We are having (I keep saying) a grey winter around here. A friend exclaimed last week, “Oh, you’re having such nice weather in Boston!” and I laughed out loud – clearly I’ve only been posting on Instagram on the (rare) days the skies are blue.
In the wake of last week’s snow/sleet/rainstorm, I’m looking for scraps of color – which, at the moment, looks like cheery hits of pink, wherever I can find them.
Whether it’s flipping through old flower photos (above), the pink parrot tulips I bought from my beloved florist recently, or my cozy new sweatshirt, pink is making me happy these days.
I’m waiting for the cherry blossoms and redbuds to spring forth (and loving the photos my friends send me in the meantime); dotting my journal entries with bright, spring-hued stickers; and generally searching for pops of pink (and other colors) to counteract the grey. I’m even sporting pink eyeshadow once in a while – anything to brighten my inner (and outer) landscape.
As previously stated, it feels like this winter’s been a long one. And despite my glorious getaway to San Diego in February, I have been hankering for some additional travel. I’ve got one trip on the calendar and am dreaming of a couple of others, but mostly, this March, I am staying local. So I’m trying to make the best of it – despite grey skies and rain – with local adventures.
My guy and I went to the Gardner for their Free First Thursday evening, which involved gorgeous live music by Fabiola Mendez, and the chance to wander the exhibits. I always love seeing the crowds who show up on First Thursday – usually a younger, hipper, more diverse group than you typically see at the museum.
We perused Isabella’s travel scrapbooks, and I revisited some familiar pieces. It was especially fun because I’d just read a novel about her (The Lioness of Boston, which was excellent). We always talk, too, about colonialism and privilege and wealth when we visit the Gardner – because someone had to labor for all this beauty, and it’s important to acknowledge the stories that don’t always get told.
The next week, I headed over to Albertine Press for a calligraphy workshop – which ended up being a one-on-one session with Jen, an accomplished calligrapher. It was both fun and soothing to trace letter forms with beautiful brush pens, and watch Jen demonstrate the strokes and shapes. I did a bit of shopping afterward, and came home with the beginnings of a fun new skill to practice.
On a Sunday afternoon, my guy and I headed to the Map Room Tea Lounge at the Boston Public Library, to toast some exciting developments for him, and brighter days ahead. We sipped delicious cocktails and enjoyed yummy savory bites – and got to sample a few treats from the adjacent tea room. It was just the sparkle our weekend needed, and a semi-hidden gem tucked into one of our favorite places.
I’ve got some live theatre on the list, too – an ushering stint at my beloved Lyric Stage and a trip to Into the Woods with a girlfriend, soon. And my guy and I have a concert date on the books. So, though I’m hankering to hop on a plane, I’m doing my best to enjoy what’s right in front of me – while I wait eagerly for the spring sunshine.
Today’s #mondaydelights post is a bit of a double-up – rather like its main character. Veronica Speedwell, whose name signifies both a plant and the butterflies she studies, is a lepidopterist working in (or, when she can, out of) 19th-century London. She’s the star of a mystery series by Deanna Raybourn, and her adventures have been keeping me highly entertained this winter.
I read Veronica’s first adventure, A Curious Beginning, several years ago, but picked the series back up after reading Raybourn’s recent witty standalone, Killers of a Certain Age. The series’ format is more or less standard by now: Veronica and her colleague, Stoker, a natural historian who has also had plenty of adventures abroad, are plugging along with their standard work of cataloging a natural history museum for their wealthy patron. A mystery, often brought to their door by a friend or one of Stoker’s brothers, interrupts their cataloging, and the two of them go haring off around London (or, sometimes, other parts of England) to recover a stolen item or solve a murder or clear a man’s name before he hangs.
I’ve said before that witty British mysteries are my catnip, and these fit the bill (though I occasionally get tired of Veronica’s rather high opinion of herself). Stoker is a complex, interesting character; their wealthy patrons are kind and also hiding a secret or two; and Stoker’s brothers, plus other London high-society types, provide plenty of wit and intrigue. I appreciate Veronica’s boldness and her scientific mind; the two of them usually land in at least one ridiculous situation, either romantic or life-threatening or both; and each book’s end usually sees them settled back at home, a glass of whiskey (or two) comfortably in hand.
Raybourn’s eye for historical detail is wonderful, including costumes, settings and England’s highly stratified class system. I love watching her and Stoker mix with characters from all levels of society, including aristocrats, Scotland Yard policemen, servants, barmaids and (occasionally) members of Queen Victoria’s royal family.
As both this winter and a head cold have dragged on, I’ve enjoyed curling up with Veronica – and I’ve learned a thing or two about butterflies (and taxidermy) along the way.
Have you read any of Veronica’s adventures? I’d love to hear what you think.
It’s no secret around here that I’m a lifelong bookworm. I’ve got a whole (rainbow) wall of books in my apartment, plus piles on various end tables, and an ever-rotating cast of library reads. And though I adore my bookish retreat, when I need to get out of my apartment, I often find myself heading for a destination where I can likewise be surrounded by books.
There’s something comforting to me about walking into a room full of stories, whether it’s a bookstore, a library or even a book-lined Airbnb. I’ve always thought of books as friends, and I love both the familiarity and the potential for new discoveries when I dive headfirst into the shelves.
I adore visiting bookstores on vacation, of course, but I’m frequently just as happy with a jaunt to my local library here in Eastie or the main branch downtown. I don’t always even have to buy anything: I am among those people, to quote Jane Smiley, “who feel better at the mere sight of a book.”
Several times recently, when I’ve found myself at a loose end – waiting for an appointment, plans falling through, in need of a place to perch and work – I’ve headed straight for the nearest bookish destination. A long browse at the Booksmith, a visit to the new Fabulist cafe at the Seaport branch of Porter Square Books, or a nose around the Brattle – the first bookstore I discovered in Boston – have set me right again. I spent a happy afternoon on Valentine’s Day working at the Boston Public Library, sipping Earl Grey under book-shaped lamps, surrounded by shelves of new releases, and a contented hour there yesterday, writing in my journal and enjoying the buzz.
Tell me: do you delight in bookish spaces as much as I do? What are your favorites?
Last winter, when I was spending time in San Diego, I shipped a box or two of California citrus back to my guy here in Boston. I loved passing orange and lemon trees on my morning runs, and picking up fresh local fruit at the grocery store or the La Mesa farmers’ market. I wanted to send him a handful of juicy SoCal sunshine – tangerines and Meyer lemons and blood oranges to brighten the winter days.
While we ate a ton of citrus during our idyllic San Diego weekend this year, I’ve been craving it still since I got back. So, to supplement the bags of clementines I buy at the grocery store, I’ve splurged on a box or two of citrus from Good Taste Farm. It’s admittedly a lot more expensive than those $5.99 bags of clementines – but I have loved opening up a box filled with tart blood oranges, straight from the sunny West Coast. It’s a splurge I can afford (once in a while), and it’s made me so happy on these grey winter days.
It has been a strange winter: we’ve had (knock on wood) hardly any snow, at least by normal Boston standards. We had the cloudiest January on record and a bitter cold snap in early February (which, thankfully, I missed because I was in California).
It’s felt a bit odd not to step around piles of slush, and I’m getting a little worried about what this unusual winter might mean for the rest of this year. I struggle with snow and cold and ice, but I know the plants and the ground need it to give us the other beautiful New England seasons I love.
But. I spotted the first purple crocus in our community garden the other day, pushing up through mulch and sticks and a few bits of discarded litter. And it gave me the same heart-leap of joy and hope as every year: no matter what, no matter the grey skies and existential crises and chilly nights with or without snow, spring will still come. It’s a relief and a blessing to know that the promise is kept: that underground, where we can’t yet see it, growth is happening. Color and joy, and new life, are on their way.
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?
Hello, friends. It’s technically the halfway point of winter, though we in the Northeast know we still have weeks to go before spring really comes. No matter what the groundhog says, we can expect biting winds and freezing temps for a while yet.
January was unusually grey – the cloudiest in decades, according to my favorite weather guy. I struggle with short days and bitter nights , and have been feeling a bit uninspired at work and in my own creative practice. So I needed the push, more than usual, to really look at what’s saving my life these days.
Here’s my list – I’d love to hear yours, if you’d like to share:
Clementines. These little bursts of sunshine are my favorite winter fruit. Their sweet-tart zing is just the best, and I love the way the scent lingers on my hands.
As we grind our way through winter (I’m trying to embrace it, but grey days and sleet make it hard), I’m taking delight in a newish enjoyment: watching, and identifying, the birds in my neighborhood.
I’ve long loved the sight of a cheery robin redbreast, and the squawks of a bluejay send me to the window to search out that flash of bright cobalt against the bare branches. I adore the cheeky house sparrows who perch on my windowsill, and I like watching the mourning doves who sometimes take up residence there. But lately, I’ve been trying to pay attention to other breeds as well.
I found an Audubon guide at a used bookstore last summer, and I’ve been using it to try and identify a few of the birds I see on my windowsill or on my morning runs: black-capped chickadees, bright goldfinches, the terns who swim in the harbor. The gulls and hawks are easy to spot, but so many of the smaller gray and brown birds (known, apparently, to birders as “LBJs” or “little brown jobs”) require a bit more attention. I’m not always sure I’ve gotten it right, but it’s fun to try and puzzle out the name of a new species.
The other week, on a walk with my friend Sharon, I stopped in Piers Park to watch a flock of birds on the water. We spent a few minutes debating: they were ducks, clearly, but what kind? We squinted in the fading light, studying the white rings on their necks and the little spikes on the backs of their heads. Sharon pulled out her phone, consulted a birding app, and we decided: they were probably red-breasted mergansers.
I get a little thrill from identifying a bird, as Mary Oliver describes in her poem “Bird in the Pepper Tree.” But I get a different, deeper satisfaction from simply watching: noticing, observing, trying to see these birds as separate from my categorization of them. I loved watching the flock of birds bobbing on the water, knowing some of them were mergansers but some might be other species. The snapshot, in my memory, of leaning against the railing with Sharon, watching their black bodies against the waves blue with reflected light, was better than knowing their names.
As Oliver notes, “a name is not a leash” – though it can be, or enhance, a true joy.
As the snow swirls down outside, I’ve been plowing (ha) through books – poetry, fiction, memoir and strong women, as usual. Here’s what I have been reading:
Swan, Mary Oliver I adored this Oliver collection, unsurprisingly – especially the first poem, and several others. She writes so well about nature, the interior life, seasons and paying attention. Perfect morning reading.
Salty: Lessons on Eating, Drinking, and Living from Revolutionary Women, Alissa Wilkinson I’ve known Alissa online for years, and loved her book of essays on smart, strong, bold women – Hannah Arendt, Edna Lewis, Maya Angelou, Laurie Colwin and others – who had interesting things to say about food, gathering, womanhood and community. If that sounds dry, it isn’t; Alissa’s writing sparkles, and each chapter ends with a delectable-sounding recipe. Found at the lovely new Seven and One Books in Abilene.
Running, Lindsey A. Freeman As a longtime runner, a queer woman and a scholar, Freeman explores various aspects of running through brief essays – part memoir, part meditation, part academic inquiry. I enjoyed this tour of her experience as a runner, and the ways she writes about how running shapes us. To review for Shelf Awareness (out March 14).
Beyond That, the Sea, Laura Spence-Ash During World War II, Beatrix Thompson’s parents send her to the U.S. to escape the bombings in London. Bea lands with a well-off family, the Gregorys, and her bond with them – deep and complicated – endures over the following years and decades. A gorgeous, elegiac, thoughtful novel about love and loss and complex relationships. To review for Shelf Awareness (out March 21).
Winterhouse, Ben Guterson Elizabeth Somers, an orphan who lives with her curmudgeonly relatives, spends a surprise Christmas vacation at Winterhouse, an old hotel full of delights. She makes a friend, uncovers a dastardly plot, makes some mistakes and discovers family secrets. I liked Elizabeth, but I really wanted this to be better than it was.
The Belle of Belgrave Square, Mimi Matthews Julia Wychwood would rather read than go to a ball – but the only way to placate her hypochondriac parents is to plead illness. She’s rather miserable when Captain Jasper Blunt, a brooding ex-soldier in need of a fortune, arrives in London and begins pursuing her. A fun romance that plays with some classic tropes; I loved Julia (a fellow bookworm!) and her relationship with Jasper. I also loved The Siren of Sussex; this is a sequel of sorts.
The Light We Carry: Overcoming in Uncertain Times, Michelle Obama Michelle needs no introduction from me; this book discusses some of the tools she uses to steady her during challenging times, such as knitting, exercise, friendship and keeping her perspective straight. I loved the insights into her marriage and her relationship with her mom, and her practical, wise voice. So good.
RT @LyricStageCo: Tonight is our last performance of The Great Leap! Their breathtaking and heartfelt performances inspired and moved our a… 2 days ago
cakes, tea and dreams 