Saving my life: almost-too-small-to-mention edition.

March blew in like a lion with two wild, wet nor’easters back to back, and no lack of responsibilities at work and at home. As I navigate these blustery days, here’s a handful of tiny things, like bits of glitter, that are saving my life now:

• That first sip of Darwin’s chai in the morning, after I lift the cup off the bar and before I put the lid on. It’s hot, spicy and life-giving.
• Catching the trolley or the Red Line without having to wait.
• The first (!) golden crocuses, spotted in the yard of a pink house on Cambridge St. (The man who lives there cut some of his roses for me last summer.)
• Good pens, and ink-stained fingers.
• Letting the sunlight flood full into my face as I look out the kitchen window, step outside my office building or sink into my favorite pew at Mem Church.
• Brian Doyle’s rambling rollicking jubilant heartbreaking sentences in Mink River. They read like the Irishman he was: tender and clear-eyed, vivid and joyous.
• The first scent of spring on an evening run last week: not just damp earth, which I also love, but the distinct smell of fresh blooming things.
• The chalk heart that someone draws over and over again on the river trail.
• Seeing my work in Shelf Awareness, which never fails to thrill me. If you love books, you should subscribe – it’s free, fun and informative.
• A few places in my life where I am sure of a welcome: my florist’s shop, my boss’ office, my Thursday-morning haunt on the sixth floor. And – say it with me now – Darwin’s. (Though that’s not such a small thing at all.)

Some of these lifesavers are tiny indeed. But they anchor me and bring me joy, over and over again.

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

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August Break 2016: breathe

Back to reality today (and stacks of emails), but I stole a moment this morning to sit outside Darwin’s with my chai. Ahhhh.

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Becoming a Regular

10 a.m.: One medium chai latte, to go.

12:30 p.m.: Half a Longfellow sandwich (ham, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, sliced Granny Smith apples and spicy Dijon mustard) on sourdough. With salt and vinegar chips in a bright turquoise bag, if they’re available.

3:30 p.m.: One chocolate-dipped butter cookie, shaped like a heart, shamrock, Easter egg or autumn leaf, as the season dictates.

These are my usual orders at Darwin’s, the cafe down the street from my office. Sometimes the particulars vary a bit: I’ll add a buttery scone to my morning order, or splurge on a chocolate-glazed peanut butter cookie in the afternoon. If I’m feeling healthy I’ll swap the chips at lunch for a fruit salad, and on frigid days, I’ll often order a bowl of the daily soup, with a hunk of baguette for dipping.

I’ve worked in the same neighborhood for three years, and been an occasional visitor to Darwin’s for most of that time. But over the last year, I’ve become a regular. And it has brought me more pleasure than I could have dreamed.

I’m over at Art House America today waxing rhapsodic about my love for Darwin’s, and what it means to be a regular. Please join me over there to read the rest of my essay.

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Saving my life: December edition.

I say this every year: I love December.

It’s the one month when I don’t mind a chill in the air, because it feels so very Christmassy. (Though this week has been astonishingly mild.) I love the sensation of hurrying along a busy city street, under twinkling lights, wrapped in my favorite green coat and the winter accessories I haven’t grown sick of yet. And the twinkle lights – plus the festive shop window displays everywhere – make the dark (which comes so early) much more bearable, at least for now.

I also say this every year: I feel like I blinked after Thanksgiving and it’s mid-December already.

This time of year has such potential to be holy, sparkling and peaceful. And let’s be honest: it can also feel rushed, frenetic and hollow. So as I work through various lists (gifts to buy, tasks to cross off, emails to send), I’m relishing a few small things that are saving my life:

• Kate Rusby’s Sweet Bells album. Quiet yet cheery, and wonderfully Celtic. (Also, I love the way her Yorkshire accent comes out on certain vowels.)
• The cozy purple wrap I knit for myself last year, which I am wearing all the time.
• The Magnificat, which I cannot stop humming.
• The black ankle boots Mom bought me last Christmas, which I’m wearing almost every day.
• The tiny birch bark reindeer who have taken up residence outside my favorite local flower shop.

• Chai in a paper cup from Darwin’s, every weekday. And about once a week, my favorite breakfast sandwich there: eggs over medium, bacon, melted cheddar cheese and avocado. Perfection.
• This beautiful desktop wallpaper (via Susannah Conway).
• Instagram photos of Mary Todd Lincoln – not the First Lady, but the tiny dachshund puppy who’s one of the shop dogs at Parnassus Books. (So. Much. Adorable.)
• Clementines – tiny, bright, delicious hits of citrus. (Bonus: they make my hands smell so good.)
• A few convivial evenings with friends, trading laughter and stories around a table.
• Giggles from baby Evie.

• The words of my Advent book, full of hope and longing.
• Stealing at least a few minutes every night to sit in front of our twinkling tree.
• The sound of my husband playing Christmas carols on the guitar. (I particularly love his rendition of “Angels from the Realms of Glory.”)
• A few pages of Winter Solstice and/or Shepherds Abiding, every night before bed.
• My dachshund slippers.

What’s saving your life this December? (And how many days till Christmas?)

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Privacy in public

For one reason and another, I have spent a lot of time working in libraries and coffee shops over the last few months. (If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve probably seen my copious photos of the chai lattes at Darwin’s.)

I love both settings, for different moods and often different kinds of work. But it occurred to me recently that both places offer a way to strike a balance between privacy and being in public.

In a library, it is of course generally expected that you won’t – or don’t have to – talk to anyone. Though many libraries now offer group study spaces, you can also settle in quite comfortably with your laptop at a table or in a deep armchair.

I spent an hour in Lamont Library (at Harvard) one recent afternoon with about fifteen other people – all of us tucked up in different corners of the Farnsworth Room, typing contentedly away at our computers or scribbling in notebooks. We weren’t oblivious of each other’s presence, but we didn’t have to acknowledge it, either.

The collective presence in the room formed a kind of reassuring cushion for me. Introvert that I am, I still like to know that there are other people out there in the world (or right next to me), working on their own projects, doing their thing. I like knowing I’m part of that collective, without having to talk to anyone.

In a coffee shop, the boundaries are more porous. There’s food and drink, for one thing, and generally also music. (The music at Darwin’s ranges delightfully and eclectically from classic rock to indie folk to the occasional country song.) I’ve learned the names of a couple of baristas, and I know most of the other ones by sight – and I’m sure I surprise no one, any more, when I order a medium chai latte.

At Darwin’s, you still don’t have to talk to anyone – but the general volume is a little louder, the vibe chummier. People do sometimes ask if they can share tables, borrow a chair, or make use of a power strip or outlet. I know a few of the other regulars by sight, and occasionally I bump into a friend or colleague. I listen with pleasure to the baristas’ banter as they sling drinks behind the counter or bring new supplies up from the basement. (It reminds me of my days as a barista at the Ground Floor, long ago.)

Here, too, the background noise forms a sort of comforting baseline: the small noises of footsteps and chatter, the whirr and hum of the espresso machine, blend into a pleasing buzz. I can (usually) detach my brain from following individual noises, letting it rest in the general hum, as I jot down notes (or a to-do list) or type away on my computer. Around me, there’s usually a mix of fellow workers on their laptops, elderly men perusing the newspaper, the guy who brings in his pastels to sketch, and chattering pairs of friends.

I love my solitude, however I can get it: a solo lunch in Harvard Yard, a quiet evening at home alone, even disappearing into a book on a crowded subway train. But I also love this contradictory mix of privacy in public. I like being part of the rhythm of a place, even if – sometimes especially if – my thoughts and words can remain all my own.

Do you like hanging in out libraries and coffee shops?

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Good words for a Monday

This card came in the mail a few weeks ago with a pair of flats I ordered.

I returned the flats, but kept the card. I like the idea of being all these things – in addition to brave, which I wear around my neck, and gentle, which I chose as my word for this year.

Good words to keep in mind on a Monday. Or any day, really. (With chai, of course.)

Hope you have a lovely start to your week, friends. xo

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for the love of chai lattes

Confession: I’ve sort of developed a Starbucks habit.

As a former barista at a beloved independent (now defunct), I once swore up and down that Starbucks was the enemy. I refused to order anything, out of principle, when my family stopped there on our way out of town. I turned my nose up at all their products (I still don’t love their teas), and I was basically quite pompous and self-righteous about the whole thing.

This began to change when I lived in Oxford. My housemate Lizzie worked at Starbucks, and would occasionally phone down to the house on her long shifts, begging one of us to come up and see her. I’d hop on my green bike, glad for a break from schoolwork, and pedal and pant my way up steep Headington Hill, then breeze up a few blocks to her Starbucks and order a peppermint hot chocolate or a chai latte. Sometimes I perched at a table across from the register, so she could talk to me; sometimes I’d make myself less conspicuous, curling up in a soft green chair and reading or writing, and Lizzie would toss me a remark or two as she wiped tables nearby. I still spent more time and money at my other beloved Oxford cafes, but I didn’t mind Starbucks quite so much any more.

There are a couple of great indie cafes near my current workplace – I love Thinking Cup and Boston Common Coffee House, and I make frequent visits for lunch or other treats. But there’s a Starbucks right in my building, and on mornings when I’ve had too little sleep and not enough caffeine, or when the temperature in my office is colder than the rainy day outside, or when I just need a treat to warm me and cheer me, I head downstairs and order a tall chai latte. I watch the baristas joke with each other and chat with their customers; I sneak glances at my fellow customers, observe what they’re wearing and reading, wonder about their lives. And then I walk back up to my office with a warm cup of creamy chai goodness.

I’m still a staunch supporter of all things indie, and I’ll keep buying books at the Booksmith and yarn at the Windsor Button and produce at the farmer’s market. But I’m shelving my pride and admitting that, as far as chai lattes and convenience are concerned, there’s also room for Starbucks in my life.

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