May reading roundup #2

May is flying by, between events at work, a wonderful weekend in Maine, and celebrating my sweet man’s birthday. Here’s what I have been reading:

The Path to Kindness: Poems of Connection and Joy, ed. James Crews
I’ve been reading this poetry anthology sloooowly for months; it offers glimmers of hope, like its predecessor (also edited by Crews). Full of poets familiar and new. Really lovely.

A Fatal Groove, Olivia Blacke
Juniper Jessup and her sisters are thrilled to be getting their record shop/cafe, Sip & Spin, off the ground. But when the mayor drops dead after sipping their coffee at the local bluebonnet festival, Juni and her sisters fall under suspicion. A fun second entry in Blacke’s Record Shop Mystery series; I like the cast of characters. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 25).

West Side Love Story, Priscilla Oliveras
Musician and aspiring PA Mariana Capuleta doesn’t have time for love – till she kisses a handsome stranger on New Year’s Eve. He turns out to be Angelo Montero, part of a rival mariachi band. This modern-day Romeo & Juliet retelling set in San Antonio was way overwritten (so many similes!) but still a fun ride. Recommended by my friend Jess.

On Air with Zoe Washington, Janae Marks
After helping her birth father get out of prison, Zoe Washington is thrilled to be working with him at a bakery. But when Marcus reveals his dream of opening a restaurant, Zoe becomes determined to make that happen. She starts a podcast about the experiences of exonerees, launches a Kickstarter and brainstorms new desserts – all while juggling changing friend and family dynamics. I loved this sequel to Marks’ From the Desk of Zoe Washington, especially Zoe’s tenacity and the Boston references.

The Lady from Burma, Allison Montclair
A happily married (but terminally ill) woman visits The Right Sort Marriage Bureau to ensure her husband’s future happiness after her death. But when she’s found dead just days later, Iris Sparks and Gwen Bainbridge smell foul play. Meanwhile, Gwen is fighting to regain her legal status, and her court-appointed guardian may be involved in the case. This fifth mystery delves into each woman’s personal life, and the case is still well plotted; so enjoyable. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 25).

Forever Hold Your Peace, Liz Fenton & Lisa Steinke
When Olivia and Zach meet, fall in love and get engaged in Positano, their parents (all divorced) understandably have reservations. But when all four parents plus the lovebirds meet for brunch, it turns out their moms are ex-best friends, estranged for 25 years. Olivia and Zach try to get them to play nice; the moms, June and Amy, try to one-up each other in wedding-planning hijinks; and the dads (one of whom has a secret) are along for the ride. A breezy, hilarious, juicy novel about weddings and secrets and (yes) trying to move on. I winced a lot; laughed often; and breathed several huge sighs of relief. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 11).

To Catch a Thief, Martha Brockenbrough
Amelia MacGuffin loves books, cocoa and mysteries – but she wishes she were braver. When someone steals a town treasure, Amelia (with her siblings and their new neighbors, twins Dot and Dash) steps up to solve the mystery. A delightful cozy middle-grade story; the mystery is fun, but it’s really about community and belonging and lots of hot chocolate.

Most links (not affiliate links) are to my local faves Trident and Brookline Booksmith. Shop indie!

What are you reading?

Advertisement

Read Full Post »

Poetry Friday: Danusha Laméris

Small Kindnesses

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

I came across this poem in the anthology How to Love the World last year, and still think of it often. I found out recently that Laméris collaborated with a number of young people on a poem celebrating more everyday kindnesses (NYTimes gift link). The whole thing is worth reading, but one line made me catch my breath: “what kindness can do to help this ruined world.”

Happy Friday, friends. May you seek, give and receive kindness where you need it today.

April is National Poetry Month, and I’ve been sharing poetry on Fridays here, as I do each year.

Read Full Post »

#mondaydelights: small acts of care.

I was waiting in line at the post office recently (enjoying the Mary Tyler Moore episode playing on their new TV), and witnessed something that made my day…

A stooped older gentleman came in asking about the keys to his post office box, which he’d misplaced. One of the postal workers – who clearly knew him by name – immediately said: Oh, you left your box open last week, so we put the keys in it for you, honey. Her colleague retrieved the keys and handed them over, and with some gentle teasing, the man went on his way.

I loved everything about that interaction: the fact that the man got his keys back, the fact that the workers instantly knew where they were, the kindness in the woman’s voice as she called him honey. (She was probably young enough to be his granddaughter.) It was such a moment of care, in a busy city on a grey Thursday afternoon, that it delighted me simply to witness it.

I always feel privileged when I get a peek into moments of tenderness between people, and this sweet instance of neighborly kindness – in a business setting, no less – felt especially precious. I appreciated, too, the not-so-subtle reminder that, as the Mary Tyler Moore theme song reminds us, love is all around.

Read Full Post »

#31things: acts of kindness.

Masked smiles from strangers, neighbors bringing in packages, snail mail from friends. Kindness keeps the world going, especially in times of isolation and strife. I give it back when I can.

Read Full Post »

Stories from quarantine: Fern.

For several years now, I’ve been following Jenny Williams’ work online – she runs the adorable Carrot Top Paper Shop on Etsy, and her Instagram account and newsletter are full of sweet literary goodness. She sells prints, mugs, bookmarks and stickers with quotes from our favorite heroines (real and fictional), and like me, she’s an Anne Shirley fan from way back.

I ordered Jenny’s literary heroines calendar for my kitchen wall this year, and I love the simple design: each month features a drawing of a beloved character, along with a banner naming one of her essential qualities. When I flipped the calendar to April this week, Fern Arable was looking back at me. The banner under her portrait says simply, “Compassionate.”

Fern is the (human) heroine of Charlotte’s Web (though we all know the real heroine is that wonderful spider). She saves Wilbur the piglet from certain death at the beginning of the book, and she cares for him until he’s sold to her uncle, at which point she still comes to visit him. She is tenderhearted and kind, and she’s the only human in the book who can understand animal conversation, at least for a while.

It strikes me that in this moment, we need a dose of Fern’s compassion: we are all doing our best to tend to ourselves and our people, while supporting the healthcare workers and others who are working to heal the sick. I am sure Jenny couldn’t have known what an apt heroine Fern would be for April, but I’m glad to have her face on my kitchen wall this month.

Read Full Post »

Saving my life: air travel edition.

 

Every December, I pack a big suitcase and travel down to Texas to spend the holidays with my family. (I make this journey two or three times a year, but Christmas is the big one.)

It’s always something of an odyssey, and it’s never without a headache or two. But there are a few things that save my life, every time. Here are the ones from this trip:

• My refillable water bottle, and water stations/fountains in every airport. These are a money-saver and a welcome antidote to that dry airplane air.
• Clementines, granola bars and any other healthy snacks I can find in the airport newsstands.
• The in-flight magazines, which I truly enjoy. I also sometimes treat myself to a magazine from one of those newsstands; this time it was Runner’s World. 
• Pleasant and helpful gate agents, who helped me tremendously when I mislaid my boarding passes (on the way to Texas) and ran into long flight delays (on the way back).
• The yoga room at DFW Airport. I’d heard about this newish trend, but this was my first time seeing it in action. It felt so good to dump my stuff and stretch out on a mat for a few minutes.
• Sweet seat mates, like the woman traveling with her toddler son on my flight to Dallas. We chatted about food and travel and Boston winters, and her wriggly little redhead gave me a few smiles.
• Layovers long enough to catch my breath.
• Strategically placed outlets throughout the gate areas.
• A place to get some decent Earl Grey – whether it’s Starbucks or a local cafe in the airport.

What saves your life when you fly? Any tips? I’m always up for more ways to make it easier.

Read Full Post »

To turn on the light

 

A few weeks ago, I was at the grocery store on a Sunday afternoon when I noticed my cashier had a tattoo: the word Lumos surrounded by a few small starbursts, on the inside of her wrist.

“I like your tattoo,” I said, and her expression – tired and preoccupied – transformed into a grin. “Thanks,” she said. “It reminds me to be happier.”

I puzzled over that for a second and then realized what she meant: that Dumbledore quote about happiness. He tells the Hogwarts students that it can be found “in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” I told her I have that line on a t-shirt – my mom gave it to me for Christmas.

“Ah, the Harry Potter generation,” she said with a smile. I confessed I was late to that particular party (my friend Val finally talked me into reading the books, to my everlasting delight and gratitude).

We chatted as she kept bagging my groceries, and she told me she used to have a job at Scholastic, where she got to work on Goblet of Fire during the publishing process. (!!!) She recalled having to sign nondisclosure agreements, and refusing to answer pointed questions from her friends and fellow students. (I wanted to invite her out for a drink and ask her all the questions – but I restrained myself, since I didn’t want to creep her out.)

“What’s your house?” she asked. “You look like you might be a Ravenclaw.”

“I’m a Gryffindor,” I said. (Though – like Hermione – I have strong Ravenclaw tendencies, which I told her.) She nodded, and proudly owned being a Ravenclaw herself. We smiled in shared understanding.

I walked away with full grocery bags and a grin on my face, thinking: she has no idea, but she helped turn on the light for me that afternoon.

Read Full Post »

The evolutionary implications of kindness

I was humbled by the thought that our lives, however briefly, had touched. I thought about how lives bump up against each other, whether for moments of superficial conversation in line at the post office or a deeper enmeshment. […] How much meaning should I ascribe to knowing a stranger for the moments it took for me to donate to a V-book [war stamps] campaign? What were the evolutionary implications of kindness?

—Elizabeth J. Church, The Atomic Weight of Love

I came across these lines recently in Church’s stunning novel about the life of Meridian Wallace, an ornithologist who studies the behavior of crows. They reminded me powerfully of that Elizabeth Alexander poem, the one I have carried with me during a spring and summer fraught with personal changes and national tragedy:

Poetry (here I hear myself loudest)
is the human voice,

and are we not of interest to each other?

Every time I turn on the news, there is more heartbreak to absorb and to bear: shootings by and of policemen, black families afraid for their lives in the U.S., refugees struggling to find a safe place to land, military unrest in Turkey and political turmoil in Britain. I have wept and I have ached, and I have wondered, What now?

I have failed, so far, to come up with any answers except this one: we must stop reacting to each other out of hatred, disinterest and fear.

I moved to Boston six summers ago from the plains of west central Texas, where I had lived nearly all my life. I’d heard that people in the Northeast were cold and unfriendly, and I was unsure how to carve out a place for myself in this bustling, unfamiliar city. It took me a long time to build a community here, to form real bonds with colleagues and friends. It took me even longer to start reaching out to others without fearing rebuff or dismissal. I cherish the friendships that have grown from that slow work: the brilliant women in my book club, the far-flung but genuine community at our church, my coworkers at various offices around Harvard.

When I read these lines about kindness, though, I thought about a different group of people: the ones whose lives bump up against mine in small but important daily ways.

The florist in Brattle Square, who always has a kind word for me when I go in to buy tulips or roses. The mail guy I used to work with, who would pause on his daily rounds to chat about Boston sports or the weather. My elderly Italian landlords, who live downstairs from us. The woman who makes the delicious tamales at the farmers’ market, tops them with freshly made salsa and calls me mi’ja. And the coffee-slinging, sandwich-making crew at Darwin’s, most of whose last names I don’t know, but whose smiling faces and cheerful banter are a regular and indispensable part of my workdays.

I am fascinated by the idea of all these lives constantly bumping up against each other, against my life, as I go about my daily routine. I am even more fascinated when I get a glimpse into one of their stories, when I break out of my self-focus long enough to truly connect with someone else. More and more, I am convinced this is the only way to begin healing the deep wounds of our common humanity: to listen, to look, to pay attention to one another.

It takes no work at all to encounter other human beings: we are surrounded by each other constantly, especially those of us who live and work in cities. But it sometimes takes work, and it always takes intention, for us to engage one another with kindness.

I’m not sure about the answer to Meridian’s question: I don’t know what the evolutionary implications of kindness would be. But they have to be better than the results of racism and hatred, fear and indifference, that are tearing our nation apart.

I know that smiling at a stranger will not solve the problems of the world: finding a better path forward will be the work of years. But kindness and attention must be where we begin. We must – I will keep saying it as long as I have to – we must be of interest to each other.

Read Full Post »

On kindness

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

This quote has been variously attributed to Plato, Philo of Alexandria, Ian MacLaren (the pen name of a man called John Watson) and many others. I’m not all that concerned with who said it first, but I’ve been thinking about it often lately, because it’s saving my life.

I am fighting a couple of hard battles right now: navigating the seemingly endless job hunt and enduring another long, hard winter. I know I have much to be grateful for: a loving husband, a staunch and supportive family, all the basic physical necessities, so many good books. But life these days is tough. And kindness – often from people I know, but sometimes from total strangers – is making a real and tangible difference for me.

A couple of weeks ago, I ordered a breakfast sandwich at Darwin’s, and my order got lost in the shuffle – so one of the baristas gave me a free (heart-shaped) cookie while his co-worker apologized and started making my sandwich. I’m often in there for lunch too, and I look forward to the chitchat with my favorite staff members as they ring up my sandwich and chips. Even a brief exchange about the weather, which has been reliably crazy recently, or a laugh about nothing at all, can turn my entire day around.

I’m reaching the end of a temp gig I have loved, and a work acquaintance asked me last week, “What’s next for you?” “I don’t know,” I admitted. He said he’d keep an eye out for writing gigs for me – and he’s far from the only person who has made that offer. On a cold, gray day in the middle of a week of bad news, that simple gesture made me want to weep with gratitude.

After a difficult meeting last week, I found myself in tears in the middle of my office – not a situation I’d have preferred, but I couldn’t help it. Two of my colleagues supplied hugs, tissues, laughter and encouragement. I’ve only known these women for a couple of months, but I was – and am – so grateful.

As I am on the receiving end of kindness, I’m trying to remember to extend it to friends, family, acquaintances and strangers. These small gestures have bolstered me up as I fight my own battles – so I’m doing my best to pay it forward.

When has kindness made a real difference for you?

(Image from Curly Girl Design – a dear friend bought me this print a few years ago.)

Read Full Post »