on needing a longer recovery time

I’m almost recovered. This is what I kept saying to friends, only half jokingly, for at least two weeks after our ZUMIX Gala, which was sparkly and musical and made for a very late night. It was beautiful and fun and entirely worthwhile – and it took much longer to get “back to normal” than I expected.

It wasn’t only the loss of sleep that required some catch-up: there’s a huge swell of emotional and mental effort leading up to an event like that, and sometimes riding the downswell (both the release and the letdown) means you need to take a minute. I was also fighting a cold, for at least a solid week afterward; one of my colleagues likewise couldn’t stop coughing; and another one came down with COVID, which is still with us no matter how much we’d like to pretend otherwise. As we tallied donations and sent thank-you letters and boxed up leftover swag, I talked to several friends who all said the same thing: recovery times, in general, seem to be longer these days.

Part of it is the exhaustion; we’d all put in a lot of hours in the weeks before the Gala, and our bodies and minds needed some rest and space, even as we looked (and continue to look) ahead to the next major project and the daily work. But I think it’s also a lingering effect of the last few pandemic years.

All of us, whether we realize it or not, are still dealing with the compounded results of isolation, fear, mixed political and public-health messaging, and (for many of us) the aftermath of the virus itself. I think differently about social gatherings now, in the wake of 18+ months of barely attending any. I cherish the chances to dance, break bread and celebrate with friends, but I also notice that I need longer to recover – socially and/or physically – afterward. My running routine has had to change since I had the virus; I’ve struggled to build back my stamina and speed. I am noticing a renewed zeal to get back to normal (or pretend it’s already here) in various circles, in person and online. And – honestly – I don’t know if pre-pandemic “normal” is the thing to aim for.

Life is decidedly not the same as it was in 2020; we have vaccines and few restrictions, and I can move about the world in a way I couldn’t then. I’m also conscious that life is not the same as it was in 2019. I am not the same; none of us are, or should be. One way I’m trying to honor that difference is to give myself (and others) the recovery time that’s needed. And if – when – it’s longer? So be it. I’m learning to recognize, and make allowances for, that important fact.

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#31things: two grey sweatshirts.

One says Pride & Prejudice; the zip-up hoodie says Darwin’s. They’re cozy, worn in, remind me of things and people I love. I wear them around the house like a hug.

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#31things: small tactile pleasures.

Creamy lemon-scented lotion, velvety geranium leaves. Crisp clean sheets, a warm mug of tea. Fleecy tights, smooth lip balm. After days alone at the computer, reconnecting with textures helps ground me.

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#31things: turning on the lights at dusk.

As the late-afternoon light shifts, I switch on the lamps, light a candle, start thinking about dinner. Transitions are hard when your whole life is in one space, but this helps. 

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#31things: evenings with my guy.

We cook and laugh, and I steal a kiss while he does the dishes. Then we snuggle or go for an evening walk. We fall asleep, content in each other’s presence. 

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#31things: the coziest red cardigan.

My sister bought it for me a while back. I hadn’t worn it much until this winter. But it’s keeping me warm and stylish on these endless chilly days at home. 

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January reading roundup #1

We are (only?) two weeks into 2021, and it has been a ride. I’ve been doing some serious escapist reading, and it – along with paperwhites, good music and hugs from my guy – is keeping me (mostly) sane. Here’s my first reading roundup of the year:

Once a Midwife, Patricia Harman
I loved this warm, honest novel set in West Virginia during World War II. Midwife Patience Hester is mothering four children, helping her veterinarian husband with the farm work, and delivering babies. Then the U.S. enters World War II and her husband is persecuted for his stance as a conscientious objector. Lovely and thought-provoking. Part of a series (see below).

Mimi Lee Reads Between the Lines, Jennifer J. Chow
Mimi Lee, pet groomer and occasional sleuth, goes to meet her sister Alice for a girls’ night out and finds one of Alice’s colleagues dead in her car. Determined to clear Alice’s name (since she’s a prime suspect), Mimi noses around (with the help of her talking cat, Marshmallow). Super fluffy and really fun.

Cozy: The Art of Arranging Yourself in the World, Isabel Gillies
I picked this one up on remainder at the Booksmith – seems apt for the winter we’re in. Gillies explores the concept of coziness in both familiar ways (cups of tea, blankets, soup) and unexpected ones (an ode to blue mailboxes, a section on “When it Feels Hard”). A bit uneven: some lovely moments and also times when she’s a bit out of touch. (I felt the same about Gillies’ YA novel, Starry Night.)

The Enigma Game, Elizabeth Wein
Orphaned in the London Blitz, 15-year-old Louisa Adair (who is half Jamaican) accepts a position as companion to an old woman in a Scottish village. The catch? The old woman, Jane, is German–but she doesn’t want anyone to know (whereas Louisa can’t hide her heritage). Their adventures with a flying squadron, a German pilot, an Enigma coding machine and a volunteer driver with secrets of her own were just fantastic. I love Wein’s thrilling wartime YA novels and this one is so good.

Dash & Lily’s Book of Dares, Rachel Cohn & David Levithan
All alone for Christmas, 16-year-old Lily leaves a red Moleskine journal full of “dares” on a favorite shelf at the Strand. Dash, also alone for Christmas, picks it up and the two begin a sweet, funny whirlwind romance via correspondence. An entertaining, festive, witty YA novel with some great side characters; I especially enjoyed Lily’s Great-aunt Ida.

The Light in the Dark: A Winter Journal, Horatio Clare
Winter is hard (in case you hadn’t heard) and Clare, a British writer, struggles with it particularly. This is a gorgeous, honest, lyrical book about winter in Yorkshire and seasonal depression and noticing the beauty. I loved it so much. Recommended by my friend Roxani.

The Midwife of Hope River, Patricia Harman
I went back to the beginning of Patience’s story (see above): this traces her adventures delivering babies as a single woman during the Depression. The reader gets to know Patience via her present work as a midwife and flashbacks to her past as a union organizer. A little clunky at times, but comforting and absorbing.

Links are to Brookline Booksmith, a perennial local fave. Shop indie!

What are you reading?

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final form: Queensland Beach

Many of my knitting friends will tell you: sometimes a skein of yarn takes a while to figure out what it’s going to be.

Some years ago now, Sonia came to Boston for a conference, and we met up in the South End and walked around, eating pastries from Flour and talking about our lives. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and we became friends via Ravelry, but had never met in person before. She brought me a gorgeous crimson skein of Cassiopeia yarn from Pigeonroof Studios, and I immediately started browsing potential patterns.

The yarn has a bit of cashmere and silk in it – so it stretched waaaay out with the first pattern I used, Regina. I frogged that attempt and made a gorgeous Cocoon Cowl next, but I rarely wore it. (I like my cowls big and cozy in the wintertime, and this one was more on the small and dainty side.)

A few years later, I used some of the skein to make a Gin & Tonic hat for my friend Laura, but I’d had the rest of it kicking around all this time. But it has now found its final form: a cozy, cabled Queensland Beach headband.

I tried it out on our first proper snow day, yesterday, and I’m so thrilled with it. And it reminded me: sometimes you have to try a few paths/possibilities before you find the right one.

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on Penelope and returning to favorite places

I spent my Labor Day weekend in NYC, staying in a little apartment near Park Slope and wandering in both Brooklyn and Manhattan. The trip, like most of my New York weekends these days, was a mix of familiar and new: a long browse at the Strand, a fantastic musical I hadn’t seen (Come From Away, which made me laugh and cry), a lovely Friday evening in my favorite tangle of streets in the West Village. (The bookseller gossip at Three Lives continues to be the best.)

I went back to the Chocolate Room, which I visited on my first-ever trip to NYC for a retreat led by Jen Lee, years ago. I finally went to Books Are Magic and then tried out Jolie, a French-Mexican cantina in Cobble Hill. I had brunch with dear Abilene friends (both of whom I’ve known since I was a college student and they were just kids) at Maman in TriBeCa, which was new to all of us.

And on Sunday night, I went back to Penelope.

Like so many of my NYC loves, Penelope was a gift from Allison, my dear friend who used to live in Queens and periodically take me to all her favorite NYC spots. Penelope is the kind of place we both love: cozy and inviting, with simple, homey comfort food and yummy desserts. We first ate there on a frigid January weekend, and it lived in my memory as twinkly and delicious.

There are literally hundreds (thousands?) of restaurants in NYC, and I love trying multiple new ones every time I go. Part of the adventure is simply walking into a new place that looks interesting, on whatever street I happen to be on. But I am also both a creature of habit and a person who and delights in repeating joys. When I find something I love, I generally want to enjoy it again and again.

A couple of years ago, during a work conference in midtown, I trudged over to Penelope for dinner one night, dry-eyed from staring at PowerPoint screens and nearly voiceless from a lingering cold. I sat at the bar, which was festooned with twinkle lights, and ate a bowl of spicy, orange carrot-ginger soup. The waitress, after hearing my scratchy voice, brought me a mug of hot water with honey and lemon, a vibrant yellow slice floating on top. Her kindness choked me up (even more than my sore throat). It was such a gesture of care.

I’ve spent enough time in New York now that parts of it feel like mine: there are places I can throw off the tourist mantle for a few minutes, neighborhoods I know well enough not to second-guess my every step. Much of it, of course, is either unfamiliar or constantly changing; the city is huge and dynamic, and even if I lived there, it wouldn’t stay the same. But I’ve drawn immense pleasure from coming back to my favorite places, including Penelope.

This time, it was late on a Sunday night and the place was nearly empty. But the waitress still had a smile for me, and I sat and read my book, savored my sandwich and glass of rosé, and relaxed into the quiet familiarity (and the nineties jams on the stereo). I walked back to the train through Murray Hill, with my leftovers in a brown paper bag, sleepy and footsore (I’d been walking for three days) and entirely satisfied.

Do you like going back to favorite places in cities you’ve visited? Or would you rather try something new every time?

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Back on the needles

I used to be quite a prolific knitter.

Especially the first few years I lived in Boston, I was always making something – fingerless gloves for my girlfriends, sweaters for my then-baby nephews and niece, so many hats and cozy cowls for myself. These were also the years of Downton Abbey and Castle, Lark Rise to Candleford and Sherlock and Grantchester. I’ve never been a big TV watcher, but an hour here and there added up to lots of knitting over the years.

And then a couple of years ago, I just…stopped.

We’d moved again, and several of my favorite shows had gone off the air, and I couldn’t really justify knitting myself yet another hat or scarf. I spend more of my evenings running than sitting at home these days, and so the knitting fell by the wayside. But around Thanksgiving, as the hubs and I were watching Modern Family or doing the NYT crossword (possibly both), I realized I had itchy fingers. So I picked up a skein of Madelinetosh sock yarn I’d had sitting around for ages, and I started knitting – just a round or two here and there.

Two months later, I have an Erie hat – cozy and soft. And I decided it was high time I owned something with a pom-pom. (Red, of course.)

It’s been a comfort to have something back on the needles, and to watch the progress, stitch by stitch, round by round. The merino wool feels good in my hands. And when the weather in New England does its schizophrenic thing, I have another way to keep out those biting winds.

I’m not sure I’ll dive back into knitting the way I once did. But I am eyeing the Queensland Beach headband pattern, with some yummy red yarn I have in my stash…

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