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Posts Tagged ‘Boston’

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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.

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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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Street art spotted on a run this weekend, which fits two August Break prompts: curved and ground. This is the Gove Street crossing of the East Boston Greenway, which got a colorful face-lift this summer.

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selfie stripes library Boston

I don’t take many selfies unless I’m running, but I snapped this one during a mid-morning break at the library. They make the best chai in the neighborhood, and the baristas are so nice.

It’s very me: striped dress (a recent clothing-swap find), my favorite necklace (just out of frame), sunglasses on my head, a few wayward silver strands peeking through the brown and red. Long lashes, pink cheeks, tired eyes, a half smile. Just another weekday morning – and I love that this project calls us to pay attention.

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lines color greenway east Boston

From this weekend: lines on the East Boston Greenway (my new running route), a triple-decker on my street, and the Golden Stairs Park near my apartment.

triple decker building east Boston

golden stairs east Boston

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