Mary Novaria

  Before COVID-19 made Zoom get-togethers  de rigueur,  I met one of my best friends in an online writers’ workshop. I’d cautioned my teenage daughter to be wary of online friendships when she’d first shown an interest in Facebook, but I had to backtrack on my warnings when “Samantha” came into my life. Despite our 10-year age gap and a geographic divide that spanned the continental United States, Samantha and I clicked right away as we shared our writing, swapped page critiques and championed each other’s work. Before long, we dove into deep, personal territory, exchanging confidences and commiserations along with dinner recipes and designer finds from Home Goods. Over the course of more than seven years, we cheered each other on through writing successes and family milestones like graduations and weddings. We bolstered each other through parental deaths, household moves and surgeries, shared celebrations and heartbreaks, vicarious travel and, well, life. How many times ...

Published on August 11, 2020 An Unexpected Gift of Ginger by  Mary Novaria Like serotonin for your soul, ginger root during the pandemic can be a balm for anxiety—among its many other benefits. Mary Novaria spins a yarn about how the superfood brought her relief.  Photo credit:  Getty/Dmitrii Ivanov) Before the first   COVID-19   death in the United States, and before I learned of my neighbors’ inclination for hoarding toilet paper, I got my first taste of coronavirus deprivation in the produce aisle.  It was the end of February, two weeks before the World Health Organization proclaimed the virus a pandemic. What would soon become an international nightmare and a horrifying domestic health crisis was weeks away. I was annoyed because there was no fresh ginger root at my local grocer.  Continue reading... 

First published in HuffPost Author's Note: I wrote this piece a few years ago while living in Los Angeles. It takes on new meaning in our first winter living in Colorado where winter really is winter! The snowy mountains are stunningly beautiful and I am cheered by regular wildlife visitors, warm fireplaces, and hot cups of tea. Namaste.  With apologies to T.S. Eliot, April is not the cruelest month. February is far more foreboding. Even as hope springs eternal, Punxsutawney Phil sees his shadow. We’re tempted to crawl back into our proverbial holes and, if we have no sweetheart, we may feel like staying there well past Valentine’s Day.  January is no picnic, either. It’s the starting line for a multitude of sprints and marathons. In the New Year, the world pumps its fists and waves the flag of resolve, shouting, “Ready! Set! Go!” It seems everyone is jumping on the treadmill, but I don’t want to enter the race. In fact, I don’t want to get off the sofa. ...

An earlier version of this essay appeared in HuffPost on 11/10/2015 I was mortified because I didn’t send thank you notes after my birthday the year my mother died. The flowers had drooped and died, but other presents — a couple of gift cards, an adult coloring book (very Zen), a cuff bracelet — were tangible reminders of my negligence. It’s not like me and I felt guilty. It’s not that I wasn't grateful. I was. And I was raised better than to blow off this time-honored tradition and most basic piece of etiquette. My mom drilled into me as soon as I could write, it seems, the importance of acknowledging a gift-giver’s thoughtfulness and generosity. After every Christmas and birthday she provided me with stationery, stamps and addresses, and hounded me until I wrote my notes. The year she gave me sealing wax and a brass stamp with an “M” on it I couldn’t wait to get to the task so I could light the deep red wax like a candle and watch, mesmerized, as it dripped onto the back ...

For some, February 1 is a “Rabbit, Rabbit” thing. And February 2 is Groundhog Day. I’ve written before, with apologies to T.S. Eliot, that it is February, and not April, that is the cruelest month. Dates and anniversaries are important to me. Even when I neglect to send a card or outwardly acknowledge an occasion, I’m usually mindful, grateful, and thinking fondly of the people or events involved. My niece was born 17 years ago this weekend. February 1 there was a terrific ice storm in Kansas City. Lots of folks lost power — good thing the hospital didn’t! — and my brother and sister-in-law had friends without light and heat staying in their home while they were welcoming their first born in the hospital. That same day, one of my besties (we’re sort of Three Musketeers) was traveling by train to KC from western Kansas for a routine doctor’s appointment. The ice forced delays; her Kansas City hotel was without power; the other bestie and I brazenly inte...

If you had told me I’d be going to my high school reunion with a cast on my arm, I wouldn’t have believed it. After all, I was still in recovery mode and doing physical therapy following hip surgery a couple of months before. I could almost picture going to my 60th in bad shape, but my 40-year reunion? Never. Earlier in the summer, I endured two weeks on crutches after spending the past year on and off a cane following a serious tendon injury I got in a dance class at the gym. I wish I could remember the name of the song I was so enthusiastically shaking my booty to, but all I remember is searing pain, white-hot light, and wondering if I were going to pass out. I somehow managed to limp out of class, hobble to my car and drive myself home. Pride stood in the way of my asking for help. Pride reared its head again as I prepared to go to my class reunion. Click here to read more. Photo Credit:  sbhsclass84  Flickr via  Compfight ...

The funny thing is, it really doesn’t feel like we’ve never met; technology provides us with a virtual kitchen table we can gather around any time we like. When my daughter was in high school, she struck up a friendship with a girl on the East Coast—a friend of a friend—and they spent hours a day chatting online and texting on their cellphones. Since we didn’t know this girl or her parents, I wasn’t comfortable with the arrangement, but seeing her on Skype at least assured me she was, in fact, a teenage girl and not some Internet predator. Still, I didn’t understand how my teen could have such a close bond with someone she hadn’t met in “real life.” I just didn’t get how they could be so important to one another.   Sure I spent time talking long-distance to my besties on the phone, but I actually knew them. We’d traveled together, shared meals, beach walks and hot tubs, and laughed and cried over tea or wine at each other’s kitchen tables. Later we’d attend our kid...