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Posts Tagged ‘Boston’

Tucked away on a side street near the Fens, the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is one of Boston’s hidden gems. I’ve been there a few times, with my parents or visiting friends, but I hadn’t been back in several years.

The museum is open late on Thursdays, with jazz and samba music winding through the galleries and evocative shadows dancing in the corners. I spent the evening there last night with someone dear to me who had never been before (though he’s lived in Boston for years).

We wandered through the galleries, marveling at intricate tapestries, delicate handmade lace, elaborate marble statues and tile work, and gorgeous paintings. In each room, I always end up at the windows, gazing down into the central courtyard, which is amazing from every angle.

The museum is a different place at night: arranged exactly as it is in the daytime, but with more mystery in its corners. We wondered about the origins of some pieces, and noted a few empty frames (which held the pieces stolen in the Gardner’s 1990 heist). Different details catch my eye every time: a medieval portrait of an anonymous woman, an impressionist painting of gladioli, a bronze sculpture of Diana the huntress.

There’s far too much art to take in all at once, and so you don’t have to try, which is what I love about the Gardner: you can simply wander through and experience the art and the place.

I’d never spent an evening at the Gardner before: I’d always been on a weekend afternoon, with the attendant crowds (and sunshine pouring through the skylight). But this was a lovely way to enjoy a beautiful space. I can see more evenings there in my future.

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What a year, y’all. I say that every year, but this one has brought so much change I didn’t see coming.

Here is my annual non-exhaustive list of what has happened this year. As always, it’s a limited tool, but an interesting one.

In 2019, I have…

  • marked a year (and some change) at Berklee, where I get to write about our students, faculty, alumni and guest artists making music and doing various cool music-adjacent things.
  • moved to East Boston after spending a lot of time there this spring, and falling completely in love.
  • Related: moved into my own apartment for the first time in more than a decade.
  • run several 5Ks, one of them in a cape and one in a Wonder Woman costume.
  • run my first 10K, this summer – a triumph.
  • flown to Texas several times, once to celebrate my grandfather’s 85th birthday with the whole fam.
  • spent hours and hours on the Neponset River trail, the Charles River Esplanade and the East Boston Harborwalk and Greenway, running to my heart’s content.
  • done a lot of yoga, at three different studios: Healing Tree in my old neighborhood, Erin’s shiny new Savin Hill Fitness Studio, and The Point in my new neighborhood.
  • read more than 150 books, and reviewed 58 (I think) for Shelf Awareness. (Still the best.)
  • Related: interviewed nine authors for the Shelf, all of whom were lovely and fascinating.
  • attended my first Newport Folk Festival and had a fabulous time.
  • filled up half a dozen or so journals (and – gasp – I got rid of at least six boxes of old ones when I moved).
  • started going to therapy.
  • gone through a divorce.
  • spent many weekday mornings at Mem Church, and a few Sundays at assorted churches here and there.
  • drunk so many chai lattes, mostly from the Boston Public Library and (of course) Darwin’s.
  • bought and enjoyed countless bouquets of flowers, most of them from my beloved Brattle Square Florist.
  • taken a number of BlueBike rides across town and along the river.
  • spent a weekend in rural Pennsylvania with my friend Christie and her family – so good for the soul.
  • hosted my longtime friend Abigail in my new digs for a glorious long weekend.
  • spent Thanksgiving with my friends Joe and Lauryn, and assorted other friends old and new.
  • taken Phoenix, the sweetest mini golden doodle, on many walks through East Boston. (And cuddled him a lot.)
  • followed thrive as my one little word, to sometimes unexpected places.

What has 2019 looked like for you?

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I am (it’s no secret) in love with my new neighborhood of East Boston, tucked between the water and the airport. I’ve spent nearly five happy months here now, and I’ve loved watching my neighbors get festive for the holidays.

The Italian restaurant around the corner was one of the first to decorate:

My neighbors are putting up wreaths of all kinds, including this shiny silver one:

Fences are draped with twinkly lights, including this display down the street from my house:

Even the yoga studio has gotten into the spirit, with this tiny, charming tree:

The wreath at the top is from the park near my house, which also put up a lighted tree last week. I love walking down the dark streets after work and seeing all the festive trees and decorations in people’s windows. And, of course, I’ve done a bit of decorating of my own.

It is that famously hectic week before Christmas, with work projects and holiday parties and last-minute details galore. But just like every year, I’m trying to slow down and notice the sparkle. I hope it’s looking cheery (or quiet and peaceful) where you are.

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books-magic-fiction

And somehow, it’s October. I’m back from a trip to Texas (we surprised my grandfather for his 85th birthday), back at work, wrapping up another round of dog-sitting. Here’s what I have been reading, when I can:

The Daughters of Temperance Hobbs, Katherine Howe
I read and enjoyed Howe’s debut novel, The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, soon after moving to Boston. This sequel picks up Constance (Connie) Goodwin’s story as she’s angling for tenure, juggling job responsibilities and trying to neutralize a family curse. I wanted to like this, but it was a slog for me – disjointed and heavy-handed, and Connie is frustratingly obtuse.

Agatha Oddly: The Secret Key, Lena Jones
Named after Agatha Christie, 13-year-old Agatha Oddlow is hankering for a case to solve. She gets one when London’s water systems are clogged by a noxious red slime. A fun middle-grade mystery – first in a new series – with a charming protagonist. Found at Books Are Magic in Brooklyn, pictured above.

I Owe You One, Sophie Kinsella
When Fixie Farr saves a stranger’s laptop from disaster at a cafe, he scribbles an IOU on a coffee sleeve. She’s not going to take him up on it – but then she does, while juggling family issues, business woes and a suddenly complicated love life. A fun, witty, unexpectedly moving romantic comedy; Kinsella does these so well. Found at the Strand.

Now You See Them, Elly Griffiths
The fifth entry in Griffiths’ Magic Men series finds her protagonists settling down to family life. Edgar Stephens, now superintendent of Brighton’s police force, is on the tail of a kidnapper while his wife, former DS Emma Holmes, wishes she could join the chase. Their magician friend Max Mephisto is also involved. An engaging mystery, but I think it’s more fun if you’ve read the previous books in the series (I hadn’t). To review for Shelf Awareness (out Dec. 3).

The Flatshare, Beth O’Leary
After a bad breakup, editor Tiffy Moore needs a cheap place to live. Leon Twomey, a night hospice worker, needs a bit of cash. They agree to share a flat and a bed – just not at the same time. I loved this charming, witty, original novel – watching Tiffy and Leon bond via Post-Its was so much fun.

Sword and Pen, Rachel Caine
The Great Library is in turmoil, and Jess Brightwell and his band of rebel friends must act to restore order before the exiled Archivist destroys everything. Perfect airplane reading: fast-paced and dramatic. I’ve enjoyed this YA series – the characters are great – though the plot got a bit dense for me. Still a satisfying conclusion.

The View From Somewhere: Undoing the Myth of Journalistic Objectivity, Lewis Raven Wallace
Accusations of bias and “fake news” plague journalism, and Wallace – after being fired from Marketplace – set out to investigate the idea of “objectivity” and examine the role of journalism in our current age. A fascinating, thoroughly researched, compelling account of how we got here, and some thoughtful arguments for independent, humane journalism. To review for Shelf Awareness (out Oct. 31).

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

What are you reading?

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phoenix dog sidewalk

Fall has come to Boston, and I’m dog-sitting again for my friend Carolyn, who is now also my neighbor. I spent several weeks at her house this spring, taking care of Phoenix the golden doodle pup, and I’m happily spending the second half of September hanging out with him again.

The alarm goes off in the morning, and I stretch and hit snooze and turn to look out the windows at the park, where the leaves are just starting to turn. As soon as my feet hit the floor, Phoenix starts scratching at the door of his crate: if I’m up, he wants to be up. But when I get out of the shower, I usually find him curled up on the bed, often next to my pillow. Sometimes he’ll wave a paw, asking for some extra pets or snuggles, and I usually comply. (He knows I’m a softie.)

I get dressed, blow-dry my hair, grab a banana for me and some treats for Phoenix, and clip his red leash to his collar. We head downstairs and out the door, taking the same route most mornings: down the street, around the corner and back up the hill.

Sometimes we run into a friend, or a small child excited to see a doggie. Sometimes we both stop to smell the flowers (though Phoenix also likes to smell everything else). He trots along happily, plumy tail waving, and does his business, and I give him treats and take deep breaths of fresh air. I drop him back off at home, feed him breakfast, and head to the train to go to work.

It’s a simple morning ritual, and I love it: scratching him behind the ears as he wanders around the bedroom, watching him wag frantically at other pups, giving him those extra cuddles, stretching our legs together. His little joyful presence is good medicine, these days. And I’m grateful.

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apple orchard trees wonder woman bracelet red

I had my first bite of a September apple last week, sampling a crisp Macintosh from the white bag on the kitchen counter. It tasted delicious: tart, juicy, the embodiment of fall in New England. And I was stunned by the wave of sadness that followed it.

Since I moved to Boston, apples have been tangled up with September: crisp sunny days, cool nights, black-eyed Susans and dahlias and late daylilies in the flower beds around town. September is the start of the academic year, and in a city like Boston, that shifts the rhythm in a big way. And every fall, September has meant apple picking.

apple trees blue sky

Apple picking was and is a beloved tradition for my former church. I’d eaten apples all my life, but there are no apple orchards in West Texas, and I wasn’t prepared for the sight of their rambling, gnarled branches heavy with fruit. I fell instantly in love.

Last year, some dear friends who’d moved away came back to visit for a long weekend, and we made sure to plan our apple-picking excursion when they were here. We wandered the orchard and filled our bags to bursting and ate the traditional orchard lunch of hot dogs and apple cider donuts. There were photos and laughter and tired kiddos, and cold, fresh cider. It felt right.

This year, so much has shifted: I’m living across the water in Eastie, spending my Sunday mornings sleeping in or running instead of going to church. I’m navigating the end of the marriage whose story began when I was in college. I am not who I was, and my life is a testament to that fact. But it is still September, and the apples have appeared at the farmers’ markets and grocery stores.

I’ll keep eating them, because the flavor and enjoyment are worth the reminder of all I have lost. Things are different now, but life is still full of sweetness. I’m trying to feel it all, live it all, truly taste both the grief and the joy.

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I’ve been in my new place for almost a month (how is that possible?), and it’s gradually looking and feeling like home. It’s not quite “done” yet, but we’re a long way from the initial wilderness of boxes and also the half-done state I lived in for a couple of weeks. I’m hoping for many more happy days here, but I want to remember what this first stage has been like.

The first few weeks in the new apartment have sounded like foghorns blowing over the harbor. This is the first place I’ve lived in Boston where I can’t hear the train, but I’ve traded it for the jingles and barks of neighborhood dogs, the particular creaks of this wide-plank wood floor, and those ships making their presence known.

These first few weeks have looked like a crazy mix of old and new: the dressers and bed frame I’ve had for years, with new living room furniture and four bookshelves lining one brick wall. I have a new red kettle, an old bookshelf repurposed as a bedside shelf, the stereo I’ve had since college and beloved books in a totally new arrangement. The neighborhood itself was familiar from my dog-sitting adventures this spring, but I’m learning it in a different way now.

I haven’t done much “real” cooking this summer, but these weeks have tasted like sourdough toast with butter and strawberry jam, Greek yogurt and granola in the same brown bowl every morning, and cup after cup of ginger peach tea. In the evenings, they’ve tasted like huevos or gazpacho or tacos from the Cactus Grill in Maverick Square. And sometimes, a few sips of rosé and a few spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry’s raspberry-lemon sorbet.

Since my new place looks out on the harbor, these weeks have smelled like salt and sunshine, wild Irish roses growing in the neighbors’ yard, the scent of barbecued meat drifting down the street. They’ve smelled like a lemon-rosemary candle and the clean scent of dish soap.

These first few weeks have felt like new sheets on bare skin, a cooling breeze coming in off the harbor after a hot humid day, sore muscles after lugging boxes up and down stairs and building furniture. These weeks have felt like retuning my body to a new space, reaching for different light switches and stove burners, finding the new ways this space already fits me.

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