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Ways to Connect

In the woods.
Pxhere / Creative Commons


Each Sunday, The New York Times Book Review asks an author what three writers she would like to invite for dinner. And each Sunday I wonder: Does it have to be dinner? Can’t it be a walk instead?

Emily Dickinson's conservatory in Amherst, Massachusetts.
James Gehrt / Courtesy Martha Ackmann

 

Sometimes it’s the smallest details that reveal the most. Emily Dickinson knew that. More than many other poets, she distilled, zeroed in and elevated the minute. 

A view inside a bookstore in New Haven, Connecticut.
Aaron Gustafson / Creative Commons / flickr.com/photos/aarongustafson


This coming Christmas will be my third without my father, and I still miss him terribly. But it was during the first Christmas season without him, while I was shopping in one of my favorite bookshops — fantasizing about which book to give to which person — that I found myself feeling surprisingly giddy. I thought, “Oh good! Dad's gone!”

Robert Chipkin / NEPR

When I get the urge to watch the PBS home renovation series, “This Old House,” I don't bother to turn on the TV. I just look out my window.

Fruitcake.
storebukkebruse / Creative Commons / flickr.com/photos/tusnelda


I’m sure I’m not the only home baker to have fallen in love with Truman Capote’s reminiscence, “A Christmas Memory.” 

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