• csa

    Ok, fine. Bring on the Spring

    We’ve reached that moment in April when I’m ready for Spring to finally arrive. The snow is long gone. It’s been raining all week and mud is everywhere. New Hampshire even calls this period “mud season.” Although it’s too cold at night to plant the garden, perennials and leaves are just starting to appear. And the first farmers’ market of the season is still two weeks away.

    If you haven’t been to a farmers’ market lately, I highly recommend Googleing greenmarkets in your area and checking out a good one this Spring. It’s such a treat to spend an hour wandering through the stalls, examining the wares and meeting local farmers. Don’t forget to bring a cloth bag or two from home — I generally have no problem filling mine with fruits and veg, eggs, meat and baked goods.

    Some greenmarkets are true community events. Beyond the food tables you’ll find cooking demonstrations, face painters and entertainment from local bands. Learn how to eat organically or pet some livestock. Drop off food scraps for composting, pick up a weekly share from a CSA or discover a new way to use herbs. Purchase jewelry or clothing from an area artisan and have your dull knives sharpened by experts. Or wander through the local humane society’s booth and consider adopting a new friend for life.

    Each of my favorite markets offer something special, a unique treat that makes schlepping out of the house well worth the journey. I’m talking about cheese, cider and maple-based treats in Vermont; cinnamon doughnuts, fresh fish and bouquets of freshly cut flowers in Seattle; jams, honey and pies in New Hampshire. And in New York City’s Union Square, I’ve been known to buy an entire meal, find a comfortable spot in the park and simply enjoy a farmers’ market picnic.

    Depending on where you live, Spring is either in full bloom or just about to make her big debut. When she finally steps out of the darkness here in New England, you’ll know where to find me on Saturday mornings.

  • winter yule

    Love Winter, yet I remember a time when I didn’t

    When you grow up in suburban Chicago, you know what it means to suffer through winter. I’m talking bone-chilling cold, wicked ice storms, wind-whipped skin, days-long power outages and blizzards that dump feet of snow. All those stories our grandparents used to tell about walking to and from school, uphill, both ways, against the wind? Yeah, that was true for me too. Plus, I was a member of my high school’s pom-pom team so I also spent entire football games trying desperately to inspire spirit while my knees turned a startling shade of blue.

    Halfway through high school, my parents split up and we moved down to South Florida. I’m a bit ashamed to admit this, but I was one of those mean bastards who would call or write my friends back “home” in the middle of February and brag about going to the beach after classes ended. It was just such a novelty not to suffer through winter anymore — and I reveled in it.

    Of course, there was a cost to be paid for living in paradise, a condition known as blood-thinning. Basically, your body acclimates to the heat and humidity so much that any amount of cold becomes intolerable. When the temperature would drop below 60 degrees for three days in winter, I would actually search the back of my closet for a sweater.

    A decade later, I landed a dream job at The New York Times and moved to New York City — in February. That was when the curse of blood-thinning made me rue. Although I had purchased an old winter coat from Goodwill before I left Florida, it was no match for the wind that blew cruelly through the buildings in Manhattan. Every trek from the subway to the newsroom felt like a death march; I spent much of it with my head down, willing my frozen feet forward, and swearing profusely.

    It would take a full year for the curse to pass and my body to adjust to the cold. Once it did, however, the profanity stopped. The cooler temps became a delightful antidote to my heat-induced migraines and whenever the first snowflakes would fall, my spirit soared. (Didn’t hurt that the first snow storm each year usually occurred between Thanksgiving and Christmas, making the city’s holiday decorations look even more festive and beautiful.)

    Now, I’m a winter-convert. I crave the sound of snow plows grinding through feet of fluff and the hush that settles on the world after they pass by. I adore wearing layers of clothing and thick wool socks, drinking hot tea and cocoa, curling up in my library with a good book or in the living room by the fire, cooking comfort food and baking delicious treats for friends and family.

    That said, I wish this video had been around 19 years ago when I moved from Florida to New York. Even though I remembered most of the “tips” from my childhood, I’m sure it would’ve made my life a little more tolerable:

  • Where do my story ideas come from?

    My muse likes to be wooed.

    One of my favorite methods of courtship involves giving her a bouquet of words. I quickly glance at a bunch of words — in a novel, a newspaper, a map, a cookbook, hell, even a cereal box — and I grant her permission to autofill the rest. I then use what she gives me as fodder for stories and poems.

    For example, one night I was scanning the items in my Dataminr folder (which lists some of the latest tweets about possible breaking news events) when a subject heading caught my eye. It said:

    Update Icelandair #FI688 passengers are now disemb…

    and my muse immediately changed that to:

    Update Icelandair #FI688 passengers are now disemboweling each other.

    Yep, what was a simple tweet about a mechanical failure on a plane (cockpit window broke, no depressurization, passengers removed safely from the aircraft) was transformed into a zombie nightmare of apocalyptic proportions.

    Ever appreciative of her “gifts,” I gratefully added that prompt to my “future stories” folder. And the next time I’m in the mood to write a truly scary tale, it’ll be there.

  • Typewriter

    Quote of the day

    “You don’t start a story with a character regarding themselves in a mirror because that’s how you end up swapping places with Your Other Author, the Evil You with black inkholes for eyes and demon poems tattooed on the tongue.” –Chuck Wendig

  • Good news sticky

    A bit of good news I’d like to share

    I worry a lot. Not needlessly or aimlessly. I worry with purpose.

    For example, I don’t worry about what could happen. I worry about what has happened, what is happening and what’s about to happen.

    When you spend your life covering death and destruction, it’s hard not to worry about the state of the world. And if you take a step back from the daily grind of news, peer at the big picture and see very little progress, it can be wearing on the soul. 

    World events, natural disasters, personal crisis, Murphy’s Law… they can all wreak havoc on one’s ability to look forward to the future. But since it’s the first day of a new year, I’ve decided to combat my worries with action. As I noted in my list of 2019 goals, I aim to focus on the good.

    Which is why I’ve launched A Bit of Good News, a newsletter that features positive stories, inspiring quotations and a few simple pleasures. I hope you will subscribe:

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