Happy Monday, friends. Today’s delight is pure fun: the handful of twinkly gold earrings that are making me happy right now.
I have several pairs: the slender gold rectangles above, a gift from my friend Abigail; the sunbursts I found at an Abilene boutique over Christmas; a pair of tiny bicycles (a gift from my partner); and a pair of delicate gold gingko leaves by the same artist.
I’ve been rotating them out with my winter scarves (or, more recently, during a much-needed long weekend in San Diego), and it brings me a burst of joy to have some sparkle at my ears, especially on these grey winter days.
What’s bringing you sparkle in the midst of winter?
Like so many people, I spent most of two years not going to the movies: first because the theaters were closed, then because I was nervous to go back. (And also because movies these days are expensive!)
But recently, my guy and I have gone back to the Coolidge in Brookline, a restored Art Deco theater we both love. We’d never been there together, until I heard that they were screening Kenneth Branagh’s 1993 version of Much Ado About Nothing (since Shakespeare on the Common is doing its own version this summer). We both love that film, but had never watched it together. So we met up for delicious Chinese food, stocked up on popcorn from Trader Joe’s, and headed to the theater.
I hadn’t seen this version of Much Ado since college, and had forgotten how delightfully over-the-top it is; how many Hogwarts professors (three!) are in the cast; how charming Denzel Washington is when he’s scheming; and how outsized (and gendered) Claudio’s reaction is to Hero’s supposed infidelity. We cringed at that last bit, but savored the rest of it: the sunny slopes of Italy’s countryside, the singing and dancing, the witty sparring between Beatrice and Benedick, and the chance to enjoy a classic film in the company of others.
I love a love story, and I love Shakespeare, which always brings back fond memories of the Shakespeare class I took in college. And I love a movie date with my guy. I’m so glad it’s available to us again, and I’m especially glad the Coolidge – in all its quirky glory – is there for us.
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.
Continuing the theme of collective experiences: I have sorely missed live music during the pandemic. I wasn’t ready to go back to Newport or another festival this year (though I thought about it), but I’ve been spending a few Sunday nights soaking in live music closer to home.
ZUMIX, my new employer, is a nonprofit that offers free and low-cost music lessons, ensembles and other creative opportunities for young people. We also put on a number of community events, including a summer concert series in Piers Park, down the hill from my house. I loved going to these concerts when I moved to Eastie in 2019, and then they were cancelled last summer (like everything). So it’s been a real joy to be back.
Everyone brings lawn chairs and picnic blankets and snacks; the kids run around blowing bubbles and dancing and generally having fun. Several of our ZUMIX students run the sound board, and others provide the opening acts for our local headliners. It’s a fun neighborhood outing and a great way to (finally) be back together in person.
We’ve got a few more concerts left this month and I’m crossing my fingers for good weather – and more chances to wave at (and maybe dance with) my neighbors.
One of the things I’ve missed during this pandemic year is collective experiences: the chance to be among a group of people, enjoying the same thing at the same time (and not through a screen). I particularly missed live theatre, so I was thrilled that Shakespeare on the Common is back this year.
My guy and I made a midweek date to see The Tempest – which we had both read in high school, but not really interacted with since then. I met him after work and we picked up a feast from BarTaco, which does delicious tacos and salsa with flavor and heat.
We arrived early and snagged a good spot with a view of the stage – though I’d definitely bring or rent chairs next time, as the ground gets hard after a while. But it was a perfect, clear evening, and we settled in to watch the cast (including John Douglas Thompson, whom I remembered seeing in Carousel on Broadway a few years back).
Both the men who taught me Shakespeare – Mr. Walker in high school and Dr. Wade in college – used to insist, I think rightly, that his plays are meant to be watched, not read. The story has so much more power (and the jokes are so much funnier) when you’re watching it unfold in real time. I had forgotten, or perhaps never realized, how much of The Tempest is about power: who has it, who ought to have it, what it means to have (or choose to give up) authority over another person, or to assert your own.
Of course there’s the love at first sight between Ferdinand and Miranda, and Prospero’s schemes to ostensibly keep them apart. There’s the bumbling pair of jokers from the shipwrecked crew, and their plot to overthrow Prospero (not very well planned). And there are Ariel and Caliban – who are treated very differently by Prospero, but are ultimately bound to him until he sets them free.
We laughed and clapped and marveled at the cast’s artistry, and savored being together. An entirely joyous experience, and a wonderful return to live theater.
My West Texas alma mater returned to the big dance and scored its first WIN ever. Especially proud to be a Wildcat this week. Purple white purple white fight fight fight!
My cousin’s son, Ty, sent me a paper penguin for a school project. I was honored to take him around town and snap pictures—a bit of much-needed whimsy and fun.Â
Last year, one of the joys of December in Eastie was participating in a local Christmas carol choir, spearheaded by my friend Peter and often hosted by him and his wife, Giordana. (That’s their dining room table, above, complete with pencils for marking and herbal tea for scratchy throats.)
We are all keeping our distance this year, of course, but I think Peter (and some of us) could not bear to do nothing, so we’re cobbling together a pandemic-safe carol service. We’re holding rehearsals on Zoom and planning to record ourselves singing the individual parts, to be mixed together and then released as a full (amateur) recording.
I thought it might feel sad, or inadequate: like so many things, this practice is a shadow of what it was pre-pandemic. We can’t gather in anyone’s living room, or sing together in real time; instead, we all mute ourselves and sing along with recordings on YouTube, sharing the sheet music on our computer screens (with lots of attendant technical glitches).
It is messy and imperfect and sometimes hilarious, and the recordings are hit or miss, frankly. But it’s still nourishing to see everyone’s faces, and wave hello and sing together, even if it doesn’t look at all “normal.” I am learning a few songs I didn’t know, and revisiting cherished favorites, like “In the Bleak Midwinter” and “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” and “O Holy Night.”
These songs have layers of associations for me, long years of singing them with family or friends or church communities, all the way up to Christmas Eve. For me, the music and the community are both vital to marking the season. So despite the tech issues and the funky recordings and the wish that we could all be together, these rehearsals – virtual though they may be – are a real source of light and warmth and laughter.
I didn’t get into running to win races. (I am still not especially fast, though I am much stronger than I used to be.) But I’d only been a runner for about six weeks when I ran my first 5K.
It happened like this: I was running down on the Neponset river trail and saw a flyer for the annual Halfway to Dot Day 5K, scheduled for early December. I wasn’t tracking my mileage (I still don’t, not really), but I knew that if I could manage a race at all, it would be this one: a flat, simple, familiar course on the trail I already loved. I talked my husband into signing up, and we had so much fun we did it again the next year. (In true Boston fashion, we ran with layers, lots of fleece and snow flurries, both times.)
Running, for me, is a mostly solitary activity: I like the time by myself, at my own pace, with my own music in my ears. But once in a while, I thoroughly enjoy running with a community and testing my skills against a group. I’ve done a few 5Ks around Boston, the Super Run in San Diego, the MR8K in memory of Martin Richard, and Eastie’s own Halloween-themed 5K in support of the YMCA, last year. (I ran dressed as Wonder Woman.) My longest race, to date – and possibly the most fun – was the BAA 10K last summer. My guy came to cheer me on, and I loved (nearly) every minute of the course through Back Bay.
Just before I started running, I visited some friends in Oxford in the fall of 2017. My friend Mike was running the Oxford Half Marathon that weekend, and I walked to the end of the street with his wife and their children to cheer him on. We all yelled and waved as he ran past, and then I walked downtown to go to church. I remember thinking he was a little crazy to run a race like that without much training – but a few months later, when I became a runner, the Oxford Half hopped onto my list of dream races and has stayed there ever since.
As I said, racing isn’t why I run – I have a lot of other reasons for that, and I mostly like running alone. But sometimes a race is the kick-start I need to get out there, or it’s for a good cause, or it just sounds like fun. I’m happy to be an occasional race participant. And I’m looking forward to the day when road races can happen in person again.
I’ve got a new mystery obsession this summer. As is so often the case, it came about by pure serendipity.
One of my neighbors used to run a Little Free Library, and someone else in the neighborhood would drop off advanced copies (in addition to the ones I would contribute). I found an ARC of Dead Land, Sara Paretsky’s latest V.I. Warshawski novel, on the shelf back in April, and finally got around to reading it in July.
I usually don’t like starting a series at the end, but I was hankering for a new mystery and I liked V.I.: she’s whip-smart, tenacious and fiercely committed to justice. Plus she’s a master of both sharp, snarky wit and getting herself into (and out of) tight corners.
I checked out the first two books, Indemnity Only and Deadlock, from the library, and then decided to see if I could find used copies of V.I.’s other adventures around town. I hit the jackpot at the Harvard Book Store: three mass-market paperbacks (in series order!) for under $4 each. So I scooped them up and have been popping into the other used bookstores I know, to see what I can find.
Rodney’s in Cambridge yielded an old hardcover of Tunnel Vision, and I later found one book each (Fallout and Critical Mass, respectively) at the Booksmith and Commonwealth Books. I like the varied, sometimes campy cover art, the portability of the mass markets, and the fact that they’re so darn affordable. I love a glossy new hardcover as much as the next reader, but I also like collecting a series this way, scavenger hunt-style. I didn’t have any luck at the Brattle, but I’m getting the ones I don’t find from the library. (Thank heaven for library holds pickup.)
cakes, tea and dreams 