I love reading gardening books, especially during the winter and early spring, when I can imagine great things but don't yet actually have to get out there and do anything.

I finally did my homework assignment. For the past year and more Superintendent Jefferson has been urging administrators, teachers, staff, members of the school councils and School Committee to read Tony Wagner's The Global Achievement Gap.

It's hard to live in Harvard and not be endlessly fascinated by the experiment in living out the ideals of Transcendentalism that went on 167 years ago in the red farmhouse at what is now Fruitlands Museum.

I have long been an ardent fan of Mary (Richards) Holland's "It's Only Natural" column that runs about once a month in the Harvard Press.

In The Great Divorce Ilyon Woo tells the true story of Eunice Chapman, who in 1818 gained the first legislative divorce in the history of New York State and won back her civil rights.

What makes young people want to get good at something? What makes them catch fire, work hard, and persist despite difficulties? And, the all-important question—what can schools do to help kids bring the same passion and practice to academics that they bring to athletics and the arts.

Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts restaurant, Bravo, is a European-style respite from the typically loud American bistro style of dining experience.

If the thought of a “Coach Grill” in the suburbs brings to mind a carving station with a side of cow under infrared lamps, it’s time to rethink the equation. The Back Bay Restaurant Group has resurrected the concept of the original Red Coach Grill (circa 1935) at its original site in Wayland, bringing basic American fare to your table with style.

There aren’t many choices for Mediterranean cuisine nearby, so when we recently craved some of my grandmother’s cooking, I recalled someone pointing me to Ichabod’s Café.

“Eat local.” While this mantra typically refers to a philosophy of eating foods raised within 100 miles of your house, I am taking the liberty of adapting it to dining out—in this case, within five miles of your house.

I didn’t open it for three months. What was I waiting for? I guess I was putting off the possibility that it wouldn’t live up to my expectations; I was afraid I would be disappointed. It had happened before.

I spent much of the summer trying to curb a habit—actually, it was more like curing an addiction. For years, whenever I ran out of something to read, I would go to the bookstore.

As a teacher, I looked forward to summer because that was when I had time to pursue a romance. I wanted it to be an all-absorbing relationship, but at the same time not so serious that I couldn’t break it off when September came.

My friends were a bit reluctant to reveal details about the Mexican restaurant they’d been frequenting, for fear of it no longer being their own little secret. Ultimately, they trusted us and, well ... I’m about to violate that trust.

I have never read a memoir whose author boasted a happy childhood. So I worry why I am sometimes drawn to the genre.

I love buying books because, like plants, they don’t “count” as spending money—they are simply life’s necessities. This is especially true of children’s books.

Nathaniel Philbrick’s wonderful new book, Mayflower, is a great pre-Thanksgiving read, serving up generous helpings of Pilgrim lore garnished with historically accurate and convincing detail.