the busy heart

As I've mentioned, just before Sam and I married, depression really sunk me, made me suspicious of everything good, easily broken, easily frightened, hard to reach. I continue to feel like I’m surfacing, but disappearing from planet earth for several years makes it hard to get to know anyone, to establish connection. I think my in-laws have thought Sam married an alien. He sort of did. They visited recently, and one night we went out for Italian. On the way home, rounding the glitter of Boston’s night skyline, my mother-in-law and I shared the backseat, our husbands sitting in the front. My seat belt hadn’t been working, and we finally figured out I could plug the silver clasp into the buckle near her, meant for the middle, which made me sort of lean over to her side of the car. In the back while Sam steered us over a bridge, we felt like friends, like I finally wasn’t too submerged in my own skin to have a conversation. Mint tea on my breath, an after- dinner cappuccino on ...

After three full days of outrageous, pummeling, constant rain, the sun is out today. It's nearly 60 degrees, which feels nothing short of a miracle. So after eating my lunch, I decided to walk down to Copley square to drop off some film. I listened to my iPod, watched all of the people taking pictures and eating their lunches and wearing pretty shoes, and felt so happy I thought I'd burst. I was literally just grinning (as in last post) like a fool, giggling occasionally for no reason at all except that life, at the moment, is good. Reasons to rejoice: a. Sam's parents are in town, and they're just lovely people. They take us to dinner and tell me stories about Sam as a wee boy. b. After over a month of searching, I am the swooning owner of a new work bag. See below. I got it on etsy, and probably paid too much, but what else can one do when they see it and gasp and know deep in their heart that they are beholding the bag of their soul? See the pretty insides? S...

For the last day or so, I've been a little spilly. It's felt like something was sloshing around in my heart. What I mean is: I've been sad. But that silly sort of sad, where nothing is wrong, you just feel like crying at everything. (Not pregnant--honest.) Example: listening to The Writer's Almanac podcast this morning while walking to the T, Garrison Keillor was describing Ira Glass' career, and this made me feel like weeping. Why? He followed his dream? Many doubted the success of This American Life, and now the world agrees it a was a spot-on, brilliant idea? No good reason, see? So I was crossing the Whole Foods parking lot, getting choked up every ten seconds, when this suddenly seemed very funny, this weepy self. And then, walking down Washington Street, passing bus stops and dogs out on their walks, stray snowflakes hitting my lips and chin, I couldn't stop laughing. I was just giggling out loud, grinning. Everything seemed funny, especially my ...

(photo source: here ) Last night, at a lecture my friend gave on lesser-known Boston history, I learned about molasses. Apparently, in 1919, there was what is known as The Great Molasses Flood of 1919. Yes, I said flood. Apparently, over 2.5 million gallons of molasses came rushing through Boston in a tidal wave, which measured at a height of 50 feet (!) and a speed of 35 miles per hour. People died, buildings were pushed off their foundations, a train was pushed off its track. Can you imagine this? I've been trying to imagine it ever since I heard the story. Why did they have so much molasses, you ask? Apparently, it was a big trade item for Boston. They would sell it, and people elsewhere would turn it into ethyl alcohol and make explosives out of it. So weird. Anyway, they had this giant silo-type thing in the North End, and it was pretty terribly made. Instead of fixing it, the company just painted it molasses-color so you wouldn't see it leak. (Brilliant!) But l...

Tonight we had a visit from our very sincere home teacher (a man from church assigned to visit once a month and make sure we're doing okay, ask if we need anything, etc). He sat and chatted, managed to work in a message on prayer, and then asked: "Is there anything I can do to serve you guys?" Sam looked at him, looked down at his feet as if deep in thought, and then said, deadpan: "Well, I could really use a pedicure."

Confession: Internet, I am no longer vegan. Gasp. I know. You are shocked, dismayed; you care. Or not. I care, anyway. I've been sheepish about admitting it to my blog, since I was so, all, like, "I'm VEGAN." But whatever. I loved veganing; I feel like some day I'll go back to it, but for now I'm concentrating on other elements of my nutritional life. I still make a lot of veganish recipes, like the following: Raw Cinnamon Raisin Toast . I heard about it on one of my favorite foodie blogs, Heather Eats Almond Butter . Technically, the recipe calls for a dehydrator, but I just put my oven on 170 (lowest setting) and kept the door propped open for a couple hours. I failed to buy raisins, and I couldn't really taste the cinnamon, so it's turned into just regular old bread. Well, to the extent that this can be called bread ... But it's working like bread. Today, for lunch, I brought an enormous salad, and made little open face sandwiches wi...

Since this new job involves reading all day (I mean, literally, all day. Finding stuff to put in anthologies. It's not a bad life, I tell you.), I've been posting things on the other blog that catch my eye/heart. But somehow, this belongs here. Maybe because of subject matter. Anyway, my dad loves this book, Eternal Man , by Truman G Madsen, and he got me reading it. It's short, but fathoms deep, and I feel like I'll have to read it seven more times to "get it." But this part, I think I get. On freedom and commitment: "We talk as if freedom consisted in having the greatest variety of options and that a 'once-and-for-all' decision coerces our initiative. But is freedom increased by every new flavor of ice cream? "Actually, it is only when we rise above trivial options and ask ourselves in the depths, 'What do I want to be ?' that we emerge from the bondage of a flitting and faceless mode of life. The most majestic wonder of our fr...