READ ALL ABOUT IT
Since 2012, I’ve been writing about books. And the act of reading. And the importance of story and narrative. But, mostly, the underlying theme of all I write is how taking a moment to stop and digest some longform text — instead of scrolling, instead of watching a video, instead of multitasking — can be one of the most grounding things we can do for ourselves. Here’s the one-stop online home for all this writing.
You can read more about me and my work by moseying over here. Want to peruse periodic “essay drops” — excerpts from my work-in-progress essay collection about Homesickness? Here ya go.
Put a Little Book House in Your Soul
It’s that time of year 🍂🍁🍂🍁
Obsessed With Home
Obsessions go hard, I guess. It’s not a shocker that I’m obsessed with the idea of home — and, specifically, that complex feeling of homesickness, which is its flipside I suppose. Matt and I are just about done emptying the house that will be undergoing a big ol’ renovation, and today I came across a box of all my old clips from the Tufts Observer. Here’s the first thing I ever wrote for the publication where I eventually creeped my way up to Editor-in-Chief. Color me surprised. (Not at all.) I didn’t know what I was writing, really; I just knew that my background and points of reference were a little different from the throngs of students mostly from NJ, NY, MA, and sometimes CT, so I guess I needed to get pen to paper to make sense of that somehow. The specter hanging over all this wondering via simplistic writing was my parents’ cross-country move to Washington, DC right before I wrote this. (ie Where is home?!?!)
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Amy’s Version
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Amy’s Version. Matt and I have been in Charlotte for a few weeks but have taken turns going back to Massachusetts on weekends. This weekend was my turn, and when I got up at 4 am on Friday to get to the airport, I saw that my flight was cancelled. Flying to Boston was going to be essentially impossible until Monday. Not helpful! After going through possible parent-less scenarios (could our son Uber to our house from his school, get our car, and criss-cross New England alone to these appointments at colleges?), we decided I would fly into a different airport and figure out the last part when I landed.
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
We’ve got another snowy day today, and I’ve been thinking about how snow is often romanticized. Don’t get me wrong: There is something so satisfying about “tucking in” and feeling unburdened by the rigmarole of daily life. Especially if it’s over a weekend; today is Saturday. Somehow Laura Ingalls Wilder even managed — in the rose-colored, made-for-publishing view of her childhood — to make The Long Winter seem dreamy.
At the Bottom of the River
I cannot stand winter in the Northeast US. I don’t mind the cold (rather like it, actually), don’t mind the snow (love, it actually), it’s not like I have seasonal affective disorder and need to move to Florida (no) or get a special lamp. Rather, I just really, really dislike the grey-ness and I really, really, really dislike the barren trees that all look dead. “Look at that marsh over there,” says Matt with an admiring tone on our drive. “You mean the one with what looks like toothpicks sticking out of it?” I think. Pass! Sorry to offend any diehard NE’ers here, but well...
