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Posts Tagged ‘work’

lands of lost borders book red flats

We’ve made it through May, which is always a whirlwind. But it did include a batch of good books:

Caroline: Little House Revisited, Sarah Miller
I read and reread the Little House on the Prairie books as a kid, and have rediscovered The Long Winter as an adult. I loved this novel that retold the Ingalls’ journey to Kansas from Ma’s – Caroline’s – perspective. Compelling, bittersweet and beautifully written. Found at the wonderful Bay Books on our San Diego trip.

The Corpse at the Crystal Palace, Carola Dunn
When Daisy Dalrymple Fletcher takes her children and their cousins on an outing to the Crystal Palace, she’s shocked when their nanny goes temporarily missing. After she turns up, the nanny can’t remember why she disappeared – nor why there’s a corpse in the ladies’ room, dressed in a nanny’s uniform. Naturally, Daisy can’t resist a bit of sleuthing. A really fun entry in this highly enjoyable series. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 3).

Lands of Lost Borders: A Journey on the Silk Road, Kate Harris
Kate Harris has always wanted to be an explorer: to test the boundaries of the known world, to go where few others have gone before. This, her debut memoir, is a lyrical, brilliant, sharply observed paean to wanderlust and an account of the year she spent cycling as much of the ancient Silk Road as possible. (Bonus: she’s spent time at Oxford and MIT, so two of my cities make appearances.) So many gorgeous lines about borders, boundaries, the hunger to explore, the ways we create our world. Made me want to hop on a bike immediately. To review for Shelf Awareness (out Aug. 21).

Live and Let Chai, Bree Baker
Everly Swan has just opened her dream iced-tea shop and cafe in her charming seaside hometown. But when a cranky local councilman is found dead next to one of Everly’s signature tea jars, she must fight against a wave of suspicion, plus an anonymous vandal who begins targeting her shop. A sweet Southern cozy mystery and an engaging setup for a new series. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 3).

The Late Bloomers’ Club, Louise Miller
Nora Huckleberry (what a name!) has been running the Miss Guthrie Diner in her tiny Vermont town for years. But when she and her freewheeling sister Kit receive an unexpected inheritance, along with some debt, Nora faces difficult decisions on several levels. Full of warmhearted characters – I especially loved Kit’s boyfriend, Max. I also loved Miller’s debut, The City Baker’s Guide to Country Living. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 17).

Ursula K. Le Guin: Conversations on Writing, Ursula K. Le Guin with David Naimon
Le Guin needs no introduction from me: she was justly famous for her novels, poetry and incisive nonfiction. These interviews with Naimon cover each genre and more besides. Thoughtful and thought-provoking. To review for Shelf Awareness (it came out April 3).

The Penderwicks at Last, Jeanne Birdsall
Birdsall returns to her charming children’s series about the Penderwick family for one last adventure at Arundel, the estate where it all began. A wedding, a huge dog, a sheep, six siblings and various friends join together in a swirl of magic, chaos and fun. Delightful – the setting is contemporary but it feels old-fashioned, and it’s a treat to see the older Penderwick girls as grown-ups.

From Twinkle, with Love, Sandhya Menon
Twinkle Mehra is used to going unnoticed, but she dreams of changing the world through her films. As she prepares to make her first full-length movie, she writes letters to well-known female filmmakers, chronicling her work, her hopes and the everyday dramas of relating to family, friends and boys. I loved Menon’s debut, When Dimple Met Rishi. This one was a slower start for me, but I did enjoy it (and I loved Sahil, Twinkle’s producer/love interest).

Crossing the Unknown Sea: Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity, David Whyte
I like Whyte’s poetry and was delighted when a colleague passed on this nonfiction book. He muses on work as fundamental to our human experience, and shares part of his journey toward making creative work his full-time job. I thought this wandered a bit, but then, we all do on this journey. Lyrical, honest and thoughtful. I particularly liked the sections on being a creative “outlaw.” Part of my nonfiction #unreadshelfproject.

Pashmina, Nidhi Chanani
This sweet graphic novel follows Priyanka Das, an Indian-American girl, as she discovers a pashmina hidden in her mom’s closet that may unlock some family secrets. Whimsical and warm and lovely, and the illustrations are wonderful. Found at the fascinating Million Year Picnic.

Piecing Me Together, Renée Watson
Jade is a black teenager (and talented collage artist) in Portland who takes every opportunity she’s offered. But sometimes she gets tired of being the person people want to “fix.” A fascinating, thoughtful, honest novel about a girl learning to own her voice and navigate a complicated world. Recommended by Anne.

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

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stars book blue mug

I can’t believe we’re halfway through May already. Travel and illness have made the month fly for me, so far. Here’s what I’ve been reading, through flights and sniffles:

How Lovely the Ruins: Inspirational Poems and Words for Difficult Times, ed. Annie Chagnot and Emi Ikkanda
I found this anthology at the Harvard Coop this winter, and have been savoring it. It draws together heartening words from classic and contemporary poets, in light of our current turbulent moment. Some favorites: Jamaal May’s “Detroit,” Yehuda Amichai’s “The Place Where We Are Right,” and Elizabeth Alexander’s stirring foreword.

The Myth of Perpetual Summer, Susan Crandall
In the wake of family tragedy, Tallulah James left her Mississippi hometown at 17 and never looked back. But when her beloved younger brother is accused of murder, Tallulah is drawn back home to see if she can help him – and to face her own ghosts. A compelling, heartbreaking Southern family saga and a sensitive portrait of how mental illness can affect a family. I really enjoyed Crandall’s The Flying Circus, too. To review for Shelf Awareness (out June 19).

Shadowhouse Fall, Daniel José Older
This sequel to Shadowshaper picks up several months later: Sierra Santiago and her friends are learning to use their powers, but trouble is afoot. Racial tensions are threatening to boil over in their Brooklyn neighborhood. A mysterious deck of cards, and the people connected to it, are a further sign of sinister forces at work. Fast-paced, vivid, brutally honest and so good. I can’t wait for book 3.

Cocoa Beach, Beatriz Williams
As a volunteer ambulance driver in World War I, Virginia Fortescue fell in love with a British surgeon. Now, long estranged from him and suddenly widowed, Virginia arrives in Prohibition-era Florida with her young daughter to inspect her husband’s estate. But almost nothing is as it seems. I like Williams’ lush historical novels, though this one didn’t hang together as well as most.

To Die But Once, Jacqueline Winspear
As the “phony war” drags on in 1940, investigator Maisie Dobbs looks into the disappearance of a young man doing top-secret government work. She finds more than she bargained for, while also caring for a young evacuee and supporting two friends whose nearly-grown sons are anxious to do their bit. I adore Maisie and this latest installment was rich and wonderful.

What We See in the Stars, Kelsey Oseid
Humans have read messages in the skies for millennia: constellations, comets, galaxies and more phenomena we can’t even name. Oseid’s gorgeously illustrated book (see above) takes us on a tour of the skies. Informative, accessible and stunning.

A Maze Me: Poems for Girls, Naomi Shihab Nye
I love Nye’s work and picked up this slim collection after re-listening to her episode of On Being. These brief, whimsical poems are aimed at young girls, but many of them resonated for me. Lovely and nourishing.

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

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hks desk rose itn computer

That’s what I say when my husband asks me what’s on tap for my Monday.

“You should trademark that,” he joked recently, as we did our morning dance in the bathroom: brushing teeth, blow-drying hair, shaving, slathering on moisturizer. It’s often our only chance to get a sense of each other’s days before he drives to the office and I walk down the street to catch the trolley.

J’s days are usually packed full of meetings: with clients (he’s a marriage and family therapist), supervisees (he helps train new therapists), co-workers. Mine often include meetings too, but the Monday scramble is slightly different: I see it as the deep breath, the pull of the lever that throws the week into gear.

I pack my bag the night before with books, workout gear, a snack or two. In the morning I add my water bottle, lunch if I’m bringing it, any last-minute essentials. When I get to the Square, I head to Mem Church (if I’ve made it in time), then walk a few blocks over to the office. And the gearing-up begins.

I sift through the weekend’s emails, put together the daily news roundup (see above), check my work calendar, write down to-do lists and reminders for the week. I jot down notes for our Monday-afternoon meeting and remind myself of where I left various projects on Friday. I send out a couple of weekly emails and draft another one. Mid-morning, if I can swing it, I push back my chair and head to Darwin’s for some chai. Caffeine is a vital part of this machinery, as are the smiles from my favorite baristas.

Many of these tasks happen every day in some form, but Mondays are a chance to hit reset: to look at the week as a whole and take stock before diving in. Of course, sometimes the chaos takes over, and unexpected things crop up all the time. But if I’m lucky, the Monday scramble helps me unscramble the rest of the week – or at least do some damage control.

How do you start off your weeks? Is there a “Monday scramble” – or something similar – in your world?

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shortest way home book anemones flowers

In like a lion, as they say. Early March has included three (!) nor’easters: snow, wind, rain and flooding. Plus the first crocuses. And good books, as always.

Here’s the latest roundup:

Through the Evil Days, Julia Spencer-Fleming
I read this eighth mystery featuring Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne with my heart in my throat. A whopping ice storm, a missing girl, a meth-cooking operation – Spencer-Fleming amps up the tension on every level. The case gets solved, but an unrelated cliffhanger left me even more impatient for the next installment.

The Shortest Way Home, Miriam Parker
Hannah Greene has landed her dream job right out of business school, and she and her boyfriend have their lives all planned. But on a weekend in Sonoma County, Hannah falls in love with a local winery and jettisons her NYC plans. A charming novel about upending expectations (your own and everyone else’s) to make your way. To review for Shelf Awareness (out July 31). I got to chat with the author, too, and she’s a darling.

Thanks, Obama: My Hopey, Changey White House Years, David Litt
Former speechwriter Litt reminisces about his years on the Obama campaign trail and the White House in this wry memoir. He’s witty, self-deprecating and sometimes insightful about the boondoggle that is American politics, and the mix of hope, frustration and ennui that can plague workplaces like his. Plus fun insider stories, in the vein of Alyssa Mastromonaco’s Who Thought This Was a Good Idea?. Recommended by Rebecca on All the Books!.

The Plant Messiah: Adventures in Search of the World’s Rarest Species, Carlos Magdalena
Magdalena is a man on a mission: to care for and propagate the world’s disappearing plants, and to spread the gospel of conservation. A Spaniard who now works at London’s Kew Gardens, he’s crisscrossed the world on botanical adventures. This memoir got a little science-geeky at times, but it’s full of good stories and enthusiasm. (The man loves him some water lilies.) To review for Shelf Awareness (out April 10).

American Panda, Gloria Chao
Mei Lu, 17-year-old MIT freshman, wishes her Taiwanese parents would stop being so overprotective – especially since she wants to change her major and date a (gasp!) Japanese-American boy. A sweet, funny YA novel about family, independence and cultural clash. (And some pretty epic pranks.)

Mink River, Brian Doyle
I picked up this novel (Doyle’s first) at McNally Jackson last year, and have been lingering in it for weeks. Through brief vignettes and small everyday moments, he evokes the texture of life in Neawanaka, a tiny town in Oregon. I loved the characters; the plot rambles till it finally revs up near the end, but the charm of Doyle’s work is following his meandering joyous dizzying insightful sentences. Wise and hilarious and I’m reminded of what a treasure he was.

The Forever House, Veronica Henry
Estate agent Belinda Baxter matches people up with their perfect homes, while longing for a permanent home of her own. When she lands the commission for Hunter’s Moon, a local house with lots of history, her day job and her personal life intersect in surprising ways. I love Henry’s sweet British novels; a girlfriend brought me this one from the UK. I savored the past-present storyline and the likable characters. Very satisfying.

Hiding in the Bathroom: An Introvert’s Guide to Getting Out There (When You’d Rather Stay Home), Morra Aarons-Mele
I heard Aarons-Mele on a podcast with Karen Walrond recently. This, her nonfiction book on work and networking for introverts (and/or hermits), is practical, insightful and honest. She shares tips for making helpful connections, setting your own schedule, and faking it when you have to.

Amina’s Voice, Hena Khan
Amina Khokar is struggling to adjust to middle school: suddenly, friendships and expectations are shifting. And she wants to sing a solo in the school concert, but she’s too shy. A sweet middle-grade novel of a Pakistani-American girl finding her voice in more ways than one. Recommended by Jaclyn.

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

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not afraid shirt ocean brave

It’s been a year, hasn’t it, friends?

These past months have been crowded and stressful, both in the world and in my own life. But they’ve also held beauty and laughter and joy. Here’s my annual (long but non-comprehensive) list of what has happened this year.

In 2017, I have:

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  • spent a long October weekend introducing my parents to New York City.
  • returned to PEI with the hubs for our third blissful stretch of days there.
  • spent a week wandering Oxford, city of my heart.
  • tried my first boot camp workout – a six-week series taught by my favorite yoga instructor – and loved it.
  • surprised myself by taking up running.
  • run my first 5K (in the snow!).
  • moved (again) and settled into our new apartment, a lovely third-floor eyrie in Dorchester.
  • fallen in love with the river trail near our house.

river trail asters

midtown nyc skyscrapers blue sky

  • gone on a few weekend escapes with the hubs: a Florida beach, a wee Connecticut town, the Maine woods.
  • spoken (once) and listened (on many days) at Morning Prayers at Memorial Church.
  • done a lot of church work, as ever: sending emails, organizing events, reading Scripture, washing dishes.
  • learned a thing or two about protesting.
  • marked nine years of marriage.
  • helped my best friends pack up their apartment, and sent them on their way to Idaho with many tears.
  • finished paying off our little silver car (we call her Adele).
  • celebrated my eighth (!) Turkeypalooza with church friends.
  • filled up half a dozen journals.

I’m looking forward to turning the calendar on 2018: I love the idea of a fresh start, but there’s also some good stuff I want to carry over from 2017. Wishing you a peaceful, hopeful start to the New Year.

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oneday hh camera photo 2017

Last week, Laura Tremaine hosted her annual #OneDayHH Instagram challenge: an invitation to document the details of our lives for one (fairly) typical day. It was a Thursday, a workday, and this was my fourth year playing along.

I snapped a lot of photos and shared quite a few of them on my Instagram, but I thought I’d also share some of them here. I like having the record each year here on the blog.

kitchen wall art curtains british flag

Morning in the kitchen: this room is the beating heart of our home. I had brought my red geraniums inside the night before, and we had also just hung those pictures. The canvas is an original by my friend Kelsey, and that watercolor/pen-and-ink drawing is from Sally Lunn’s in Bath, England.

sunrise november onedayhh

It’s no secret that I’m in love with the sunrise outside these windows: to quote Emily Byrd Starr, it saves my soul alive.

bedside table lamp quilt

That stunning Cathedral Window quilt was started by my Mimi, years ago, and finished (and sent to me) by Carol, a dear family friend. This lamp is a Target find and I love that it shimmers. And that’s my favorite worn-soft shirt to wear to bed.

katie selfie mirror onedayhh

I’m not quite bold enough to post a #wokeuplikethis selfie, but this is a pretty typical outfit: neutrals with stripes, a shot of red and the rings I always wear.

front porch view dorchester ma onedayhh

I also love the view from our front porch: the neighbors’ houses and these trees.

ivy leaves frost

First frost the night before meant that everything sparkled, including the neighbors’ ivy.

trolley morning dorchester ma mbta

It’s a short walk to the Mattapan trolley line from our house every morning.

ashmont station mbta

After a quick trolley ride, I get on the T at the end of the Ashmont line. Commuting can be a pain, but it beats driving – and I love the skylights in this station.

sever quad morning harvard yard sunshine trees

When I reach Harvard Square, I often have a little time before work. Sometimes I run errands or go to Lamont Library to write. Sometimes I walk across the Yard, admiring the leaves and soaking in the sunshine.

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That day, I ended up (no surprise) at Darwin’s. I perched, elbows on a green table, to sip Earl Grey and do a little writing. As I have said before, they know me there and it’s one of the great joys of my life.

hks desk rose itn computer

This is my desk (obviously), and on screen is the daily media citation email with which I start my workdays. Also pictured: my trusty water bottle, one of the million apples I’m munching these days, a perfect rose from my beloved florist.

hpac notebook tea table window

I love my Thursday morning meetings with other writers from around Harvard. Sarcasm, sanity and good stories on the sixth floor, where I once temped for four months and where I am still welcome.

cambridge common

Later that afternoon (after chai with a writer friend, lunch, more emails and some brainstorming about photos for a story I wrote), I took a walk on Cambridge Common to clear my head. The sun came out again for a little while.

ankle boots leaves

I walked through crunching leaves, talking to a friend on the phone, and exhaling. (I don’t get to do this every day but I love it when I do.)

trolley walk dark trees streetlights

It was already dark when I left work around 5:30, and even darker when I walked home from the trolley. This seasonal shift – the sudden loss of light – is hard for me.

lemon ginger tea books journal

I heated up leftover black bean soup for dinner, washed dishes, puttered and read for a while – first Hunted, and then Brian Doyle’s essays in Leaping (with lemon-ginger tea in my Oxford mug). The hubs worked late, as he often does, and came home to heat up his own bowl of soup. I went to bed early, to read a little and then crash.

begonias building blue sky

I didn’t post all the details of my day, but I’m still glad I participated. This fall has been full of so many things: some lovely, some exciting, many stressful, some heartbreaking. But it’s anchored by the daily round, which is precious in itself. I’m glad for the nudge from Laura to capture and share the details of our days – to say that “holy yes” to them which is so important.

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harvard yard banners commencement 2016

We are (rapidly) approaching Commencement here at Harvard. Classes are over; fluttering robes and other regalia are appearing on the streets of Cambridge; the Yard is filling up with folding chairs, audio speakers and other equipment. (Three days to go.)

I’ve been walking through the Yard whenever I can, watching it all take shape: watching the banners unfurl and the stage come together on the south porch of Memorial Church, piece by piece. There is a comfort in these steady rituals, year after year, a reliability deepened by knowing where to look.

Most of our students at the Kennedy School of Government, where I work, are graduating after one or two years in a master’s program, while our Ph.D. students have been in it for a longer haul. But many of the students earning their undergraduate degrees from Harvard College have spent four years in this place. And as of this spring, so have I.

harvard yard memorial church view

This time of year always makes me reflective: we are wrapping up another academic season, pausing before the plunge into summer, stopping to take stock of what we’ve accomplished and what we’ve gained. We are celebrating another class of graduating students right before we lose them: we are sending (most of) them out into the world, charging them to take what they’ve learned here and do some good.

Yet those of us who stay, who spend our workdays year-round in this place, are under the same charge: to take what we have learned, what we have built here, and do some good.

During this turbulent academic year – a year in which I’ve been adjusting, simultaneously, to a new job and to constantly shifting political realities, which directly affect said job – I have been thinking of James Baldwin’s words about America. Baldwin asserted his love for this country, and added in the next breath, “Exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”

Similarly, I have developed a bone-deep love for Harvard, but I insist on the right to question it perpetually, and yes, sometimes to criticize it.

To be a part of this place, with its nearly four centuries of history, tradition and scholarship, is also to reckon with its scars and inconsistencies, its blind spots and the weight of its privilege. It is to keep speaking up (in my own quiet way), insisting on a place for those who have often been marginalized here: women, immigrants, African Americans and other minorities, those who don’t fit the mold of the “traditional” Harvard student or employee. It is to believe – sometimes by an effort of will – that I belong here, and that my voice matters: that I, too, am Harvard.

Over the past four years, I’ve worked in three different areas of Harvard: the Ed School, where I first landed and began to stretch my wings; the Harvard Gazette, where I survived a wild and wonderful Commencement season last year; and the Kennedy School, where I spend my days now. I have worked hard to make a place for myself here, to find a home, and I’ve been surprised and delighted to find several. In addition to all three of my offices (current and former), there are other corners of Harvard that belong to me.

harvard yard path trees light

The sunken garden on Appian Way, where tulips and iris bob their vivid heads in the spring and summer. A particular carved wooden pew in Memorial Church, where I have sat on many mornings this year, listening to the choir sing and the congregation recite the Lord’s Prayer. A cluster of squashy armchairs in Lamont Library, with a window that looks out into the trees. The second-floor room at the Harvard Art Museums that holds my favorite Monet paintings and one of Degas’ Little Dancer sculptures. And I can’t forget the places that are technically not part of Harvard, but that anchor me and nourish me here in the Square: the flower shop, the Harvard Book Store, and – most especially – Darwin’s.

As I’ve said before, working at Harvard is often like working anywhere else: there are politics and frustrations and paperwork, and also triumphs and community and good, satisfying work. I have struggled here, and felt lost and heartbroken – especially after being laid off, two years ago this month. I have also worked hard for every relationship I’ve built here, and that work has been rewarded: now I regularly see familiar faces around the Square, or have coffee dates and congenial email exchanges with colleagues and friends. This feels like my place, and it is: I speak the language, I know the streets and buildings, I understand the rhythms of this neighborhood. There is so much more to learn (there always is), but I am rooted here, and thriving.

Like our students, I realize that what I’ve gained here – what I have been given, and also what I have worked hard for – comes with responsibility. So I’ll keep asking questions, keep moving forward, keep thinking about how to do my work well, how to affect this place for good.

I’m not graduating with a degree from Harvard this year. But I am grateful, down to my bones, for my four years (and counting) in this place that is ever more mine.

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