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Posts Tagged ‘lists’

flats red pants front steps

We moved two weeks ago, and while the new apartment is looking good (hooray!) and (most of) the books are shelved, I keep thinking: there are moments from the transition itself I don’t want to lose.

We had a stalwart crew of friends, plus perfect weather (cool and breezy). I wanted to write some of these snippets down: the beginning of a good change, one we chose and one we are already loving.

I want to remember our landlady, Maria, surprising us with a bottle of wine and two glasses as we hauled boxes up the stairs earlier that week. I want to remember her saying what our first Boston landlady, Gina, said to us when we met her seven years ago: “I hope you’ll be happy here.” (We already are.)

I want to remember the friends who showed up: Jason bounding up the front stairs at 9 a.m. on a Saturday, Kirsten moving heaven and earth to get to us after a late night, Matt and Janille walking from their house down the street, Ryan puzzling out how to fit all our stuff into a moving truck.

I want to remember how my husband and friends schlepped 24 boxes of books down one long staircase and up another, without a single word of complaint.

friends couch balcony

I want to remember how Ryan lashed a climbing rope (which he just happened to have in his car) around our two loveseats and the box spring for our mattress, and how the guys hauled all of the above up three stories, over the back-porch balcony, and didn’t even destroy my geraniums. (I want to remember dashing outside with Kirsten and Janille, to witness this miracle and snap the above photo.)

I want to remember Janille, nearly seven months pregnant, making endless trips up and down stairs at the old place and the new, filling both her car and mine with seventeen thousand odds and ends.

I want to remember standing in our old empty kitchen, amid countertops scattered with cleaning supplies and tool boxes, eating honey-glazed donuts and feeling tired but so grateful.

I want to remember knocking the bed frame together not once but twice, laughing with Kirsten and Janille, who had never met before that day but were soon chatting like old friends.

I want to remember eating pizza in the crowded new kitchen, sitting on benches and boxes, telling stories and guzzling water and saying thank you, over and over.

I want to remember Betsy and Charles turning up on our new doorstep with their month-old baby, Colette, whom they promptly handed off to me (to my delight). I want to remember how she slept, snuggled on my chest in a yellow onesie, for two hours while Betsy and Charles moved furniture and put sheets on beds and assembled bookcases. By the time they left (and J came back from dropping off the moving truck), the place was starting to look like a real home.

I want to remember my last solo walk-through of the old place: empty rooms and sunlight slanting across wood floors, and pausing in the kitchen to acknowledge: I’ve loved this.

I want to remember our first dinner on the new back porch: soup and salad from the Panera in our old neighborhood, which we ate under a gorgeous sunset sky.

jer back porch dinner

I want to remember our new neighbor, Denise, inviting us over for a drink that night, though she’d never laid eyes on us before. I want to remember the welcome we received there: Carlene plying us with food and wine, Kasia chatting to us about the neighborhood, Jude talking to us about work and life and photography.

I want to remember Emily and Adam, spending their Sunday afternoon helping us unpack dishes and glasses, pots and pans, so that we had a fully functional kitchen come Monday morning.

Most of all, I want to remember our community: helping, sympathizing, schlepping, unpacking, encouraging us every step of the way. “We have the best friends,” J said more than once. I agree: we do.

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red white blue collage

Summer has (finally) arrived – hot and bright, and fuller than I had expected, at least so far. It’s the slow season at work, since classes are out for the summer, but there’s plenty to catch up on, and meanwhile I am squeezing in time with my people whenever I can.

Here’s what’s saving my life in this season:

  • Mary Oliver’s wonderful collection Blue Iris, in which I have been lingering for weeks. Her flower poems – especially “Sunflowers,” “Poppies” and “Peonies” – have captivated me, and “A Blessing” chokes me up every time.
  • Yoga, whenever and however I can squeeze it in. I particularly love three of the teachers at my studio: sweet, bouncy Erin; warm, wise Gina; and Maeve, whose Irish accent is an extra treat.
  • Several spur-of-the-moment dinners with friends: Tex-Mex food around our kitchen table (with homemade guacamole), tall sweating glasses of lemonade and good talk. Tapas and arepas eaten outside on warm evenings in Brookline and Cambridge, with red wine and so many stories. There’s nothing like being together.
  • The flowers around Cambridge: day lilies in every shade of orange and red, hedges of fragrant jasmine, fences dripping with honeysuckle, the beginnings of hydrangea. And the roses.

red lilies

  • The words I heard coming out of my own mouth as I stood behind the communion table last Sunday: this is a story of love, from the beginning. (I am not sure where that sentence came from, but I needed to hear it.)
  • Long walks around Cambridge, no matter the weather: sometimes alone, sometimes with a dear friend.
  • The fact that my geraniums – which I really thought had given up the ghost after this long, grey winter and spring – are blooming like they mean it.
  • My morning tea, brewed strong in a purple travel mug: currently either MEM Tea ginger peach or Lady Baker’s Blooming Blueberry (from Cambridge and PEI, respectively).
  • New shoes that are making my feet so happy: comfy, stylish black Clarks wedges.

in the shelter book red pants black wedges

  • It would go without saying, except I can’t not mention it: my daily trips to Darwin’s, for nourishment on many levels. Hot tea in the morning, English muffins dripping with butter, iced jasmine tea lemonade, smiles and chitchat with my favorite staff members. They are so good to me there.
  • Talking to the twentysomething at the farm stand who started a student food pantry at her college.
  • A few books that are speaking to my soul in all the best ways: Molly Yeh’s wisecracking, mouthwatering cookbook, Pádraig Ó Tuama’s luminous memoir (above), Mary Oliver and some really fun fiction.

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

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daffodils desk

If you’re a regular reader, you know that I periodically turn back to the question of what is saving my life now. (I got it from Barbara Brown Taylor’s luminous memoir Leaving Church.)

Even pausing to think about the question – or jot down list in my journal at the end of a long day – can help shift my perspective. There’s always something saving my life, even on the days when it feels like everything is killing me (and there are a lot of those, lately).

As she’s done in midwinter for the past few years, my friend Anne Bogel at Modern Mrs. Darcy is inviting everyone to share what’s saving their lives in this cold, bleak season. I’m sharing my list below, because I need the reminder to look for the lifesavers (or the bits of magic) that are all around. Bonus: I love the snapshot it provides of how my days look (and how they are brightened) at a given moment.

Here, in early February of a year that’s already been a wild ride, is what’s saving my life now:

  • The La La Land soundtrack, which is full of swingy jazz, melancholy piano music and a couple of songs that make me cry.
  • $3 daffodils for my desk (see above), and chats with my florist.
  • My magic green coat, which garners compliments from strangers all. the. time.
  • Red lipstick, especially on a grey day.
  • My daily walks to Darwin’s, and checking in with my people there.
  • Verlyn Klinkenborg’s wise, practical book on writing, which I am savoring on my morning commutes.
  • The mornings I get to catch a ride to the train station with my husband. Those few minutes in the car together are precious.
  • Texts from a few friends who are my lifelines.
  • Long (or short) walks around Harvard Square: beloved streets, fresh air, the chance to stretch my legs and clear my head.
  • Fleece-lined tights as the temperatures drop again.
  • Piles of bright orange, tangy clementines.
  • Hot water with honey and lemon, on the nights when I need a mug of warm (non-caffeinated) comfort.
  • The colorful quilt made by my husband’s grandmother, which we sleep under all winter long.
  • My happy lamp, Vitamin D pills, two desk lamps and all the sunshine I can get. (The days are slowly getting longer…)
  • Weekly yoga classes at my local studio, where I am known by name.
  • The fleece-lined plaid slippers I got for Christmas – so cozy.
  • The Hamilton soundtrack, which helps me summon my courage.
  • Scribbling in my journal when I can – even a few lines can help me sort out my thoughts.

Feel free to share your lifesavers in the comments, or hop over to Anne’s blog to join the linkup.

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katie jer xmas 2016

  • bounced around Harvard (or a certain section of it) like a pinball, temping in two different offices and coming back to the first one for a more permanent gig, which I am loving.
  • taken countless walks to Darwin’s for cups of chai, delicious sandwiches, various other treats, and good talk with the folks behind the counter.
  • Related to both of the above: found several places where I know in my bones that I belong.
  • flown to Texas to surprise my dad for his 60th birthday.
  • moved to a new apartment in the same town I’ve lived in for six years, and navigated many shifts in my daily routine.
  • read nearly 200 books. I reviewed 51 of them for Shelf Awareness and six for Great New Books.
  • visited Martha’s Vineyard for the first time.
  • spent three blissful weekends in New York City: one in March, one in August and one in October.
  • become an obsessive (is there any other kind?) Hamilfan.
  • survived a wild Commencement season right in the thick of things at the Harvard Gazette.
  • been humbled over and over again by friends and colleagues who have helped me through transition: with advice, packing boxes, kind words, cups of tea and so much more.
  • returned to PEI for a wonderful and much-needed vacation.
  • hosted my parents for their annual visit to Boston.
  • returned to Abilene for my 10-year college reunion and a packed, nourishing weekend of time with my people there.
  • walked across Harvard Yard to many Morning Prayers services and had my spirit refreshed.
  • filled up half a dozen journals.
  • turned thirty-three and grown even more comfortable in my own skin.
  • spent my seventh (!) fall in New England, and snapped so many photos of leaves, as I do every year.
  • survived (as have we all) the most contentious election season in recent memory.

I’m frankly not sure what to say or think as we head into 2017. A friend sent me this Grace Paley quote recently, and it seems more apt than anything I could come up with: “Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world.”

Wishing you courage and peace in this new year, friends.

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idlewild books nyc interior

As many of you know, I’m a regular contributor at Great New Books, where we take turns recommending (what else?) new books we love. Every December, we do a few group posts, in which we round up our favorite books of the year. (Because what’s better than one book rec? Ten book recs!)

becoming wise book sunflowers tea

Join us over at GNB to read about our favorite new books of 2016 (including mine, above); our favorite lines from books we read this year; and, today, the best books we finally got around to reading in 2016. (Keep an eye out for next week’s post – we’ll share the books we’re looking forward to reading in 2017.)

Happy reading and browsing – and feel free to share your favorites, either here or over at GNB.

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ornaments light book

Somehow, we’ve landed in mid-December, which is proving both twinkly and hectic, as per usual. Here’s what’s saving my life, as we move through the last stretch of quasi-normal days before the Christmas break:

  • The Sylvia Plath poem from which this post takes its title.
  • “O Come O Come Emmanuel” (the Civil Wars version), on repeat.
  • Hot, spicy chai and a buttered English muffin from Darwin’s in the mornings.
  • Striped dress + black leggings + boots + scarf + magic green coat = warm, stylish winter uniform.
  • Sunshine and blue skies, even when it’s frigid out. (Related: walks in the fresh air, any time I can get them.)

charles river cambridge sunset

  • A couple of evenings in a friend’s living room, eating popcorn and drinking mulled cider and reading Advent poetry.
  • Snatching time to write in the library before work, and exchanging smiles with the security guard.
  • Yoga classes whenever I can squeeze them in. (Namaste.)
  • Krista Tippett’s On Being interview with Mary Karr, which is warm and wise and so honest.
  • A much-needed catch-up with a friend over hot chocolate the other day.
  • The particular blue of these early December mornings, glimpsed from the bathroom window.
  • Pumpkin chai from David’s Tea, brewed strong in a purple travel mug. Plus one of Molly’s scones and a crisp apple, every morning. (See also: not overthinking it.)

darwins sign winter snow

  • Twinkle lights: on my desk at work, on the trees in Harvard Square, on my two Christmas trees (one big, one tiny).
  • A few pages of Winter Solstice before bed, even when I can barely keep my eyes open.
  • Community of all stripes and in all places, from church to work to my daily rounds in the Square. It has been a turbulent year, to say the least, but I am deeply grateful to have found several places where I know I belong.

What’s saving your life this December? Please share, if you’re willing.

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favorite books 2016 part 1

We are halfway through the year already, and I’m reading at my usual breakneck pace – nearly 130 books. I talk about what I’m reading in my semi-monthly roundups, but I wanted to share the best of my reading year (so far) with you.

Here are the books I have loved the most this year. (Not all of them were published in 2016, though about half of them were.)

Book That Best Embodies Its Title: Becoming Wise by Krista Tippett. She writes with such grace and (yes) wisdom about the Big Questions of what it means to be human, and draws many other voices into that conversation. I’ll be thinking about this one for a long time. So many great, thought-provoking sentences.

Loveliest Quiet Novel: Crossing to Safety by Wallace Stegner. This gorgeously written novel follows the intertwined lives of two couples, the Morgans and the Langs, over several decades. Beautiful, thought-provoking, heartbreaking and wise. A book worth reading and rereading. (Recommended by Anne and others.)

Most Captivating Young Adult Adventure Story: Walk on Earth a Stranger by Rae Carson. I loved every page of Leah Westfall’s journey from her Georgia homestead to the gold fields of California. She’s hiding a lot of secrets (including her ability to sense gold), but she is strong, compassionate and utterly human. I wrote about this book for Great New Books.

Most Sweeping, Heartbreaking, Absorbing Epic Novel: Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry. Four words: my dad was right. I should have read this years ago, but I’m so glad I finally did. I fell head over heels for Augustus McCrae, Woodrow F. Call, and their band of cowboys and wanderers, making the journey from Texas to Montana. It’s long, but powerfully rendered in simple prose. So good.

Wisest Memoir on Faith, Seasons and Home: Roots and Sky by Christie Purifoy. I loved Christie’s honest, lyrical writing about making a home with her family in an old Pennsylvania farmhouse, and the struggles of staying put and building a worthwhile life. Luminous, clear-eyed and utterly lovely.

Freshest Take on Holmes & Watson: A Study in Charlotte by Brittany Cavallaro, which reimagines Holmes and Watson as 21st-century teenagers at a Connecticut boarding school. Charlotte Holmes is sharp, jagged and brilliant, and Jamie Watson is insightful and kind. (The dialogue is fantastic.)

Most Insightful Foodie Memoir: Stir by Jessica Fechtor, which recounts the author’s journey to recovery after a brain aneurysm, and how she found her everyday (and a lot of delicious, life-giving meals) in the kitchen. Warm, wry and beautifully written, with so many insightful lines on food, family and living well.

Most Brilliant Homage to a Classic: Jane Steele by Lyndsay Faye, whose orphaned protagonist loves Jane Eyre but is not nearly so meek as that other Jane. Whip-smart writing, some truly wonderful supporting characters and so many fantastic lines.

Best Combination of Recipe Inspiration and Food Haiku: My Kitchen Year by Ruth Reichl, which includes mouthwatering recipes, lyrical tweets and some plainspoken wisdom about a tough year in Reichl’s life.

Best Reread: Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos, which pulled me out of a serious reading slump. Beautifully written, deeply compassionate and so smart.

Best Book About Science and Life for Non-Scientists: Lab Girl by Hope Jahren. A memoir about botany and building a life. Fascinating, sarcastic, lovely and wise.

Links (not affiliate links) are to my favorite local bookstore, Brookline Booksmith.

What are the best books you’ve read so far in 2016?

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