can read right away.

Part of this is intentional: I like having a stack of books waiting for me. Part of it’s a natural consequence of browsing bookstores at home or on vacation: sometimes I just can’t resist a good-looking book or five. And part of it just seems to happen, especially when I receive books as gifts.

I shared this photo on Instagram back in November: this was, at the time, my nonfiction TBR (to-be-read) stack. Generally speaking, nonfiction takes me longer than fiction, and I have Shelf Awareness review deadlines (and often, library deadlines) to meet each month. So the non-urgent nonfiction tends to pile up.

Six of these books were given to me by friends. The top two came from my trip to Oxford in October. Anne generously sent me a copy of her book, Reading People, when it came out last fall. And the other four I’d picked up on previous travels: one in London, three in New York.

All of them had been sitting there a while.

So when I heard about #theunreadshelfproject via my bookworm friend Leigh, I decided my reading goal for 2018 would be to make my way through this nonfiction stack. It sounded doable: 13 books spread over 12 months. (By the time 2018 rolled around, it was down to 11: I read and loved H is for Hawk and Reading People in December.)

I’ve since read three (more) of the books pictured here: Love of Country, Ordinary Light and Encore Provence. I’ve also added a bonus novel: Brian Doyle’s Mink River, which sat on my shelf for months after I bought it at McNally Jackson last winter. I’m in the middle of Scratch, and hoping to tackle Shopgirls or Crossing the Unknown Sea next.

With any luck, by the end of the year I’ll have either read all of these or decided they need a new home somewhere else. (But even if I don’t love Pigtails and Pernod, I might keep it around: it reminds me of a wonderful afternoon spent browsing the bookshops of Charing Cross Road with Caroline.)

Did you set any reading goals for yourself this year? Do your stacks tend to pile up like mine?

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#OneDayHH: loving the details

Our task is to say a holy yes to the real things of our life as they exist – the real truth of who we are: several pounds overweight, the gray, cold street outside, the Christmas tinsel in the showcase, the Jewish writer in the orange booth across from her blond friend who has black children.

We must become writers who accept things as they are, come to love the details, and step forward with a yes on our lips so there can be no more noes in the world, noes that invalidate life and stop these details from continuing.”

—Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

On Tuesday, Laura hosted her annual #OneDayHH challenge– a simple call to document the details of our everyday lives. I participated last year, and enjoyed playing along again this year. I thought I’d share my photos, because I like having a record of it here on the blog.

My morning began with the snooze button, and the muted grey light coming through the window. I always make the bed. Since the nights have gotten chilly, we are sleeping under this quilt my husband’s grandmother made him, years ago.

I’m still starting a lot of my mornings with the yoga app. Often that means I go straight to the mat, in my pajamas.

After a hot shower, I put the kettle on and tackled a pile of dishes from Monday night. (We had burritos, hence the rice cooker, cheese grater and guacamole bowl.)

Breakfast was a scone (one of Molly’s) and tea, with a few pages of Anne of the Island. I love Anne and her college adventures so much.

The hubs had a mid-morning break and came home to drop off some groceries. We sat at the kitchen table, talking, for an hour. So rare these days, and so good. Then I spent a while longer at the table, writing and editing and answering emails. (With more tea.)

I’m participating in #NaNoReadMo this month, so I took a break to share my glowing recommendation of Eleanor Brown’s The Weird Sisters.

Lunch was leftover butternut squash soup, with cheese and crackers and The Art of Travel.

I headed into Cambridge after lunch, waiting for the T in a chilly wind (with Alain de Botton for company).

The leaves are falling in great piles, and I couldn’t resist snapping a photo on the way to Darwin’s.

I spent the afternoon here: chai, emails, writing, more emails. A little noveling.

I put my phone away for the evening, which included an overdue catch-up with a friend. We took a long walk, ate our favorite pizza, talked for hours. Later, I walked through the rain to catch the subway home.

The hubs got home from rehearsal right after I did, and we drank apple cider at the kitchen table and debriefed on the day. (And then we collapsed into bed.)

I love Goldberg’s words about saying “a holy yes” to the details of our lives. And I love this project – capturing my own details and seeing those of others.

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