Saving my life: almost-too-small-to-mention edition.

March blew in like a lion with two wild, wet nor’easters back to back, and no lack of responsibilities at work and at home. As I navigate these blustery days, here’s a handful of tiny things, like bits of glitter, that are saving my life now:

• That first sip of Darwin’s chai in the morning, after I lift the cup off the bar and before I put the lid on. It’s hot, spicy and life-giving.
• Catching the trolley or the Red Line without having to wait.
• The first (!) golden crocuses, spotted in the yard of a pink house on Cambridge St. (The man who lives there cut some of his roses for me last summer.)
• Good pens, and ink-stained fingers.
• Letting the sunlight flood full into my face as I look out the kitchen window, step outside my office building or sink into my favorite pew at Mem Church.
• Brian Doyle’s rambling rollicking jubilant heartbreaking sentences in Mink River. They read like the Irishman he was: tender and clear-eyed, vivid and joyous.
• The first scent of spring on an evening run last week: not just damp earth, which I also love, but the distinct smell of fresh blooming things.
• The chalk heart that someone draws over and over again on the river trail.
• Seeing my work in Shelf Awareness, which never fails to thrill me. If you love books, you should subscribe – it’s free, fun and informative.
• A few places in my life where I am sure of a welcome: my florist’s shop, my boss’ office, my Thursday-morning haunt on the sixth floor. And – say it with me now – Darwin’s. (Though that’s not such a small thing at all.)

Some of these lifesavers are tiny indeed. But they anchor me and bring me joy, over and over again.

What’s saving your life these days? I’d love to know.

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one little word 2014 wrap-up: light

Last year, in the middle of my fourth Northeastern winter, I decided my one little word for 2014 would be light.

I chased that word through the dark, cold months – snapping photos of bold, blue winter skies (see above) and escaping to San Diego with the hubs when I couldn’t take it any more. We soaked in the sun for four glorious days, and I’m convinced it got me through the rest of the winter.

As the days lengthened into spring and summer, I stopped pursuing my word quite so consciously – though it was always there when I looked for it again.

The autumn light in Harvard Square is particularly lovely, and I snapped dozens of photos this fall, trying to pay attention and soak up the clear golden days.

During a hectic December, I confess I didn’t think about my word much – until I glanced out the window at work one afternoon and saw that the sun had finally come out after two grey, misty days in a row.

I didn’t hesitate. I threw on my green coat and headed outside, standing on the back steps of my building with my hands shoved deep into my pockets, soaking in the sunshine and the blue sky. I snapped the photo above, then simply stood there, head thrown back, letting the light flood over me.

I was out there for less than ten minutes, but it saved my entire day. And I realized: I’d been pursuing my word all along.

Every time I light a candle, every time I watch a sunset, every time I throw my head back and gaze at the sky, the light is there, waiting for me. I’m always seeking it out, snapping photos of it, watching how it highlights some things and throws others into shadow. I love what it does to faces, how it illuminates and reflects and beckons, how it’s never still, always changing. I did not do particularly well with the metaphorical aspects of my word this year, but the literal one, the visible one, is woven into my psyche.

I’m easing into 2015 with a new word, gentle (about which more soon). But I will continue to chase the light. If you’re looking for me on a sunny day this winter, there’s a good chance you’ll find me outside, soaking up any scrap of light I can find.

If you chose a word for 2014, how did it go? Or if you chose a word for 2015, how’s it going so far?

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Summer joys

I write some version of this post every year, from long lists of my summer pleasures to more coherent rhapsodies about the season. I adore fall and I have a soft spot for spring (winter and I are sometimes barely on speaking terms), but my years in the Northeast have taught me to embrace this fleeting season.

After a slow start (which nearly killed my poor, vulnerable basil plants), this summer has been golden and glorious. And I’m soaking it up.

I am walking over to the Harvard farmers’ market every Tuesday, wandering among the stalls and buying copious amounts of fresh berries, bell peppers and tomatoes. There’s even a tamale stand on occasion – a rare, authentic Tex-Mex treat. A couple of weeks ago, I tried a strawberry-basil popsicle – light, sweet and delicious.

I am wearing sandals every single day, dresses or skirts most days, and have even found two maxidresses that don’t drag on the ground (I’m petite). I’m sporting tanned arms and legs and crisscrossing sandal tan lines on my feet. (But I am also wearing sunscreen.)

I am spending my lunch breaks in Harvard Yard with a book whenever possible. Often concurrently, I’m indulging in flavored seasonal limeade from Crema for as long as it lasts.

I’m watering the basil on my wee balcony, plucking leaves to sprinkle on pasta, scrambled eggs, homemade pizza. I am eating the occasional plate of fried calamari or fish & chips from the local clam shack, with help from the hubs.

I’m watching the sunlight move across the dining room table as I drink my morning tea – ginger peach or blackberry sage. I’m delighting in sunsets, pink and purple and gold, seen from our living-room windows and occasionally from our beach.

I’m delighting in houseguests and weekend trips to Rockport, then indulging in a bit of hibernation to balance it out.

I’m reading like a madwoman (because when am I not?) and enjoying light fare like a beachy Greek travel memoir and a stack of mysteries.

I’m crossing items off my Summer Manifesto, and making a new list for August.

I’m reveling in the warm air, the wide blue skies, the green grass and blooming flowers, the feeling of ease and relaxation that only comes in these full, long, golden days.

What joys are you savoring this summer?

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Winter survival: a bit of sunshine

The bitter cold continues. I have reminded my husband at least a dozen times this week that I never want to live anywhere colder than Boston. Then I turn around and remind my concerned relatives in Texas that yes, I have to get out when it’s seven degrees, because I have to go to work. Which means standing on frigid subway platforms, hurrying across the wind-whipped Common with my hood up, and tramping down frozen streets white with salt.

Yesterday, I made myself get outside after eating lunch at my desk (because I get cranky if I don’t leave my building at least once during the day, no matter how frigid it is). After a trip to the bank, and a bit of shopping for a friend’s birthday, I gave in and headed to Starbucks for that proven pair of pick-me-ups: a chai latte and half an hour with my journal.

I snagged my favorite round table in the back corner, next to a huge picture window through which the sun streamed, warming the wide wooden sill and the tabletop and even my hair. I pulled out my colorful journal and one of my favorite pens, sipped my warm, spicy drink, and scribbled down a few thoughts and worries and blog post ideas. I doubt I’ll find any great insight in reading back over that entry, but it was enough to sit there, to write, to breathe, to be.

On my way back to work, I walked along the western edge of the Common, bounded by leafless trees and dead grass, dotted with a few other hardy walkers. My boots crunched through a mixture of sand and gravel and rock salt, scattered there by some city employee who spends far more time in the cold than I do. As I walked, a few chunks of salt caught the light, sparkling like crystals escaped from a geode, or like fallen stars.

It’s amazing what half an hour of sunshine, and chai, can do for your perspective. (But I still hope the mercury rises soon.)

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late winter survival: color therapy part II

We’re in that strange transitional season – the calendar says it’s spring; Daylight Savings Time has begun (hallelujah!), and every store window is full of bright, breezy apparel and accessories.

However, this is Boston. Ergo, the mercury still drops below freezing at least once a week; we had hours of snow-rain yesterday; lots of spring rains are imminent; and it’s not nearly warm enough to step out in sandals, sport bare legs, go without a scarf or shed my jacket. Last week, when I wore a spring skirt to church (albeit with tights, boots, a cardigan and a black turtleneck), I heard a cautionary tale from my friend Bob involving his wife, a sundress in March, and pneumonia. (They’ve lived in the Northeast for 43 years. She is, obviously, wiser now.)

I know, I know. It’s not really spring yet, despite the teasing beams of sunshine on Boston Common and the proliferation of spring apparel. What’s a sick-of-all-her-sweaters Texas girl to do?

One answer: Buy orange tulips.

This little bouquet, bought from the nice Asian man who sells flowers at Downtown Crossing, made me SO happy last week.

Answer #2: Incorporate a few springy pieces into the it’s-still-winter wardrobe. (See spring skirt with winter layers, above.) Also: browse the consignment shop for colorful pieces that won’t break the bank. Such as a bright melon scarf, and a sweater the color of tender, new leaves.

Answer #3: Paint my toenails bright pink, even though, as McKay says, no one will see them under my tights and boots. Still, I know they’re pink and that’s what counts.

Answer #4: Soak up every bit of sunshine, whenever I can. Even if it means squinting into the light while I eat my breakfast. (I actually love the mornings I have to squint – the sunshine spilling in the windows is such a gift.)

Anyone else? Color therapy tricks to share?

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