May reading roundup #2

May is flying by, between events at work, a wonderful weekend in Maine, and celebrating my sweet man’s birthday. Here’s what I have been reading:

The Path to Kindness: Poems of Connection and Joy, ed. James Crews
I’ve been reading this poetry anthology sloooowly for months; it offers glimmers of hope, like its predecessor (also edited by Crews). Full of poets familiar and new. Really lovely.

A Fatal Groove, Olivia Blacke
Juniper Jessup and her sisters are thrilled to be getting their record shop/cafe, Sip & Spin, off the ground. But when the mayor drops dead after sipping their coffee at the local bluebonnet festival, Juni and her sisters fall under suspicion. A fun second entry in Blacke’s Record Shop Mystery series; I like the cast of characters. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 25).

West Side Love Story, Priscilla Oliveras
Musician and aspiring PA Mariana Capuleta doesn’t have time for love – till she kisses a handsome stranger on New Year’s Eve. He turns out to be Angelo Montero, part of a rival mariachi band. This modern-day Romeo & Juliet retelling set in San Antonio was way overwritten (so many similes!) but still a fun ride. Recommended by my friend Jess.

On Air with Zoe Washington, Janae Marks
After helping her birth father get out of prison, Zoe Washington is thrilled to be working with him at a bakery. But when Marcus reveals his dream of opening a restaurant, Zoe becomes determined to make that happen. She starts a podcast about the experiences of exonerees, launches a Kickstarter and brainstorms new desserts – all while juggling changing friend and family dynamics. I loved this sequel to Marks’ From the Desk of Zoe Washington, especially Zoe’s tenacity and the Boston references.

The Lady from Burma, Allison Montclair
A happily married (but terminally ill) woman visits The Right Sort Marriage Bureau to ensure her husband’s future happiness after her death. But when she’s found dead just days later, Iris Sparks and Gwen Bainbridge smell foul play. Meanwhile, Gwen is fighting to regain her legal status, and her court-appointed guardian may be involved in the case. This fifth mystery delves into each woman’s personal life, and the case is still well plotted; so enjoyable. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 25).

Forever Hold Your Peace, Liz Fenton & Lisa Steinke
When Olivia and Zach meet, fall in love and get engaged in Positano, their parents (all divorced) understandably have reservations. But when all four parents plus the lovebirds meet for brunch, it turns out their moms are ex-best friends, estranged for 25 years. Olivia and Zach try to get them to play nice; the moms, June and Amy, try to one-up each other in wedding-planning hijinks; and the dads (one of whom has a secret) are along for the ride. A breezy, hilarious, juicy novel about weddings and secrets and (yes) trying to move on. I winced a lot; laughed often; and breathed several huge sighs of relief. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 11).

To Catch a Thief, Martha Brockenbrough
Amelia MacGuffin loves books, cocoa and mysteries – but she wishes she were braver. When someone steals a town treasure, Amelia (with her siblings and their new neighbors, twins Dot and Dash) steps up to solve the mystery. A delightful cozy middle-grade story; the mystery is fun, but it’s really about community and belonging and lots of hot chocolate.

Most links (not affiliate links) are to my local faves Trident and Brookline Booksmith. Shop indie!

What are you reading?

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#mayflowers: a new series.

Hello, friends. It’s (suddenly) May, and the world is in bloom – the apple blossoms, lilacs and my beloved tulips are splashing out with color these days. I’m feeling the need for a new writing series, so this month I’ll be sharing with you reflections on – what else? – the flowers I love.

I’ve always been a flower fiend, though as a little girl, I didn’t see a lot of the flowers I regularly see here in New England. We had a daylily bed out back (until our rabbit, Barney, ate them all), and I regularly saw dandelions and other wildflowers, but the vegetation in West Texas is wildly (ha) different from where I live now.

My mother has red yucca and oleander in her yard, these days, and I remember puffball begonia plants and potted geraniums in front of our house in Dallas. But the flowers I read about in storybooks mostly remained just that. West Texas is too dry for lilacs and hydrangeas, crocuses and magnolias, and the only zinnias and gladioli I knew were the ones in my Neno’s garden in Ohio.

One of the beautiful, consistent gifts of living in Boston is watching the cycle of flowers as the seasons change. Again: we have seasons in West Texas, but they’re drastically different (and much dustier, mostly) than the ones here in New England. The earliest spring flowers, especially, are dear to me not only for themselves, but as signals that the winter is finally over. The green shoots signal warmer air, longer days, the emergence of people and activities from winter hibernation. And the first ones out – sometimes poking up through literal snow – are, fittingly, the snowdrops.

I first read about snowdrops in The Secret Garden, when Ben Weatherstaff teaches Mary about the plants she’ll see emerging in the Yorkshire spring. I didn’t know what they looked like, though I assumed they’d be white. I didn’t quite understand that some flowers could sprout, even bloom, when it was still cold out. (In my hometown, where the temperature swings can be wild, and spring arrives in mid-March, it doesn’t quite work like that.)

I don’t think I saw snowdrops with my own eyes until my first spring in Oxford, as a college student. There, as here, you can find them in flowerbeds and gardens, often the first reliable sign of green after the winter rains. I was amazed to see them blooming before spring had truly started, in University Parks and in front gardens behind low stone walls. They were a delightful surprise that first year, and every year I have lived in Boston, they have proved a reliable harbinger.

When I worked in Cambridge, I learned to watch for signs of spring: the crocuses in the yard of the house across the street from Darwin’s; the bulbs in front of the yellow house on Hilliard Street; the daffodils along the Charles River, and later the lilacs in front of Longfellow House. I learned, too, to watch for snowdrops there: even in the bitterest winters, they start popping up all over Cambridge in February and early March. They’re often struggling up through mulch and snow and leaf litter, but they are determined. Touched by weak early-spring sunshine, they break through and ring their tiny bells to herald winter’s end.

More flower reflections and photos to come.

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March is for local adventures.

As previously stated, it feels like this winter’s been a long one. And despite my glorious getaway to San Diego in February, I have been hankering for some additional travel. I’ve got one trip on the calendar and am dreaming of a couple of others, but mostly, this March, I am staying local. So I’m trying to make the best of it – despite grey skies and rain – with local adventures.

My guy and I went to the Gardner for their Free First Thursday evening, which involved gorgeous live music by Fabiola Mendez, and the chance to wander the exhibits. I always love seeing the crowds who show up on First Thursday – usually a younger, hipper, more diverse group than you typically see at the museum.

We perused Isabella’s travel scrapbooks, and I revisited some familiar pieces. It was especially fun because I’d just read a novel about her (The Lioness of Boston, which was excellent). We always talk, too, about colonialism and privilege and wealth when we visit the Gardner – because someone had to labor for all this beauty, and it’s important to acknowledge the stories that don’t always get told.

The next week, I headed over to Albertine Press for a calligraphy workshop – which ended up being a one-on-one session with Jen, an accomplished calligrapher. It was both fun and soothing to trace letter forms with beautiful brush pens, and watch Jen demonstrate the strokes and shapes. I did a bit of shopping afterward, and came home with the beginnings of a fun new skill to practice.

On a Sunday afternoon, my guy and I headed to the Map Room Tea Lounge at the Boston Public Library, to toast some exciting developments for him, and brighter days ahead. We sipped delicious cocktails and enjoyed yummy savory bites – and got to sample a few treats from the adjacent tea room. It was just the sparkle our weekend needed, and a semi-hidden gem tucked into one of our favorite places.

I’ve got some live theatre on the list, too – an ushering stint at my beloved Lyric Stage and a trip to Into the Woods with a girlfriend, soon. And my guy and I have a concert date on the books. So, though I’m hankering to hop on a plane, I’m doing my best to enjoy what’s right in front of me – while I wait eagerly for the spring sunshine.

What local adventures are you having these days?

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Spring, in fits and starts

This morning, on the way to work, I walked down clear sidewalks: some recent rain and mild temperatures had washed them nearly clean of last week’s snow and sleet. I’ve been snapping photos of crocuses and snowdrops, stepping around the occasional clump of hardened snow. There’s rain and wintry mix in the forecast for next week: although we’re technically in meteorological spring, March is still winter in Boston. And this winter has been a strange one.

During the decade I’ve lived in New England, we’ve set records for snow totals in both directions: the notorious winter of 2014-15, when it would not stop snowing, remains the high mark for snow in Boston at around 110 inches. Until recently, this winter (which also boasted the cloudiest January on record) was the least snowy winter in Boston’s history. We’ve had at least one record-breaking cold snap, but many more oddly mild(ish), dry days. 

Of course, it’s not over yet, and as we all know, “averages” are made up of both dramatic extremes and quieter middles. But it’s been a season of fits and starts: temps in the 60s over Presidents’ Day weekend, after lows that dipped below zero earlier in the month. A few storms that have dumped several inches of snow and sent everyone scrambling to dig out their shovels and ice scrapers, interspersed with days of cold rain or lowering skies. We’ve had very few of the bright blue days I love, where I inhale the cold, crisp air as I run along the harbor under the morning sun. It hasn’t felt quite normal–though “normal,” as we all know, is highly variable. 

Despite the fitful weather and the lack of snow, some signs of the season are showing up right on time. Those snowdrops have been popping up for weeks now, recently joined by crocuses and early daffodils. The maple buds are turning red; the magnolia branches look fuzzier, or maybe that’s just me anticipating the time when they’ll burst open into pink and white. And the light–this I know for sure–is lingering just a bit longer every day. 

It’s been a strange, fitful life season, too: a reentry from a pandemic that isn’t quite over, no matter how weary we are of anything COVID-related. Some of us are still relearning how to be in society, after nearly two years spent isolating whenever possible. I’ve written before about needing more time to recover after trips and activities, no matter how much I enjoy them. And of course there are the usual existential questions about life and career and relationships, magnified by the last three profoundly strange years: Am I where I’m supposed to be? Am I doing the work that’s meant for me, and am I loving my people well? How do I know?

How do I know, indeed?

We’re so addicted to forward motion, as a culture: linear progress, productivity, the checking off of tasks on the to-do list. I count up the number of pages I write, tally the runs and yoga classes I get to in a week, make and remake lists in my planner. I long to find some momentum on a longer writing project: a book of essays, maybe, or a memoir in vignettes. I want to accomplish, to check off, to have the sense that all this effort, all these quietly lived days, are counting for something. 

As we approach the third anniversary of the pandemic, that strange, disorienting Friday when the world shut down, I’m wondering: what if linear isn’t the thing at all? What if progress is just a name we slap onto weeks of fits and starts, the shiny veneer we paste over a winding path, the story we tell ourselves because we’ve come to believe that cyclical or slower growth doesn’t matter?

I think about those crocuses: quietly gathering their strength underground for months before peeking their heads above the ground, seeking the light. I think about the seasons, how the angle of the sun shifts gradually each day, despite our labels of equinox and solstice. I think about my own growth, how I can attempt a yoga pose or wrestle a knotty emotional problem for days or weeks –and then suddenly, in a split-second epiphany or a quieter moment, understanding can dawn, seemingly out of nowhere.

Along with the crocuses, I am trying (always trying) to open myself up to the beauty that is right here, rather than forcing my own expectations onto reality. It’s hard sometimes: I’d rather have a plan and a list and a road map for how to get there. But it’s worthwhile and life-giving work: to slow down a bit, to notice what’s really here, and to delight in it – even if it’s not what I expected.

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February reading roundup #2

February has been a strange month – I’ve been fighting a weird upper respiratory infection, and the weather has swung from frigid to balmy, with very little snow. Meanwhile, here’s what I have been reading:

The Cuban Heiress, Chanel Cleeton
Two women – and the man on whom they both want revenge – board the SS Morro Castle, a pleasure cruise between New York and Havana. Elena is determined to get her daughter back, and Catherine (who’s not really an heiress) is wary of both her fiance and a mysterious jewel thief she meets. I like Cleeton’s historical novels, but this one felt a little thin; I prefer her series about the Perez sisters. To review for Shelf Awareness (out April 11).

Pride & Puppies, Lizzie Shane
Dr. Charlotte Rodriguez is swearing off men after dating too many not-Mr.Darcys. She gets an adorable golden retriever puppy, Bingley, and everything is fine – except she might be falling in love with her sweet neighbor, George. Meanwhile, George is head over heels for Charlotte but weighing a possible move back to Colorado (with plenty of unsolicited advice from his sisters). I loved this modern-day Austen-inspired romp with two wonderful main characters (and so much puppy cuteness).

See No Stranger: A Memoir and Manifesto of Revolutionary Love, Valarie Kaur
I picked up Kaur’s memoir at Yu and Me Books in NYC and was blown away. Kaur tells the story of her childhood in California, her family’s Sikh faith, her experience mourning and documenting hate crimes after 9/11, and her journey into love, healing and activism. She’s a strong writer and an even stronger person. Thought-provoking and compelling.

The Language of Trees: A Rewilding of Language and Literature, Katie Holten
Holten, an Irish artist and writer, has invented a tree alphabet – and this gorgeous collection of essays, poetry and quotes features each piece in English and in her Trees font. Wide-ranging, thoughtful and an urgent call to preserve and cherish the trees we still have. To review for Shelf Awareness (out April 4).

The Lioness of Boston, Emily Franklin
When Isabella Stewart Gardner came to Boston as a newlywed, she struggled to find her place in the rigid, wealthy Brahmin society. After struggling with infertility and losing a young child, she eventually began traveling and buying art – becoming a famous “collector” of both art and people. This novel – elegant, intimate, fascinating – narrates Isabella’s story in first person. I loved it, and it made me want to go back to her museum. To review for Shelf Awareness (out April 11).

The Stories We Tell, Joanna Gaines
This book showed up in my Christmas stocking, and I’ve been reading it slowly. I like its emphasis on owning all the parts of your story, though lots of it seemed vague and repetitive. I most enjoyed the parts where Gaines actually shared her personal experiences. Warmhearted, but a mixed bag.

A Murderous Relation, Deanna Raybourn
Veronica Speedwell and her colleague, Stoker, are called upon to investigate a scandal possibly connecting a prince to the Whitechapel murders. The case takes them to an exclusive brothel and all over London – including face-to-face with several villains they didn’t expect. A fun entry in this highly entertaining series; I was glad they didn’t dive over-much into the Jack the Ripper cases.

How to Be Brave, Daisy May Johnson
Calla North is used to looking after her mother, Elizabeth, who knows a lot about ducks but not much about everyday life details. But when Elizabeth goes on an expedition to the Amazon and Calla is sent to boarding school, she must band together with an unlikely crew of friends (and nuns!) to rescue her mother. A super fun middle-grade adventure with engaging characters.

Most links (not affiliate links) are to my local faves Trident and Brookline Booksmith. Shop indie!

What are you reading?

P.S. The fifth issue of my newsletter, For the Noticers, came out recently. Sign up here to get on the list for next time!

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#mondaydelights: the first crocus.

It has been a strange winter: we’ve had (knock on wood) hardly any snow, at least by normal Boston standards. We had the cloudiest January on record and a bitter cold snap in early February (which, thankfully, I missed because I was in California).

It’s felt a bit odd not to step around piles of slush, and I’m getting a little worried about what this unusual winter might mean for the rest of this year. I struggle with snow and cold and ice, but I know the plants and the ground need it to give us the other beautiful New England seasons I love.

But. I spotted the first purple crocus in our community garden the other day, pushing up through mulch and sticks and a few bits of discarded litter. And it gave me the same heart-leap of joy and hope as every year: no matter what, no matter the grey skies and existential crises and chilly nights with or without snow, spring will still come. It’s a relief and a blessing to know that the promise is kept: that underground, where we can’t yet see it, growth is happening. Color and joy, and new life, are on their way.

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January reading roundup #2

As the snow swirls down outside, I’ve been plowing (ha) through books – poetry, fiction, memoir and strong women, as usual. Here’s what I have been reading:

Swan, Mary Oliver
I adored this Oliver collection, unsurprisingly – especially the first poem, and several others. She writes so well about nature, the interior life, seasons and paying attention. Perfect morning reading.

Salty: Lessons on Eating, Drinking, and Living from Revolutionary Women, Alissa Wilkinson
I’ve known Alissa online for years, and loved her book of essays on smart, strong, bold women – Hannah Arendt, Edna Lewis, Maya Angelou, Laurie Colwin and others – who had interesting things to say about food, gathering, womanhood and community. If that sounds dry, it isn’t; Alissa’s writing sparkles, and each chapter ends with a delectable-sounding recipe. Found at the lovely new Seven and One Books in Abilene.

Running, Lindsey A. Freeman
As a longtime runner, a queer woman and a scholar, Freeman explores various aspects of running through brief essays – part memoir, part meditation, part academic inquiry. I enjoyed this tour of her experience as a runner, and the ways she writes about how running shapes us. To review for Shelf Awareness (out March 14).

Beyond That, the Sea, Laura Spence-Ash
During World War II, Beatrix Thompson’s parents send her to the U.S. to escape the bombings in London. Bea lands with a well-off family, the Gregorys, and her bond with them – deep and complicated – endures over the following years and decades. A gorgeous, elegiac, thoughtful novel about love and loss and complex relationships. To review for Shelf Awareness (out March 21).

Winterhouse, Ben Guterson
Elizabeth Somers, an orphan who lives with her curmudgeonly relatives, spends a surprise Christmas vacation at Winterhouse, an old hotel full of delights. She makes a friend, uncovers a dastardly plot, makes some mistakes and discovers family secrets. I liked Elizabeth, but I really wanted this to be better than it was.

The Belle of Belgrave Square, Mimi Matthews
Julia Wychwood would rather read than go to a ball – but the only way to placate her hypochondriac parents is to plead illness. She’s rather miserable when Captain Jasper Blunt, a brooding ex-soldier in need of a fortune, arrives in London and begins pursuing her. A fun romance that plays with some classic tropes; I loved Julia (a fellow bookworm!) and her relationship with Jasper. I also loved The Siren of Sussex; this is a sequel of sorts.

The Light We Carry: Overcoming in Uncertain Times, Michelle Obama
Michelle needs no introduction from me; this book discusses some of the tools she uses to steady her during challenging times, such as knitting, exercise, friendship and keeping her perspective straight. I loved the insights into her marriage and her relationship with her mom, and her practical, wise voice. So good.

Most links (not affiliate links) are to my local faves Trident and Brookline Booksmith. Shop indie!

What are you reading?

P.S. The fourth issue of my newsletter, For the Noticers, came out last week. Sign up here to get on the list for next time!

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#mondaydelights: winter sunshine.

If you read my recent newsletter, you know: the first week of January here was dreary and grey, with mornings shrouded in mist and afternoons that looked just like the mornings. It wasn’t particularly cold (at least, for New England), but it was gloomy as a Yorkshire moor, and not in the romantic way. By Thursday I was mopey, and by Friday I was downright cranky. And on Saturday morning, I nearly squealed – or wept, I couldn’t decide which – when I woke to bright sunshine.

There’s a sharpness to the light this time of year, a sudden urgency, as though the daylight itself is trying to make the most of its limited hours. The sun’s low angle bounces off the harbor and arrows straight into my kitchen window, nearly blinding me, but its golden warmth is welcome.

My houseplants stretch toward the light, and so do I – making sure to bundle up and get out for walks as often as I can. If it’s too cold or I’ve just come back inside, sometimes I stand in the kitchen window and let the sunlight flood my cells, my shadow stretching long on the floorboards behind me, lighting up the ordinary objects that crowd my shelves. Even my silverware drawer looks ethereal, bathed in that kind of light.

For the grey days, I still have my happy lamp and vitamin D pills – and you can bet I’m outside every day, whether walking or running or simply commuting the few blocks to my office. The fresh air helps, no matter what color the skies are. But the sunlight – blazing or shy, intense or elusive – is its own particular gift. Especially on these short, dark days, I’m making the effort to soak it up as much as I can. (I’m also thinking of dipping back into Horatio Clare’s lovely memoir, aptly titled The Light in the Dark.)

How do you find light in the middle of winter?

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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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thankful

For bright, bracing miles along the river on Thanksgiving morning, sunlight sparkling on the water and my favorite women of folk in my ears.

For a phone call with my parents, standing on the back porch in the sunshine, talking football and family and the recipes we were all making for the day, two thousand miles apart.

For two racks of ribs with my grandmother’s barbecue sauce, my partner’s legendary mac and cheese, the sweet potato recipe that tastes like Thanksgiving to me. For corn muffins and tabbouleh and a charcuterie board to tide us over while we cooked. For a table positively groaning with food – more, much more, than enough.

For a bike ride with my guy in the sunshine, and the love, respect and genuine affection that sustains us every day.

For the texts rolling in from faraway friends, with Friends gifs and pictures of tables and kitchens and families. For feeling held by the communities I love, scattered though they may be.

For an evening spent washing stacks of dishes and baking dozens of cookies, scrolling through Christmas movie trailers on Netflix and listening to episodes of Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me.

For tricky conversations about the history of the day: I believe gratitude is always worth practicing, but I also, increasingly, believe we’ve got to reckon with the colonial legacy that took so much from Native peoples.

For my job at ZUMIX – community, music and young people – and a fun, diverse group of colleagues who are both hardworking and kind.

For the chance to keep building a life I love, challenges and all.

If you celebrated last week, I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

P.S. The third issue of my newsletter, For the Noticers, comes out this week. Sign up here to get on the list!

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