here we are running with the weeds colors exaggerated pistils wild embarrassing the calm family flowers oh here we are flourishing for the field and the name of the place is Love
I found this poem in How to Carry Water, a robust collection of Clifton’s poems. I love its riotous exuberance, its verbs, its unapologetic flourishing. And that last line! As a flower geek and a perennial optimist, I love it all.
April is National Poetry Month, and I am sharing poetry – with an emphasis on women of color – here on Fridays this month, as I do every year.
Well. We are digging out from a serious snowstorm, and it’s also (according to the calendar) the halfway point of winter. I’m linking up with Anne Bogel and others to share a list of what’s saving my life these days – because any and all lifesavers are worth celebrating. Here’s mine:
My final paperwhite bulb and the pink hyacinth in a glass vase I bought at Trader Joe’s – both blooming away.
The salsa class I’m taking on Thursday nights in Cambridge. It’s fun to learn something new, and it reminds me of the swing dance club I was in, back in college.
The big box of fresh citrus my California friend sent last week – most of it from her parents’ trees.
Strong black tea in my favorite mugs – a year-round lifesaver.
Tuesday writing class, which is back (on zoom) – I adore these ladies and the work we do together.
My cozy plaid infinity scarf and every sweater dress I own.
Yoga, which feels especially good when it’s so dang cold.
Spotify mixes – nineties country, mellow jazz, nineties pop hits, contemplative movie soundtracks and Natalie Cole.
One of my favorite follows on Instagram is Annie B. Jones, who runs The Bookshelf in Thomasville, Ga., and posts about books, musicals, channeling Kathleen Kelly and other lovely things. Last year, she shared monthly “what I learned” posts, and I enjoyed them so much I decided to try my own. We’ll see if it sticks, but here’s what I learned in January 2022:
Slouchy sweaters can be a great comfort, even if you’re more of a fitted-silhouette kind of girl.
One green curry paste IS different from another (learned while making this soup several times).
Paperwhite bulbs might take a while to bloom, but they – like so many things – can surprise you. (See above – my final bulb is flourishing.)
COVID brain fog is real. As are the emotions that come with it.
It takes 15 minutes to walk from my house down the Golden Stairs to the end of Piers Park and back. And that is enough when it’s 14 degrees outside.
It’s fun to be a beginner again, even – or especially – when it means stumbling through salsa steps with a roomful of other novices.
Some books (e.g. The Warmth of Other Suns) are just going to take as long as they take.
Three days into the new year, and despite the lack of adequate light, our white phalaenopsis orchid has eased open a third delicate bloom. Perhaps coaxed by the warmth of the woodstove a few feet away, the orchid thrives in its tiny pot shaped like the shell of a nautilus, sending out new stems and glossy leaves, its aerial roots—green at the tips— reaching upward like tentacles to sip the morning air. These blooms stir something too long asleep in me, proving with stillness and slow growth what I haven’t wanted to believe these past few months—that hope and grace still reign in certain sectors of the living world, that there are laws which can never be overturned by hateful words or the wishes of power-hungry men. Be patient, this orchid seems to say, and reveal your deepest self even in the middle of winter, even in the darkness before the coming dawn.
I found this poem last winter in How to Love the World, a lovely, hopeful anthology edited by Crews. I have been thinking of it again in these cold January days: sometimes keen and blue and bright, sometimes grey and damp and dark.
While I am not growing orchids, my last paperwhite bulb – which sat on the kitchen windowsill for over a week with no signs of growth at all – has started to uncurl its green stem, perhaps in response to the blinding winter sunshine. I am taking it as a sign of hope, and thought it was apt to share this poem with you.
Wrapping up the month—life is still a struggle, but it helps to name and celebrate the good. I’ve enjoyed this format and will keep looking for hope as April begins.
Once a week I go take photos for Instagram, chat to the guys, pick up a bouquet or two for my place. And soak in the lush green colorful loveliness there.
To quote Ben Weatherstaff: “crocuses an’ snowdrops an’ daffydowndillys.” I search for them amid the dirty snow. They are delight, relief, joy—a splash of hope when everything is still grey.
Hey, y’all. It’s March (it has been March for a year) and I need a writing challenge. So this month I’m writing a 31-word blog post each day, about 31 things that are getting me through. Today’s is longer because of this introduction, but I’m hoping to spark some creativity with this format and shake myself out of my latest funk.
Here’s the first one: Trader Joe’s daffodils.
A shot of yellow on my kitchen counter—I can’t resist grabbing a bunch at $1.79 each. They remind me that not all luxuries are expensive, and brighter days are coming.
Hello, friends. It’s February, which is always a long month, even though it’s a short one. (See also: endless pandemic fatigue, etc.)
We’ve had some snow and will have more, and I keep thinking of E.B. White’s words about cold weather: “firm, business-like cold that stalked in and took charge […] as a brisk housewife might take charge of someone else’s kitchen in an emergency.” My kitchen, thank goodness, is full of tea and flowers, but I can see White’s point.
Last week, my friend Anne Bogel shared, as she does every winter, the surprising daily things that are saving her life right now. (This year, it’s laundry.) I am a whole week behind in sharing my own winter lifesavers, but I wanted to do it because I believe the practice is important, even in this pandemic year.
I am still job hunting, still missing my people, still spending a lot of time alone in my apartment. But here are the things getting me through these midwinter days:
Strong black tea, forever and always. I mostly drink MEM teas from Somerville, but have also been enjoying David’s Cream of Earl Grey lately.
Clementines by the handful (I say this every winter) – tart, sweet and cheery.
One of the (many) hard things about this past year: so much of it has felt exactly the same.
I love a good routine (and especially a good rhythm). I went to the same coffee shop (hello Darwin’s!) nearly every day for five years when I worked at Harvard. I run almost the same path through my beloved Eastie every morning. Even my nightly (very simple) skincare routine can be soothing in its familiarity.
But: the past 10+ months have held a severely limited orbit of people and places. With the arrival of a new year and no changes (except horrifying ones, like more COVID-19 deaths, and the attempted coup in D.C. on Jan. 6), I have been seriously craving some newness in my days.
I read somewhere that human beings need a mix of novelty and routine in their lives, which struck me as utterly true: the ratio is different for everyone, but most of us need a balance of some kind between comfort and adventure. Since a pandemic winter prevents me from seeking out some of my more typical adventures (I miss you, New York weekends), I’ve been trying to search for novelty in smaller ways.
Last week, I brought home anemones from the florist instead of daffodils or tulips, and their bright reds and purples (see above) made me so happy. I met a friend for a walk at the arboretum a few weeks ago – I hadn’t been there in years. We got lost trying to find each other, but even that newness was interesting, and good for my brain.
My guy and I have tried a couple of new recipes lately: fish tacos, a one-pot stew from Real Simple, cranberry-lemon scones. And last weekend, I drove over to his place and went for a run along his section of the river, instead of my usual harbor/greenway loop. Much of it felt reassuringly familiar – blue skies, pounding feet, beating heart – but there were new trees and paths to see and navigate, and it helped a bit. A change is, sometimes, as good as a rest.
How are you creating (or finding) novelty in these same-same days?
RT @AmandaHeldOpelt: WHEN WILL CONSERVATIVES FINALLY BEGIN TO SEE COMMON SENSE GUN REFORM AS A PRO LIFE ISSUE???
WHEN WILL CONSERVATIVES F… 59 minutes ago
RT @reshmasaujani: After every school shooting, there's always a push to add more police in schools.
We HAVE to listen to Black and brown… 23 hours ago
RT @ZachWLambert: I’m not against addressing mental health issues.
I’m against scapegoating mental health issues in order to justify not t… 23 hours ago
cakes, tea and dreams 