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Posts Tagged ‘daily life’

Harvard yard November light trees fall blue sky

It has been (yet) another stretch of challenge and change here – though the new job is making a little more sense these days. And despite some heartening headlines from last week’s election (more women, more diversity, higher voter turnout), it’s been (another) hellishly hard week or two to be in the world.

That’s how it seems to go these days, isn’t it? Back and forth. But a few small lifesavers are bearing me up. On some days they feel like just enough. Even that, I recognize, is a gift. Here they are:

  • My short rain boots, which are getting me through the fall storms.
  • Related: my newish belted raincoat, lined with a hood.
  • Chatter with my colleagues: music, books, tea, punctuation. (Yes, we are nerds.)
  • Tart, crisp Empire apples from the farmers’ market.
  • The In the Heights soundtrack, especially the first few numbers.
  • Yoga on Tuesday nights, and Gina’s smile.
  • Standing at the kitchen sink washing piles of dishes.
  • The tiny, sparkly We See Stars earrings I bought in the West Village this summer.
  • This song from The Annual, a yearlong music project from St Aldates, my beloved church in Oxford.
  • Morning bike rides across the river after prayers at Mem Church.
  • Related: trips to Darwin’s before prayers, for chai and community.
  • Mums and late roses and black-eyed Susans.
  • The autumn light that turns leaves to stained glass.
  • The feeling when I’m running of finally being warm to my fingertips.
  • Early sunrises out my kitchen window.
  • Related: my vitamin D pills and my happy lamp.

What’s saving your life these days? Please share, if you like.

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pink stock flowers bouquet

For about seven years now, I’ve been buying myself flowers on the regular.

It started during my first long grey winter in Boston, when I worked in an office right off the Common, and made weekly trips to a nearby flower stall for daffodils and tulips. That flower-seller, whose name I never learned, still plies his wares from the same spot next to Macy’s, an oasis of color among grey skyscrapers.

My flower habit has continued, as regular readers know, through my years in Cambridge and my deep (and still growing) affection for the plants and the people at Brattle Square Florist. I’m still swinging by once a week or so, and Stephen sends me home with roses, sunflowers, delphiniums and whatever else is in season.

plant-yellow-leaves-pru-window

One of my new colleagues, Michelle, is the office plant lady: her desk features colored grow lights and half a dozen tiny pots hanging over the cubicle wall. She tends most of the plants in our two sunny conference rooms, and she gave me a baby snake plant, which I’ve named Sal (short for Salazar). Michelle even lugged in a huge monstera from home, and she came to find me when it sprouted some new growth. (We squealed together.)

I’m enjoying the greenery in the suite and at my elbows: besides Sal, I’ve got a pothos plant on my desk. But surprising exactly no one, my favorite way to add some color to my space is through a weekly bouquet, from the farmers’ market or the tiny Trader Joe’s down the street.

sunflowers-market-boots

Several weeks ago, a colleague stopped by my desk and asked, “Who loves you so much that they’re buying you flowers all the time?”

The short answer, I guess, is me. But the longer answer has several facets: it’s tied up with garden walks through Cambridge and the #FlowerReport on Twitter, with Stephen’s smiling face and the constant delight of watching bouquets change with the seasons. It has to do – like so many things – with paying attention. It is a small way of loving and celebrating the world.

Since I started at Berklee, I’ve had bouquets of pink stock, cheery mums, blue hydrangeas and the sunflowers I can’t get enough of. I’m totally happy to be known as the crazy flower lady. There are, after all, worse things to be.

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back bay church trees Hancock tower

I’m into the eighth week at my new job, and I get asked all the time: How is it? Are you settling in? Do you like it?

The answers to all these questions are mostly positive, but alongside them is another truth: adjusting to a new neighborhood has been hard.

My first job in the Boston area was at Emerson College, steps from the Common and the Boston Public Garden. My new job, at Berklee College of Music, finds me a mile or so from there, among the collection of brownstones and skyscrapers that make up the Back Bay.

I miss Harvard Square, where I’ve spent every workday for the last five years and which (as regular readers know) I adore. But there are a few things, so far, to recommend this neighborhood. Here they are, in no particular order:

Boston public library blue sky Hancock tower Boston

  • The gorgeous central Boston Public Library, above, a few blocks from my office. I often pop in during my workday or on my way to the train. Bonus: they have a good cafe.
  • The sunny, plant-filled conference room at work, where I take my laptop as often as I can.
  • The tiny Trader Joe’s down the street, which provides me with affordable flowers (when I can’t get to Brattle Square), dark chocolate peanut butter cups, and a place to grab last-minute grocery items.
  • The Copley Square farmers’ market on Tuesdays and Fridays. Related: the few intrepid vendors who come out even in the rain. I miss Amanda and her tamales, but am glad for a place to pick up fresh produce.
  • The nearest Flour location, which has $5 soup, decent chai (it’s not Darwin’s but it’ll do), and friendly employees.
  • The Commonwealth Avenue mall: green and lovely and dotted with benches.
  • So many happy dogs, walking the streets with their owners or in packs shepherded by dog walkers.
  • Trident, the newly reopened bookstore down the street.
  • The midweek Eucharist service at Trinity Church: I’ve only been once so far but it was lovely.
  • Occasional walks along the Esplanade, when I have time.

What’s saving your life these days? Heaven knows we all need to take our joy where we can find it, right now.

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Katie polka dots porch selfie

I turned thirty-five this past weekend. And I have to admit: this one freaked me out a little.

I don’t often worry about birthdays: turning another year older beats the alternative, as my mom says. My (fairly healthy) reaction to turning thirty, a few years ago, was to take my first trip to Canada. But this birthday – falling squarely in the middle of ordinary life and a job change – felt big, somehow, in a way I didn’t quite feel able to process.

I’d debated about having a party, but in the end we celebrated with friends, pulling together a brunch in our top-floor apartment: mimosas and fruit, jazz on my old stereo, scrambled eggs and stacks of French toast made by my husband. Sierra walked in and handed me a bouquet of sunflowers; Aaron brought a bread pudding made with honey cake; 14-month-old Colette toddled around in a pink plaid dress with cupcakes on the smocked yoke. Everyone greeted me with bear hugs and best wishes. They pulled open the cabinets for coffee mugs and Fiestaware plates, and made themselves at home on the living room couches and around the kitchen table, talking, laughing, enjoying one another. It was exactly what I wanted.

sunflowers books mimosas birthday

I’m only a few days into thirty-five, of course, but wanted to capture a few snapshots, literal and figurative, of what it looks like so far.

Thirty-five is about a dozen gray hairs (I stopped counting after three). So far I’m happy to let them coexist with the brown and the pink streaks; you can see some of all three above. I am even a little bit proud: I’ve earned every single one.

Thirty-five is adjusting to the rhythms of a new job, in a new neighborhood across the river from my Cambridge home. Thirty-five is struggling with this change, and also trying to turn toward gratitude.

Thirty-five is still learning to own the broken pieces and wonky seams of this life, to step into both strength and vulnerability, to let herself be seen.

Thirty-five is stepping into my identity as a runner, getting out on the river trail several days a week. Thirty-five loves both the measured pace of yoga class and the change-it-up high intensity of a boot camp workout in Erin’s backyard.

Thirty-five is always reading a handful of books at once: something for review, brain-challenging nonfiction, something with heft and depth (fiction or nonfiction), a damn good story, something just for fun. (These categories often overlap.)

Thirty-five repeats a few good phrases to herself over and over again: everyone is learning. You are loved. The only thing to do is to keep moving. Summon all the courage you require

Thirty-five eats a lot of granola and peanut butter crackers, drinks copious amounts of black tea, tries to stay away from sugar and eat more vegetables (she has no trouble eating lots of fruit). Thirty-five tries to stay off the computer in the evenings, and winds down with a book before bed.

Thirty-five tears up often and laughs every single day. Thirty-five wears the same few pieces of jewelry that have become talismans: a necklace stamped with brave, a Wonder Woman bracelet, a matching set of wedding and engagement rings.

Thirty-five thought she’d have more answers to a few big questions by now. Instead, she is facing the reality that we are always becoming. That few things are set in stone. That even the most foundational relationships will change. Thirty-five would refute the sunny-side optimists who insist that change is always good, but is trying to agree with the friend who often says, “Change is how we grow.”

Thirty-five has learned that love and life are bigger and harder and more complicated than she ever thought possible. Thirty-five is in the middle of a messy, rich story. Thirty-five is doing her best to be honest about, and grateful for, the all of it.

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sunrise window august

This summer feels like it’s both over and not over.

The hot, humid weather has been hanging on, making for some seriously sweaty runs (and commutes). I haven’t turned on my oven in weeks, and we’re still eating lots of gazpacho and taco salad. The sunflowers and berries are still out at the farmers’ market (for now), and the roses, hydrangeas and black-eyed Susans are still in bloom.

black eyed Susans flowers

But the calendar has flipped to September. Labor Day has passed and students of all ages are starting the new semester. I’m slowly adjusting to the rhythms of a new office life, and I’ve even spotted the first few red sumac leaves on the trail.

As we head into a new season, I wanted to share a few snippets of the summer that have gone unblogged.

In mid-June, the hubs and I made our annual pilgrimage to Crane Beach, stopping for lunch at Honeycomb, a delightful cafe a few towns over.

lemon square cafe

We soaked up the sun for a while and when it got cool, we finished with dinner at Salt, which is reliably delicious.

crane beach k j

This summer has included a lot of front porch sitting, often with books (it’s usually cooler outside than inside). We had a picnic dinner out there on the Fourth of July, before heading down the street to watch fireworks from the hill.

virgil wander book porch

Since I was job hunting this summer and my husband’s schedule varies (he’s a therapist), we spent a few mornings co-working together at home.stead, a local cafe we love.

homestead dorchester cafe interior laptop

We also spent a Friday evening there in July at a karaoke singalong. The hubs got up and sang some Maroon 5; I was a contented observer, though I happily sang along with the Broadway numbers and the nineties boy bands.

Summer always brings a few out-of-town visitors, and this one was no exception. Some friends of ours (who used to live here and have moved back to Northern California) flew in for a night in early July. We all went to dinner at the newly reopened Bowery in our neighborhood. Their little one, Miss Elle, was a hit with the staff (and with us).

greens elle dinner

Later in July, my dear one Laura and her family came up from West Texas. I gave them my Harvard tour, took them to Darwin’s (of course), and we wandered the city and ate dinner in the North End.

Katie laura darwin's Cambridge

They came back through the following weekend and we all went to a Red Sox game. We put Laura’s and my husbands together so they could geek out all night, and of course we all sang Sweet Caroline at the end.

Our tiny church has hired its first full-time minister in many years. We helped Candace move in mid-July, and had her official installation ceremony at the end of that month.

Candace pulpit Brookline church

There has also been plenty of lovely ordinary: so many runs on the trail, several boot camps in Erin’s backyard and a fair amount of yoga, doing laundry and standing at the kitchen sink scrubbing dishes and humming old hymns. (Those last two – well, really all of these – are the most grounding practices I know, these days.)

No summer is complete without ice cream, and we’ve given the Ice Creamsmith our fair share of business this summer. I particularly loved their rotating special flavors: lemon custard in July, peach in August. With sprinkles, of course.

ice cream sprinkles

What have you left unblogged this summer?

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darwins mug ledge coffee shop

This is the summer of strong Earl Grey, drunk without milk in a ceramic mug or a white paper cup, both of them bearing the blue Darwin’s logo on their sides.

This is the summer of freelance projects: a two-part feature story, an annual report, some calendar and publicity work, the usual book reviews and some author Q&As for Shelf Awareness.

This is the summer of libraries and coffee shops: hours spent with my laptop, elbows on a green table, answering emails and wordsmithing sentence after sentence.

This is the summer of sunflowers and roses, of tall purple iris and pink snapdragons, of smiles from the guys at my florist and drawing a deep breath every time I walk in.

oceana rose kitchen

This is (another) summer of local adventures: a weekend in Falmouth, a return to Marblehead, a glorious Sunday in Lenox, a Friday at Wingaersheek Beach.

This is the summer of Amanda’s salsa, scooped up with tortilla chips or spooned onto burritos, huevos and quesadillas every chance I get.

This is the summer of long runs on the river trail, past loosestrife and birdsfoot and Queen Anne’s lace, through morning haze and thick humidity and evening light.

trail morning summer green trees neponset

This is the summer of blue and purple hydrangeas, of bright yellow beds of black-eyed Susans, of tall gangly daylilies in every shade of red and orange.

This is the summer of boot camp workouts in parks and parking lots, sweating and laughing through push-ups and burpees, growing stronger and feeling grateful.

This is (another) summer of yoga on a green mat: Tuesday evenings, Friday mornings, the occasional Saturday afternoon.

This is the summer of pink streaks in my hair, freckled shoulders and striped skirts and my Wonder Woman bracelet.

This is the summer of soaking in my Cambridge neighborhood, while readying myself for what’s next.

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dahlia purple stripe

Happiness is: dahlias in the morning light (courtesy of my beloved florist, of course). And settling in for a morning at Darwin’s, my very favorite place.

darwins scone stripe journal coffee shop table

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