saving my life: just enough edition.

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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On being the crazy flower lady.

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.

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.

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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This is the summer

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.

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.

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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August Break 2018: happiness is…

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.

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Tuesdays in the Square

When I thought about the shape of this freelancing summer, I knew one thing: it would still include lots of time in Cambridge.

I’ve been working on several projects for Harvard, which means I sometimes come into the Square for meetings and research. But, more simply and importantly: this is my neighborhood. I love it here in Cambridge, and whether I’m sending out resumes, writing book reviews or meeting friends, there’s no place I’d rather be than Harvard Square.

Tuesdays this summer, in particular, have fallen into a routine I’m loving.

First: a morning with my journal and laptop at Darwin’s, drinking tea, writing and answering emails. Sometimes I meet up with a friend and we co-work for a while, taking breaks to chat. Other times it’s just me: elbows on a green table, sunshine pouring through the plate-glass window at my back.

The sunset walls, the cheerful baristas, strong Earl Grey or ginger peach in a deep mug and a sweet-tart lemon scone: all of these are deeply familiar delights. I nod to a couple of other regulars, and either ease or dive into the work, depending on the day.

Around lunchtime, I close my laptop and head to the Harvard farmers’ market, where I get lunch from Amanda: homemade Texas tamales, elotes (street corn) slathered with garlicky sauce and spices, and a container of salsa roja to take home to my husband.

I find a shady spot, if I can, to perch and eat my lunch. The people-watching at the market is always a treat, and then I go pick up the week’s fruit from my favorite produce guys. I loved chatting with them about the World Cup earlier in the summer, but we also talk about the weather, the market or whatever comes to mind.

I run a few errands or go work at the library for a while, then frequently meet a friend in the afternoon for (iced) tea. Inevitably, I’ll run into another few folks I know (or see some of my favorite baristas), and sometimes I go by the florist to pick up a bouquet for my kitchen table.

Making the rounds, seeing my people, walking the familiar streets I love: this is my place. And on Tuesdays, especially, I get to glory in it.

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Andiamos en Sevilla

When people ask us what we did in Sevilla this summer, I usually arrive at some version of: we walked. And walked. And walked.

Walking is my favorite way to explore a city – whether treading familiar paths in Boston or Oxford or NYC, or discovering entirely new settings in cities I’m visiting for the first time.

Fortunately, Sevilla is highly walkable, with rambling cobblestoned streets lined with beautiful, brightly painted buildings, and dozens of plazas that appear around unexpected corners.

We walked several miles a day while we were there – through narrow twisting neighborhoods, along broad avenidas, down to the river and back again.

My feet were plenty sore by the time we left, but I enjoyed every ramble. Andiamos, indeed.

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saving my life: one puzzle piece at a time edition.

Jen posted recently on Instagram that some seasons feel like this: being knocked to the ground and having all your pieces scattered, like a puzzle.

When this happens, the pieces often will not come together again in the same way. You can know this, and still not have any idea what the new picture will look like.

I am standing on the edge of such a season: the open space of summer, the still more open space of the job hunt, the aftereffects of so many changes over the past couple of years still settling in.

Some days, I can admit this to you quite calmly, and on other days, I am trying not to slide into blind panic about what’s next.

I know – since I have been here before – that this is the human condition. We all get our lives rearranged, or decide to rearrange them ourselves, every now and then. And we walk through, and survive. But meanwhile it’s the small things that save our lives, over and over.

So here, because I need to make the list every so often, are the latest things that are saving me:

• This line from The Last Jedi: “Hope is like the sun. If you only believe in it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.”
• Getting out on the river trail: summer breezes, so much lush green, thickets of wildflowers, and the light.
• My neighbor’s dog, Riley, who knows I’ll always stop to pet her and will happily plonk herself down on my feet while I do so.
• The guy at the phone repair shop, who fixed my cracked screen twice in one week (!) and gave me a case he had lying around.
• Peonies and good cheer from my beloved florist.

• Every single kind email from a colleague, friend or acquaintance, with job leads or encouragement. There have been many of these, and I’m grateful.
• Being in the middle of several good books at once, which is the best kind of middle.
• Lauren Winner’s words from Still about being in the middle of one’s spiritual life, which resonate deeply these days. And this line from later in the book: “This is the story you will wrestle with forever.”
• Texts from friends near and far, checking in.
• Granola bars and peanut butter crackers. I am an inveterate snacker.
• Every single drop of chai, Earl Grey and compassion from the folks at Darwin’s. That last is, not surprisingly, the most important.
• Ginger peach tea, when it’s too hot for chai or just because it’s my summer drink.
• Tamales and fresh salsa from Amanda every Tuesday at the farmers’ market.
• Kicking butt with Erin and other strong women at Monday night boot camp. And following it up with yoga.

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

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