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Crystal Rowe

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Beverly, MA 01915
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Crystal Rowe

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you can count on me

March 13, 2023 Crystal Rowe

You can count on me to:

make a delicious meal out of whatever I can find in my refrigerator
invite you to come over and share that meal
vacuum the floor before you get here
but forget to clean the toilet
leave the dirty dishes in the sink while we chat over a glass of wine (or tea, whichever you choose)
deliver a warm meal (and fresh sourdough bread) when you feel like your world is turning upside down and you just can’t bear to leave your house
feed your kids if they happen to be anywhere near my house when the meal bell rings

You can count on me to:

always be prepared with a book recommendation (or a hundred)
have an extra copy of my favorite book to be loaned out at any time
fill the Little Free Library with the best books I can find
give you permission to read a book instead of clean the house
have more than 100 books checked out from the library at any given time

You can count on me to:

dance in the kitchen
sing out loud
lose my phone for days at a time
put cheese in the wrong drawer
leave the laundry in the washing machine overnight
go to the beach—even in the snow

You can count on me to:

ask hard questions
sit with you in the muck
mean it when I say “you are welcome to drop by at any time”
remember memories from “the good old days”
but forget to send a card


This prompt, “You can count on me to…” was inspired by Amy Krouse Rosenthal from her book, Textbook, and written with the writers of @exhale.creativity.

Don’t forget to check out Soul Munchies on Substack! Each month I send a free newsletter, where I compile all my favorite things—articles, recipes, links to read, and sometimes even a playlist—and send them straight to your inbox. You can also sign up for a Premium Subscription, where you’ll get even more goodies every month. Later this week I’m sharing a story about how I made a meal out of nothing, and a special recipe to go along with it!

soul munchies on substack
In Poetry, Writing, Friendship
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Seven Steps to Cure Loneliness

September 23, 2022 Crystal Rowe
  1. Say hi to a stranger on the church pew. When you lose the phone number she gives you, spend hours searching for her on social media. Bravely send her a message and set up a lunch date.

  2. Send a text to your college roommate, whom you haven’t talked to in years. Tell her you are thinking of her. That you miss her and wonder if there’s a way to reignite the spark between you.

  3. When you wake one morning jolted from a dream about a friend you haven’t talked to in years, send her a note. “I had a dream last night and you were in it. I miss you. I hope things are well.”

  4. Send a direct message on Instagram to a woman you went to college with, but barely know. “I’d love to be friends in real life,” you can say. “Would it be okay if we shared phone numbers?” 

  5. When you receive a text from a high school friend apologizing for something that happened twelve years ago, respond graciously. Say thank you. Forgiveness and grace are beautiful things. Life is too short to not accept them.

  6. Go on hikes. You never know when you might run into that person who has been following you on social media. When you do, you’ll hug each other like you’ve known each other forever, and you’ll become fast friends.

  7. Don’t be afraid of disappointment. Sometimes people won’t respond and your heart will be broken. Other times you’ll end up with the best friends you could ever imagine. You never know the outcome when you take the first step, but if you never take the step, you’ll increase your chances of being lonely forever.


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This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "With a Little Help".

P.S. Exhale is open for enrollment until September 30. Are you a mama striving for creativity? If so, this may be just the place for you to find your spark!

In Friendship, Motherhood, Moving
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will the grapefruit grow?

December 20, 2021 Crystal Rowe

“We have presents for you!” my friend Kelli squeals as we wrap our arms around each other in a warm hug. It’s Christmas Eve morning and our families haven’t seen each other in four months. We are used to weekly dinners and shared holidays—neither of us have extended family in New England. Covid cases are on the rise again, but an outdoor hike seems relatively risk-free, so we put on our long underwear, snow pants, and boots and meet for a walk in the woods. 

She carefully hands me a vintage glass creamer jar full of dirt. “It’s a grapefruit plant!” she gushes. “It grows really slow.” Promising me there is a seed inside, she assures me if I keep it watered, it will grow. I have no idea if grapefruits can actually grow in New England. We don’t exactly have tropical weather. 

You can find the rest of the essay over at Coffee + Crumbs.

In Friendship, Motherhood, Moving, Winter
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Wake Up And Dream

March 14, 2021 Crystal Rowe
Photo by Ricardo Esquivel from Pexels.

Photo by Ricardo Esquivel from Pexels.

It’s been over a year since my book club last met. 

I was sitting on my friend’s couch in her living room. The lamps were on, offering a glowing dim light that made me feel relaxed and at home. There was a candle burning in the corner, and her husband and kids were nestled safely upstairs, leaving us ladies all alone. There was wine on the coffee table, surrounded by snacks. A plate of cheese and crackers, a small chocolate cake, homemade bread. Evidence of time well spent. Forks clinked against the plates as we began to chatter about our days.

Five women sat around the room. The youngest, barely thirty, was sitting on the couch with me, just to my right. My neighbor sat in the chair to my left. She helped convince me this group should be a thing. My midwife of sorts—she helped me birth this group that’s become so precious to me. 

Next to her sat our host, who’s really more like a sister to me. She was my very first friend in Massachusetts. She helped me visualize this group, helped me dream it, helped conceive it. She named it and claimed it and is my partner in all this. Across the room sat a middle-age woman whose children are all grown. She gives me a glimpse of what life might look like ten years from now. We were missing our oldest member. I missed her voice that night—having just turned seventy, she has a perspective the rest of us don’t, and I always learn something new from what she has to share.

This is my book club—The Woebegone Literary Society. There are a few other people that pop in here and there, but if I had to define a core group, this would be it. I had big dreams for this group. Dreams that it would become more than just a book club. Dreams that it would become a family. We met every month for only a year. And if I could go back to that last gathering in February 2020, I would never let it end.

I can remember it as if it were only yesterday. We were discussing Peace Like a River, by Leif Enger and I still don’t know if I liked it or not. The book, that is. I was sitting in my favorite spot on my friend’s leather couch, right next to the lamp. My legs were curled up in a crosslegged position and I was slouched back—my chiropractor would have been appalled. We talked about what it must have been like to be the main character: this young kid who felt bullied. What it must have felt like to feel as though you were being robbed. How it must have felt for there to be no other choice but to kill the bully. Or maybe he did have a choice—did he choose the right one?

We talked about how they ran, how they sought an escape. We talked about what it meant to go after the ones we love. We tiptoed around harder conversations about our world, touching on politics, but not really digging in. In that moment, I longed for more. I wanted to talk about how impossible some decisions feel. I wanted to talk about how we respond to fear, and how sometimes we make a decision that turns out to be wrong, but in the moment feels exactly right. I wanted to know the impossible decisions each one of us had faced, but no one seemed ready to go down that path. Our friendships were still too new, I think, to really dig in to the ways we’ve felt stuck or wanted to escape. Or maybe we weren’t ready to be honest with ourselves. Public introspection can be incredibly hard, especially in a room of book-loving introverts. I wanted to talk about forgiveness and social justice and the prison system, and all the problems of the world—but there was just not enough time.

We ate food. We drank wine. At the end of the night, our host made tea. As I sat in that room I felt like my dream was starting to take root. I looked at each face around me and felt deep gratitude that we had all been brought together—with all of our differences.

It’s not that we had long meaningful discussions. Sometimes we did, but we rarely strayed from the questions on our page to talk about the challenges we were facing in our own lives. But we were on that path. After a year of reading together, sharing snacks together, drinking wine and tea together, we were becoming more than just a book club.

We were becoming friends.

Years ago I read The Reading Group by Elizabeth Noble and this dream was first imagined in my mind. One day, I thought, I will have a book club like this. A book club made up of women from different places, with differing perspectives. Women of all ages, who start out talking about books, but end up being so much more.

A group of women that walk together through the hard times. A place to go where there are no walls—a safe space to say whatever is on your mind. A place where you feel free to disagree. Without any fear that they will kick you out. Women who help you be a better woman. Women who help you be a better friend.

The pandemic ruined my book club dream. We haven’t met in a year and now my worries aren’t “how do we pick a book?” but instead “how do we pick up where we left off?”

How do we get back to that point where we all feel comfortable being ourselves? Has our time apart changed all that?

I contemplated trying to host a gathering in the summer, back when the infection rates were low, but I just didn’t have the mental energy for that. I was afraid of planning anything, for fear that it would be cancelled. I held so much disappointment for so many months that hibernation felt like the only right choice. I ignored my desire to see them. Because let’s face it, by summer, I really could care less about a book. It was the group of people that I missed. I read books and wondered what they might think, then buried my sorrow and moved on, giving thanks that we were all healthy and alive, and knowing that one day we would meet again.

By summer, it had been months since I saw anyone outside my house. With all of our trips canceled, all our plans on hold, I was doing a lot of reading. And although I longed to talk about the books I had been digging into, I mostly just longed for conversation about anything at all. I longed for the chance to sit around and share snacks with these women I had been growing to love. I longed to talk about what we had been doing and how we were spending our time. I knew Zoom was an option, but I had shunned off technology. If I couldn’t be with them in person, I didn’t want to be with them at all. Zoom always left me feeling half empty. It was a stark reminder of all that I was missing; of all we couldn’t have. The whole point of book club is to gather together. The book is a tool—an avenue towards conversation. A way to get people to open up about what they are thinking. I just couldn’t bring myself to try that on a screen.

Late in February, I decided Covid would hold us captive no longer. I’ve gone more than a year without my Woebies. Without this group of women that were making my dream a reality. Without this group of women that had become my friends. 

And that year has been far too long. 

I invited them to an outdoor gathering on a Saturday afternoon in late May. Surely by then it will be nice enough to sit outside. We can talk about a book, and how life has been over the last fifteen months, and maybe pick up where we left off. It feels like a brave thing to do. Inside all I feel is fear. 

What if they don’t miss Book Club the way I do? What if they don’t miss me? What if they aren’t ready yet? The fear of having to cancel isn’t really in my mind this time. By now we’re pretty good at outdoor gatherings, and not even a little rain can keep me from putting on rain gear and getting outside to see my people. So unless there’s a deluge, Book Club will happen. But will it feel the same? Or will it feel like our first meeting? A little shy, a little timid, a little unsure?

After a year of burying my head in the sand, I’m starting to wake up and dream a little once again. 

In Books, Community, Friendship Tags Pandemic living, dreams, coronavirus
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