Kira and I slept in on Saturday morning, as she wasn’t scheduled for a swimming lesson until noon. Sleeping in seems to be a luxury that grows more and more elusive with each passing year of age. Whereas before I could sleep happily until noon, the past several years have found that wake-time creeping earlier and earlier; these days I’m generally up by eight even on weekend and when left to my natural waking instincts. One of the blessings and curses of older age, I suppose. On this day we took our time getting up, even if there were peeks of blue sky and bits of sunshine before the storm was set to arrive.
We shared the ride to Park Street then separated as Kira went swimming and I went on the hunt for winter clothing bargains (there were several to be found). While our custom was to go out for dinner on Saturday, the snowstorm was scheduled to arrive at the same time. Not wanting to either walk or find an Uber at such a conflux, we agreed on another homemade meal at the condo. The only question was what to cook.
My bout with retail therapy complete, Kira and I met up on Newbury Street and we commenced the dinner discussion. With visions of endlessly-percolating stews and simmering soups in the further recesses of my mind, we opted for something much simpler, since we would normally be sitting down to someone else’s hard work. The Senor Sandwich was a happy compromise – simple but flavorfully substantial. It was also easy enough to be construed from what we found at the local corner market and Eataly, since Trader Joe’s already had a storm line snaking throughout the entire store.
The storm made its entrance as we exited our last food stop. Bits of snow sputtered from the sky and the wind picked up again. In the air was that cozy anticipation that accompanied a proper snowstorm, particularly one which could be weathered from a safe vantage point. We arrived back at the condo just in time. The snow began coming down in earnest, the street turned white, and a dinner made and shared between friends turned it into the perfect evening.
Standing at the window and looking out over Braddock Park, I felt the same sense of calm and serenity in a snowstorm that I’ve had the good fortune to feel whenever I passed a storm in Boston. The warm glow of the hardwood floors, the occasional rush of water through the baseboard heaters, and the flickering of a few candles lent heat literal and figurative throughout the space. On the other side of the window the snow continued to fall and the occasional passer-by walked quickly through the pretty mess. The plows came a little later, their hum and beeping a comforting sound reminiscent of the hopeful wishing of snow-days and school-days.
We retired relatively early, as we had an early start planned for the next day. I’d been waiting for a snow-covered moment to get some photos of the Public Garden, and we were gifted with the ideal set-up.
The sun was out early, conjuring the perfect backdrop for what I had in mind…
