Read my work at Random Sample Review!

It started off small, as so many things do: with a job I hated and a commitment to buying myself flowers on Mondays.

My essay “Becoming the Crazy Flower Lady” is up at Random Sample Review! Please click over to read it, and let me know what you think, if you’d like.

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saving my life: frigid January edition.

Hello, friends. It is so cold – the high yesterday here in Boston was 14 (!) degrees. It feels much warmer today (we’re above freezing!), but between the cold and the endless pandemic anxiety, I’ve been struggling with the blues. At least the sun is (mostly) shining; we had a solid week of rain and fog around Christmas/New Year’s and it was rough.

I’m isolating in my apartment this week after a positive COVID test. My symptoms are mild and I have enough groceries, etc., but of course it’s a bummer. And the headlines – and their individual impacts on each of our lives – go on and on.

So, in the spirit of hope and trying to find some joy, here’s what’s saving my life this week:

• Sunshine, as always. Even when it’s bitterly cold, these blue and silver winter days (and the sunlight pouring in my kitchen windows) are so beautiful.
• The Twisted Tomboy shower bombs I found recently at the Booksmith – so potent and refreshing.
• Abby Rasminsky’s gorgeous, honest newsletter – she writes so well about pandemic life and trying to find the good.
• The teas I stocked up on in December: one batch from my beloved local MEM Tea, one from the wonderful McNulty’s in Greenwich Village, NYC.
• Related: my favorite mugs, including an old one from Obvious State and a newish one from Flour.
• My friend Micha’s lovely, contemplative podcast, The Slow Way.
• Hannah Jane Parkinson’s quirky, lovely collection The Joy of Small Things, which I found at the marvelous Three Lives – exactly what it sounds like.
• Texts and calls from my people, and a friend dropping off a bag of groceries the other day.
• My leggy, lovely geraniums, which are reaching for the light in my kitchen window.
• Good books, including a stack of library finds and a virtual stack of e-galleys for review.
• Fun Spotify mixes: jazz and movie soundtracks, folk and Motown, nineties country – whatever I’m in the mood for.

What’s saving your life in these long winter days?

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#31things: small tactile pleasures.

Creamy lemon-scented lotion, velvety geranium leaves. Crisp clean sheets, a warm mug of tea. Fleecy tights, smooth lip balm. After days alone at the computer, reconnecting with textures helps ground me.

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looking for the light: a visit to Jess.

Last week, I made the drive across Boston to Quincy, the just-south suburb where I lived for seven years, to visit my hairstylist, Jess. Every time I go, I grumble to myself about it being kind of a pain; it’s the other end of town from where I live now. And every time, I remember: it’s totally worth it.

I found my salon through an acquaintance I met soon after moving to Boston; Annmarie used to live in Quincy, and had high praise for the salon and its owner, Micki. Walking into a new salon is terrifying (anyone hear me?), and I was further intimidated when my stylist, Jess, turned out to have Technicolor hair (it was a different bright shade every time) and so many tattoos I didn’t know where to look.

Despite my initial worries, it turns out Jess is a wizard with scissors, and she’s also a sweetheart. I’ve been going to her for almost ten years now, which definitely qualifies as a long-term relationship.

In the time I’ve known Jess, we’ve each moved several times; her salon has changed locations; we’ve both gotten divorced and found new love. She’s gained a dog and two stepsons; I’ve gained two nephews; and her daughter has gone from a preschooler to a full-blown teenager. Not to mention we’re both currently surviving a pandemic and the weirdest year ever. But she is dependably skilled at trimming my hair back to a sleek, elegant shape, and we catch up on our lives while I’m sitting in the chair. These days, we’re both wearing masks (and her hair is ice-blue after a long stretch of her natural blonde), but her warmth and styling mojo are as present as ever.

I had to talk myself into going, as usual, and I won’t lie: revisiting my old neighborhood feels a bit strange these days, post-divorce. But I’m always glad to see Jess, and I think the feeling is mutual. And I always come out of the salon feeling like a million bucks.

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#run31: learning to love my body.

Running has brought me, as I keep saying, lots of unexpected gifts – many of which I didn’t even know I needed. Before I became a runner, I would have said I had a healthy relationship with my body, but it’s perhaps more accurate to say I lived in a state of neutrality toward it.

I’ve spent as much time as the average American woman trying to ignore the conflicting messages we get about our bodies: the magazines that scream at us about which kind of bodies are acceptable, the fashionable clothes that don’t seem designed for real women, the airbrushed images of Hollywood stars or elite athletes. I’ve made an effort to eat (mostly) healthy food and get some regular exercise my whole adult life. But I wouldn’t have said, prior to running, that I loved my body.

I grew up in a culture that prized the life of the mind: my early reading skills, spelling prowess and writing skills earned me a lot of acclaim as a child and teenager. I make a living these days by writing and editing, also activities of the mind, and the Christian faith in which I was raised also emphasized the brain and heart over the body. (The particular brand of evangelicalism with which I’m most familiar has often spoken about the human body in mostly negative terms: the need to subdue and control the body, or what the church believes people should do with their bodies. Those messages make an odd contrast to the notion – which I also heard growing up – that God’s creation is good, and that we, along with the rest of creation, are “fearfully and wonderfully made.”)

As I began and then kept on running (and doing boot camps and yoga classes), I started to marvel at what my body could do, how it felt to move through the air with fluidity and grace, the strength in my legs and endurance in my lungs that I hadn’t known existed. Under Erin’s guidance on Monday nights, I learned that I could lift weights and do push-ups and squats and other exercises in a way I’d never done before. I started learning more about my body’s capabilities, feeling more in tune with it. And overwhelmingly, I started to believe: this is good.

We all grow up absorbing some notion of the “ideal” body: through statues or magazines or the messages we hear from media outlets and the people we know and love. I was teased for my curves as they started to develop, and I used to feel inferior because I was short. I didn’t believe my body was the “ideal” body. But I’m starting to revise my definition of “ideal,” and to care less about that altogether.

My body, whether or not she comes up to anyone’s standard, is mine: she’s been supporting and sheltering me for 37 years. She is healthy and freckled, petite and sinewy, curvaceous and stronger than I ever thought she was. She deserves my loving care and attention, and on most days, she wants to run. And it’s a total joy to be out there, in my body, loving my body, moving through the world in this vessel I will always call home.

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Stories from quarantine: rules for myself.

We’re in the middle of week 6 (of how many?) of quarantine over here, and it seems clear this is going to be our lives for a while. I am alternately grateful for my blessings and privileges (my lovely apartment, a job that allows me to work from home, virtual connection with family and friends) and really missing the aspects of “normal” life that are suspended right now (in-person yoga classes, trips to the library, hugs).

Like a lot of folks, I do better with a bit of routine and structure, so as I adjust to wearing a mask, doing yoga online and canceling travel plans, I’ve come up with a few daily rules for myself. I’m sharing them here, and I’d love to hear yours, if you have any.

Leave the house twice every day.
I need fresh air and movement like I need oxygen. And while getting out for a run is great (I do this most days), I get tetchy and restless if I’m inside for the entire rest of the day. So I’m walking myself to work, going to the bodega, meeting my guy for a bike ride, walking the compost bag down the hill – whatever it takes to get outside more than once.

Related: Get up and move. 
I’m spending a lot of time sitting at my kitchen table, and my body is starting to feel it – so I’m trying to get up and move around the apartment as often as possible. Even a few steps makes a difference (or so I’m telling myself).

Write it down.
I journal regularly anyhow, but those morning pages (and sometimes evening ones) feel important right now. Sometimes I’m just whining on the page, but sometimes it helps to think things through, remember moments of joy or make lists. I stocked up on journals right before our stay-at-home order hit, so I’m set for a while.

Drink more water.
However much I think I’m drinking, it’s probably not enough.

Pick up the phone.
I’m alone most of the time right now, but I need my people, and I want to be there for them, too. So I text a friend (or three) every day, FaceTime my sister, call my mom, trade Marco Polo messages with a couple of friends. Hearing a friendly voice, or just getting a text update, helps.

Wash the dishes.
Because if I don’t, they tend to pile up quickly – plus it’s often oddly grounding.

Tackle at least one book from the long-unread stacks every week.
While I’m bemoaning the temporary loss of my library, I’m trying to see this as a chance to catch up on the books that tend to linger on my bedside shelf. So far, I’ve picked up (and loved) an Ivan Doig novel, a quirky collection of Boston-themed comics, and now a memoir about life in Alaska.

Make a list.
I’ve been making “Today I…” lists each night, as a way to reassure myself that yes, I did the essential things today, and to capture some memories in list form if I’m too tired to write it all out. It’s a (mostly) reassuring practice.

Give myself a break.
My friend Jen Lee keeps reminding us to “go gently” in her Morning, Sunshine videos (they are so good, y’all). I tend to be hard on myself at the best of times, and it’s helpful to remember that we are all dealing with a lot right now. So I’m giving myself a break: curling up with a book (see above), taking a leisurely walk, going to bed early if I want/need to. This rule (and the first one) may be the most important one on this list.

Do you have any rules/practices for your daily routine during this time?

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“I will handle this.”

(Image via PopSugar)

My family has a deep love for 1990s romantic comedies – from While You Were Sleeping to French Kiss to the Nora Ephron classics. When my sister was unpacking my DVDs recently, she exclaimed, “You have all the good ones!”

One of my faves in this category is Runaway Bride, which I love for its brilliant supporting cast (including Rita Wilson and Hector Elizondo); its quirky small-town details (a hair salon called Curl Up & Dye!), and its best friend, the salon owner, played by Joan Cusack. (“Peggy Flemming–not the ice skater.”)

At one point in the film, Peggy and Maggie (Cusack and Roberts) are at the town softball game when Maggie spots Ike (Gere’s journalist character) approaching. “I will handle this,” Peggy says, in true best-friend fashion. Maggie snaps: “Don’t move your lips!” (They’ve already figured Ike can probably read lips.)

“I will handle this!” Peggy exclaims, through clenched teeth. “I won’t say anything.”

Lately, this is how I often feel. Whether it’s setting up utilities or hanging pictures, writing book reviews or sorting out divorce paperwork, I find myself thinking, “I will handle this!” while worrying I’m not handling it at all.

To be clear, I’ve had lots of help: my mom, my sister, several stalwart friends. But a lot of these responsibilities fall solely to me, and that can be exhausting. And the never-ending list(s) of tasks can make me feel like I’m failing at all of it.

And yet: my little apartment, full of light and books and my favorite things, is coming together. The book reviews are (mostly) getting turned in (relatively) on time. I have gas and electricity and enough food to eat. And not every decision has to be made today.

“There is nothing you’re not handling,” my therapist said the other day, her gentle eyes full of kindness, as they always are. In the midst of such massive transition, it’s worth cultivating a little self-compassion – or, sometimes, channeling my inner Peggy Flemming. (Not the ice skater.)

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small self-care practices: a list.

I’m loving my friend Jen Lee’s new YouTube series – aptly titled Morning, Sunshine – in which she shares sound advice and what’s on her mind lately. Several of the videos have touched on self-care practices: moisturizing, using music as a mood shifter, taking an emotional inventory when it feels like everything is too much.

In that spirit, I jotted down a list of my small (sometimes tiny) self-care practices in my journal, and I thought I’d share them with you.

• Making tea several times a day. I need the caffeine, but I also need the ritual: scooping the leaves or finding a teabag, brewing the tea, sipping it from my favorite purple travel mug or a ceramic mug at home.
• Working in the conference room at my office, even for 20 minutes between meetings. It’s full of sunlight and plants, and I find I think better when I’m in there.
• Listening to good words (including Jen’s, and all the songs I love) over and over again.
• Putting a Band-Aid and some ointment on a cut instead of ignoring it.
• Washing dishes – an act of care for myself and my home.
• Making my bed (same).
• Moisturizing and putting on lip balm.
• Texting my people, especially on the hard days.
• Keeping enough snacks handy, at home and at the office.
• Taking a walk – often to run an errand – during the workday. Movement is good medicine.
• Putting on a fresh pillowcase even when I can’t change the sheets.
• Going out for chai – also a combination of caffeine + ritual. The baristas at the BPL are getting to know me, and I them. (They also make the best avocado toast. Mmmm.)
• Snapping photos of flowers (see above), sunsets, or other happy-making things.

What are your small self-care rituals?

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saving my life: post-move, deep summer edition.

It’s August, somehow, and I’m in full summer mode: iced chai, tan lines and freckles (and lots of sunscreen), stovetop cooking (when I cook anything), and all the berries I can eat. Here’s what’s saving my life, in these hot, hazy, still-transition-filled days:

• Late-summer flowers: black-eyed Susans, deep blue and pink hydrangeas, the first dahlias, day lilies in every shade of yellow and red and orange.
• Running into Phoenix, my little golden doodle buddy, and his person on my morning walks.
• My friend Jen Lee’s brand-new, free YouTube video series: Morning, Sunshine. Go check it out if you’d like a dose of connection and compassion.

• The views out my new apartment windows: Boston Harbor on one side, the local park (usually with a friendly dog or two) on the other side.
• My Rothys, which I’m wearing all. the. time. 
• The silver triangle Zil earrings I bought at the SoWa market last month.
• Texts from friends checking in on my move and transition.

• Iced chai – from Darwin’s when I can make it to the Square, and from the BPL or Tatte when I can’t.
• Ginger peach MEM tea in my favorite purple travel mug, every morning.
• Susannah Conway’s August Break photo project.
• My favorite LUSH face mask – it’s Cookie-Monster blue and smells like citrus.

• Impulse grabs from the BPL’s new books shelf, and piles of ARCs for Shelf Awareness.
• Morning Bluebike rides across the river.
• Rosé and raspberry-lemon sorbet after a long evening of unpacking.
• Eating my breakfast granola out of a real bowl.
• Trader Joe’s veggie beet wraps, berries and cherries, yogurt, granola, hint-of-lime tortilla chips and sourdough bread. (Not all at once.)

• Bryan Nash Gill’s “Woodcut” journals – I bought a four-pack at Trident a while ago. And good pens.
• Colleagues who make me laugh.
• Listening to some of the artists I heard/discovered at the Newport Folk Festival – about which more soon.
• Having enough brain space (finally!) to make this list.

What’s saving your life these days, my friends?

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wearing my own ring

Three summers ago, in the wake of a stressful move, I hopped a train to New York City for a solo weekend getaway. It was August – and hot – but I stayed at the cute, cozy Larchmont Hotel (now defunct, sadly) and spent all weekend wandering the Village and drinking gallons of hibiscus iced tea.

My travels led me at some point to Bleecker Street, where I bought a gorgeous green malachite ring from a friendly Turkish man selling jewelry from an open stall. I wore it almost every day for months, until it got accidentally crushed under the wheel of my car.

I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter that much, but I was sad about it for weeks. That ring felt like a talisman, a bit of beauty I had chosen for myself, in the midst of a long, chaotic season crowded with lots of other changes that I did not choose.

I ended up back in NYC last December, staying at the Jane and soaking in the city I love, dressed in its sparkling holiday cheer. I wandered back down to that stretch of Bleecker one day, after brunch at the Cornelia Street Cafe (best eggs Florentine I’ve ever had). My Turkish friend was there again, the last in a line of white-peaked stalls, open for one of the last times before winter. I spent some time chatting with him, and picked out a beautiful garnet ring this time.

Recently, that ring has migrated from my right hand to my left: a tangible reminder of bigger things that are shifting in my life. My address has recently changed, too: this past weekend, I moved to East Boston, to a little studio right around the corner from where I dog-sat this spring. For so long, the rhythms of my life have been shaped by my marriage, and that, too, is changing. It’s hard and painful, even though it’s the right thing.

In the midst of all this (further) change, wearing my own ring feels like a small but vital act of self-care: a visible reminder that I am acting for myself in this season. (The tank top in the first photo – a PEI find from Kim Roach a few years ago – doesn’t hurt, either.)

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