Lynda Morgenroth

Writer 

when Visa sends its report of last year's expenses for income tax prep, I find an account of 2015 well beyond the numbers.

Today, post-paper, pen, and time for daily review, our diary entries are reduced to emails and social media blips.

Slice Of Life: At Tax Time, Contemplating The Pie Chart Of My Year

We used to have diaries to keep track of our lives. Now we have receipts. (Unsplash)

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Life

Opinion

Slowing down, I saw patterns on the newly fallen snow made by flakes sifting through the trees’ needles and branches; stencils in the snow.

Indoors and out, the smallest things have new appeal...

Seeing The World Through Snow-Colored Glasses

As the landscape is transformed by winter, I find myself semi-lost in a familiar place. (David Stephenson/AP)

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Snow blowers and plows will be here soon, along with the sound and fumes of car tires spinning in driveways, along curbs and in slushy parking lots. We have short days to enjoy this peace.

Celebrating A Season That Doesn't Have A Name

Lynda Morgenroth: I look forward to this period of bare trees, bare ground, and quiet all through the noisy year. (Joe St.Pierre/ flickr)

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I cannot, even now, forget the years of plants in cars...Tomato plants wobbling on the floor. Vines trailing over the dashboard, dangling and tangling in the gear shift. On seats, the pots secured with seat belts. Plants poking out of the tied-open trunk and the hatch.

Home in my kitchen, I will wash them, cradling each tomato in my hand, remembering the years of traveling with plants back and forth across state lines, the exasperation, annoyance and hilarity of it, and my mother Blanche’s appreciation of the plants, her decades-long mishigas, in memory of my father.

The Tomato Mishigas: A Mother, A Daughter And Carloads Of Tomato Plants

Lynda Morgenroth: "I can still see the curving vines crammed into my car — wagging and listing and wilting as I drove thousands of miles, worried they would die in the heat, or the cold, or in my care." (photofarmer/Flickr)

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Food

summer

I resolved to extend a greeting to all -- man, woman and child, day or night, and whether they made eye contact or not. I did this all over the city and its environs. I did it to promote connection and community, to allay distrust.

It helped to keep me from closing-down, and I hope it's helped others to open-up...

A Better World, One Hello At A Time

Lynda Morgenroth: Last April, I decided to devote myself to a small, goofy, personal project: to greet every person I encountered on the street. I would say good morning, good evening or hello. (David Salafia/flickr)

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Boston Marathon Bombings

2014 Boston Marathon

The Huntington Avenue doors, restored and thrown open, were to convey a democratic spirit, to welcome people of all backgrounds and incomes. The use of page after page of luxury ads in the member magazine sends the opposite message.

The MFA&#039;s Huntington entrance (Lorianne DiSabato/flickr)

Some reading this opinion will roll their eyes and say, 'Oh please, people rush through these magazines, glide past ads and read what they want to,' to which I say, not all people.

The Buddha Wears Prada: A Protest Against MFA Ads

Lynda Morgenroth: I’ve been trying to get used to the flashy, splashy ads of luxury goods in the MFA members’ magazine. It's not working. I cannot believe that what the museum rakes in from these ads justifies the discord. (Peter E. Lee/flickr) 