One by one, the judge listed the 51 countries represented by the 121 people about to become new American citizens at the John J. Moakley Federal Courthouse.
“If you’re from Bangladesh you’ll be standing a bit longer,” U.S. Bankruptcy Judge Frank J. Bailey cautioned as he began his alphabetic roll call last Thursday. “If you’re from Vietnam, you’ll just be standing for a second.”
Photo by Elianna Nuzum
“Barbados, Belize, Brazil…” he continued, pausing for the applause greeting the women and men standing at the announcement of their homeland, some waving a small American flag provided by the court.
“Guatemala, Guinea-Bissau, Haiti,” the judge went on, pausing to add the HAI-EE-TEE pronunciation preferred by some. The gesture struck a respectful chord, a simple acknowledgement that the world doesn’t always see — or say — everything the way Americans do.
I was awaiting mention of a country just a few down the list from Haiti, and clapped extra loud when our son-in-law, Marton, stood as the judge announced: “Hungary.” Guided by Project Citizenship, Marton completed a citizenship process given urgency both by the current political climate and his desire to vote. Continue reading
Growing up, books were both my entry into magical new worlds and my escape from the pain of growing up in an alcoholic family. They fueled my desire to learn more – about the world, about history, about what made people tick. They let me enter into imaginary places and situations that helped me see I didn’t have to be limited by my family of origin. They fed my soul and my dreams.
Some books from 2017
They still feed them. I look to books to broaden my horizons, make me question what I know, teach me new things, deepen my understanding of others and keep me growing. And yes, they are also a great escape when life seems stressful. The only negative I’ve found is that we never seem to have enough shelves to hold them, despite my persistent use of the library and ebooks.
Every year I set a goal of reading 50 books. Most years I either meet that goal or exceed it. In 2017 I read 63, down 16 from the year before. It’s fun as the new year starts to review what I read the previous year and make some picks for what I hope to cover this year. About a quarter of the books I read last year were nonfiction. A large portion of those were in the areas of the two fields I’ve worked most in and had the most passion for: spirituality and psychology. Continue reading
After my recent piece about our living arrangement in the Boston Globe, I heard from a number of people considering similar moves. Kathleen Shine Cain and her husband, Jim, will be joining their daughter and family in the vertical equivalent of across-the-hall living. With some of the schlepping and unpacking already underway, Kathy took a moment to tell the first installment of their story here:
People often toss around terms like “life-changing” to describe significant experiences. But, oh, this was life changing. It was the evening of February 19, 2012, and my husband, Jim, and I were in the Birthing Suite at Newton-Wellesley Hospital. The “him” was Declan Van Hagen Arnold, to whom our daughter (our only child) had given birth several hours before.
Unlike many friends in our age group, I hadn’t been in any rush to have grandchildren. Shannon and Ryan had lived in Somerville, just outside Boston, and we enjoyed traveling down from our New Hampshire home on weekends, attending urban festivals, dining out, and visiting pubs. Had they never decided to have children, I think I would have been fine with that—life was good. When they announced Shannon’s pregnancy in June 2011, I was excited—but more for them than for me. As the months wore on and I became accustomed to the idea of having a grandson, I was glad that we’d moved to North Andover and they’d moved to Wakefield: We were only twenty minutes away and would be able to spend lots of time with the new family. Continue reading
With just a few hours left in 2017, Carol and I are still figuring out our final donations for the year. The bottom line: We contributed about six percent of our pre-tax income, most of it to charitable, tax-deductible organizations along with some to individuals in particular need.
This is the sort of topic that, at least in the households Carol and I grew up in, was never to be discussed outside the home. That’s partly because of the traditional view that talking about presumably virtuous behavior diminishes its value, that revealing one’s giving is embarrassingly self-serving.
But I’m inspired by a contrary, more transparent approach espoused by friend and former Detroit Free Press colleague Marc Gunter, who has followed up his distinguished reporting career with the creation of a website called Nonprofit Chronicles. He describes his mission here, and the other day posted a summary of contributions that he and his wife, Karen Schneider, made in 2017. He reports they contributed seven percent of their pre-tax income, noting that their higher than average family income warrants a bigger percentage of giving than the American average of about three percent.
Marc makes a good case for the ways transparency might encourage more intentional giving on our own part at the same time it spurs more discussion — and giving — by others. I was especially struck by his comment that he’s had “almost no luck engaging friends in this conversation.”
Here’s our story for 2017, including links to the three dozen or so organizations we’ve supported: Continue reading
Family Scanlan in 2013
A guest post from Chip Scanlan:
For 15 years, my family was blessed to live in a beach house that sat 84 steps from the pearly sands and azure waves of the Gulf of Mexico on Florida’s West Coast. It was a roomy Colonial, with four bedrooms and three baths, more than enough space to raise our three daughters.
But as children do, they grew up and out. One married and headed west to Montana with her new husband; her twin moved to Richmond, Va. to pursue a career in musical theatre, while our eldest decamped close enough to return weekly to do her laundry. A story familiar to Baby Boomers like Kathy and me unfolded. By 2011, we found ourselves rattling around in a beloved home that was too big for us and too expensive to maintain. A For Sale sign sprouted in the front yard and after a year waiting for a buyer and looking for a replacement, we sold the house and Kathy found a bargain replacement: a fixer-upper with 3 BR, 1.5 B and 1,000 fewer square feet in a quiet, leafy neighborhood ten miles west of the beaches in the city of St. Petersburg. We moved in while a small army of workers replaced the roof, electric, AC, restored the original hardwood floors, IKEAd the galley kitchen, then added a shower to the downstairs half bath and, finally, expanded a tiny living room by glassing in our front screened porch. With a Miniature Schnauzer rescue named Leo for company, we were cozy, but our empty nest was quiet, very quiet, too quiet. Continue reading
Among the benefits of doing journalism online are the ways readers expand and extend your story by adding their own.
Earlier this month, the Boston Globe Magazine published my story about our across-the-hall living arrangement, and I wrote a Facebook post to encourage friends to take a look. (Original story also viewable here.)
Kevin Ransom, the first to comment on my Facebook post, noted that our arrangement represented a return to a centuries-long tradition. That got me thinking about how lucky we are to find ourselves in this position as a matter of choice as opposed to necessity. Continue reading
Had Kate and Marton not rented their apartment across the hall, I doubt that Carol and I would ever have fully appreciated the neighborhood of Coolidge Corner. Let alone live here.
But discover this place they did, and we count ourselves as the beneficiaries of a carless life within walking distance of most of what we need.
Including Christmas presents.
Which brings me to this confessional of bargain hunting gone bad, a Christmas Eve tale that’s painful to tell but that, thanks to the spirit of the season, ended better than it began. Continue reading
I figured the chairs in our courtyard were beginning to catch on when I overheard an exchange between one of our neighbors, sitting in the blue chair, and Mateo, our two-and-a-half-year-old grandson.
“I no share that chair!” Mateo shouted from the second-floor window.
“Thank you so much for sharing!” the neighbor shouted back, apparently not grasping the intent of Mateo’s message. Which he kept repeating, with growing agitation, until Kate intervened and shouted down: “Mateo’s Mommy is happy to share that chair.”
Mateo really likes blue.
And it’s nice to see that our neighbors like not only the blue chair but the red one and the two green ones.
This all started, about a year ago, with the bench. Continue reading
A last-minute dinner party took an unexpected turn at our place over the weekend, perhaps offering a glimpse of what might be in store at some tables this afternoon.
It was shortly after 9 Sunday morning when the unusually packed trolley pulled into Coolidge Corner. Carol and I were headed to 10 a.m. Mass at the Paulist Center and were determined, for a change, to be early.
Family rules at Maleita & Matt’s house in Michigan (click for a closer look)
We split up to grab two of the few remaining seats, and proceeded to bury our heads in our reading, Carol on her iPad Mini and me in the Times Book Review.
At the next stop, I failed to notice the woman navigating her way down the crowded aisle with a cane. The more considerate passenger next to me quickly offered up her seat, though, and the woman eased in beside me. Squinting at the changing electronic station sign, she began comparing journey notes with the twenty-something young woman clutching the bar to my left.
Their accents and limited grasp of Green Line geography suggested tourists in need of advice. They seemed to appreciate my tips on making their way from Government Center to Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market, and we were chatting like old friends as the driver announced the approach of Kenmore station. Continue reading
A piece by by Kara Baskin in this morning’s Boston Globe explores multi-generational living with a particular focus on joint purchases of multi-family homes. It’s an option we’ve considered but are not sure we can afford in this high-end market.
Joint ownership raises a host of issues we’ve mostly avoided as across-the-hall renters: What happens if one part of the family decides to move? Just how might the sale proceed when ownership is entangled with family members upstairs?
The challenges are not insurmountable, especially if there’s a lawyer in the family who can draw up some specific agreements in advance. But it’s a complication we feel blessedly free of so far.
The Globe story does explore the everydayness of intergenerational living, an aspect of across-the-hall life that we appreciate more every day.
Lyn Shamban, who lives in a two-condo arrangement with her daughter and family in East Arlington, told the Globe: “If my friends come over, I don’t expect that they’ll see my grandkids, but I’m always thrilled when they do.”
We know the feeling.