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Posts Tagged ‘winter’

This is the winter of lunchtime runs, hauling my running gear and bright blue sneakers to work in my gray backpack so I can get out on the Esplanade twice a week or so, catching the sunshine and whatever warmth it provides.

This is the winter of all the puzzles, spread out on my friend Chrissy’s coffee table: NYC signs and Italian hillsides and bucolic New England landscapes, worked a piece at a time while we talk about our lives.

This is the winter of Cooking Solo, Klancy Miller’s brilliant cookbook about doing just that. I’ve been eating her lentil soup (stuffed with other veggies), her lemony pancakes, her roasted veggies with tahini dressing, for weeks.

This is the winter of almost no snow and only a few extended cold snaps. I’m missing the brilliance of sunlight on reflected snowbanks (and worried about what it means for the climate) even as I give thanks for the lack of grey slush.

This is the winter of settling into Eastie, continuing to make a home in this neighborhood that became mine last year. I’m growing paperwhites in my kitchen window, meeting a few more neighbors, going to yoga and strength training classes at The Point on the regular.

This is the winter of a(nother) Harry Potter reread, undertaken in tandem with someone I love, walking alongside Harry and his companions as they learn and grow and face unbelievable evil with courage and love.

This is the winter of sharp loneliness and sudden tears, still mourning the death of my marriage and adjusting (in all ways) to a new landscape without it.

This is the winter of avocado toast, handfuls of clementines, chunks of Trader Joe’s crumbly English cheddar, Molly’s scones and Jessica Fechtor’s oatmeal cookies, soup simmered in my red stockpot, endless cups of Earl Grey.

This is the winter of runs along the Harborwalk, vivid sunset light reflected in the water, marking the tides and the miles with my feet and the pounding of my heart.

This is the winter of Tuesday indoor picnics in the Pru, hearty soups decanted into red-lidded Tupperware and heated in the office microwave, cloth napkins and on-the-go utensils and laughter before we hug and go our separate ways.

This is the winter of starting to heal, doing my best to welcome unexpected joys where they appear.

What does life look like for you this winter?

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We haven’t seen the sun since Tuesday, friends, and frankly, I’m getting a little desperate. Boston hasn’t had much snow yet this winter (though my West Texas hometown got seven inches the other day), but it has been chill, grey and rainy for days on end. I am pulling out all my lifesavers from Monday’s post, but here are a few that have particularly come through in the clutch this week:

  • Eating all the clementines. They remind me that brightness will return, and they taste so good.
  • Making travel plans to see family and friends (in reliably sunny locales!) this spring.
  • Dinner with a girlfriend the other night – the curry was delicious, but two hours of good talk was even better for my soul.
  • My happy lamp – even if it’s a placebo effect, I will take the blast of bright light in the mornings when it’s so misty out that I can’t see across Boston Harbor.

  • Reading fun kid lit. Currently loving To Night Owl from Dogfish, recommended by Anne.
  • Daffodils from Trader Joe’s, which were on sale for $1.50 this week.
  • Reading a gardening book – in this case, Six Square Metres by Margaret Simons.
  • Writing snail mail love notes – I’m trying to write one every day in February.

How do you get through the truly dreary days?

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It’s become a midwinter tradition: every February, dozens of us link up with Anne Bogel to answer a brilliant question (from Barbara Brown Taylor): “What is saving your life now?” I make these lists periodically throughout the year (the act of making them can itself be lifesaving), but I always need the reminder in midwinter. So here, as we head into February, is what’s saving my life now:

  • The witch hazel blooming in the Prudential Center courtyard: a bright, hopeful neon yellow.
  • Related: Tuesday indoor picnics in the Pru with someone I love.
  • I say this every winter: all. The. Clementines.
  • Maggie Smith’s poetry, especially “Bride,” which appeared in the New Yorker recently and is now taped to my bathroom mirror.
  • My winter uniform: fleece-lined tights + black Clarks ankle boots + dress (denim, black or striped) + black quilted vest + scarf.
  • That stunning red amaryllis in my kitchen, above.
  • My umpteenth reread of the Harry Potter series. (Starting Deathly Hallows now.)
  • Yoga at The Point every week, the occasional boot camp class there, and being recognized when I walk in the door.
  • Shafts of full-on sunlight in the conference room at work, on the sidewalk and really wherever I can get them.
  • The wisdom in Sheryl Sandberg’s book Option B.
  • Making soup in batches for work lunches throughout the week.
  • Shalane Flanagan’s superhero muffins.
  • Slathering on the hand lotion and moisturizer (hello, dry winter skin).
  • Acing a freelance writing assignment last week.
  • Pulling out a beloved banana bread recipe.
  • Sunrise over the harbor.
  • Washing a sinkful of dirty dishes: reliably satisfying.
  • Making a few fun plans with friends.
  • Finding welcome, and being welcomed – both are such a gift.

What’s saving your life these days? I’d love to hear, if you’d like to share.

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…is something I am saying a lot these days.

One reason for that: it’s winter. Never mind the mostly-mild weather and wild temperature swings; this time of year is always tough for me. The lack of sunlight can leave me feeling dull and flat, and I’m always exhausted (physically and emotionally) after the holidays. But I am trying (as Maggie Smith keeps reminding us) to keep moving, whether literally or otherwise.

Here are a few things that are helping me, as we continue to move through January:

My light therapy lamp. Real talk: some days I don’t know if it makes any difference. But I flip it on every morning anyway, and most days I think it does take the edge off these long, dark evenings.

Putting the bread in the freezer. This is not like Joey having to put Little Women in the freezer on that episode of Friends (by the way, I saw the new movie twice and adored it). I live alone, so freezing a loaf of bread is one way to ensure it doesn’t all mold before I can toast it. (These days I’m loving Trader Joe’s multigrain sourdough.)

Taking a walk. Which is always a good idea – whether it’s down the street to the library or Trader Joe’s, around my neighborhood on a weekend, or over to campus for a meeting.

Eating all the clementines. I’m going through them like they’re candy, and I’m totally fine with that – because they’re bright, delicious and healthy.

My budding amaryllis, which I wrote about the other day, and which might actually be magic.

Working a puzzle at a girlfriend’s house the other night. I agree with Anne: puzzles are relaxing and good for your brain.

Yoga, even if I have to drag myself there (and sometimes I do).

What’s helping you get through, these days?

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Back in mid-December, I bought a potted amaryllis kit from Stephen at my beloved Brattle Square Florist. I always admire the red blooms in the dead of winter, but had never grown one before. And then the pre-holiday madness hit, and the bulb sat in its box on my kitchen shelf for several weeks.

I removed it right after the New Year to find that it had sprouted – but, with no sunlight, the stems and bud were pure white. I panicked, feeling like Charlie Brown with his poor little Christmas tree. Had I killed it with my neglect? Was there any hope for growth or blooms?

I potted it anyway, and set it in a sunny spot near my little African violet, which is loving the winter sunshine and blooming away. And, with some water and a few days of sunlight, a miracle happened.

Look! Bright green healthy stems, gorgeous red blooms, and more on the way.

I am grateful to whatever magic (or scientific wizardry) made the plant sprout on its own, and amazed at the simple alchemy of soil, sunlight and water. And I’m so glad I decided to try potting it instead of giving up.

I’ve got a few paperwhite bulbs in tall vases, and will be watching for them to bloom next.

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It is a truth universally acknowledged that December in the Northeast (and at many latitudes) is dark.

We are here: two weeks from the solstice, at the beginning of winter, digging out from our first real snowstorm of the season. We’ve had some grey days, too, making natural light even harder to find. And, of course, this season comes with particular emotional challenges, for me and for a lot of folks I know.

I’m not going all out on the decor this year: for one thing, too much glitz and glitter would overwhelm my studio apartment. For another, it feels truer to look for, or create, some pinpricks of light here and there. The twinkly effect of the tree candleholders on my mantel, or my tiny Christmas tree made from coat hangers, garland and colored lights, feels gentler and more real than anything big or bright or flashy.  (It also – and this is no coincidence – feels more like Advent, the season we are in, and my favorite part of the church year.)

This week, my friend Lauryn came over to help me put up the little tree I’ve had since I lived alone as a recent college grad, and have carted around to every house since. We strung lights and listened to Christmas carols, and I pulled out a couple dozen favorite ornaments. The tree is shining softly on the fireplace, where it lights up the whole living area.

tree-fireplace-books

I’m enjoying twinkle lights around town, too: in shop windows, on bare-branched trees, in my neighbors’ living rooms, shining through the curtains. The light shines in the darkness, and it feels hopeful and cheery and brave.

Where are you finding light in this season? Please share, if you like.

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final form: Queensland Beach

Many of my knitting friends will tell you: sometimes a skein of yarn takes a while to figure out what it’s going to be.

Some years ago now, Sonia came to Boston for a conference, and we met up in the South End and walked around, eating pastries from Flour and talking about our lives. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and we became friends via Ravelry, but had never met in person before. She brought me a gorgeous crimson skein of Cassiopeia yarn from Pigeonroof Studios, and I immediately started browsing potential patterns.

The yarn has a bit of cashmere and silk in it – so it stretched waaaay out with the first pattern I used, Regina. I frogged that attempt and made a gorgeous Cocoon Cowl next, but I rarely wore it. (I like my cowls big and cozy in the wintertime, and this one was more on the small and dainty side.)

A few years later, I used some of the skein to make a Gin & Tonic hat for my friend Laura, but I’d had the rest of it kicking around all this time. But it has now found its final form: a cozy, cabled Queensland Beach headband.

I tried it out on our first proper snow day, yesterday, and I’m so thrilled with it. And it reminded me: sometimes you have to try a few paths/possibilities before you find the right one.

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