Boston, in Winter, Again

Having just had a wonderful winter weekend in Boston with Kira a few weeks ago, this trip felt like a bonus and a bit of a companion piece to that excursion. Originally, I was going to take us to the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum, as Kira has not yet been, but when she said she had tickets to the aquarium, our plans were made. It’s been a few years since I’d last been, and more than a few since Kira’s days of working at the gift shop there, so this was a happy time to revisit the place under the sea.

Before that, however, our wild and crazy Friday night entry consisted of a Vietnamese beef stew dinner that I whipped up, and a quick catch-up of the previous weeks. Winter is traveling along rather nicely, and meeting up periodically makes the passage of time seem a little bit quicker – a boon to the wretched weather months. We sat in the cozy condo looking out over the street and enjoyed a hot, homemade dinner. Candles glowed warmly, and a pot of tea was about to start whistling in time for dessert.

We woke early, perhaps a bit of a cruel plan for a cold Saturday morning, but the aquarium is better if you can beat the crowd, so we splurged on an Uber there and avoided walking in too much wind. The night before I had had a restless sleep thanks to the gusts that rattled windows and blew through the tiniest cracks and fissures.

Once inside, the dim light of the sea drew us underwater, and I was reminded of the peace and tranquility of visiting the aquarium – not entirely unlike the serenity found in a museum. Beauty and nature provide both inspiration and relaxation. We let out sighs of relief as we marveled at the colorful forms of the sea anemones.

The intelligent and watchful eyes of the octopus were on rare display. Almost every other time I’ve visited this magnificent creature, it’s been hidden in a corner. On this lucky morning, she sat regally near the front of the tank, observing us as we observed her, her arms languidly unfurling their tentacles, calm and secure in her elegance. {For a fascinating read on this cephalopod, check out ‘The Soul of an Octopus’ by Sy Montgomery.}

The penguins stole the show, mostly by noise and show of force, with the Little Blues making the kind of screams that would be tarrying coming from birds three times their size. It’s always the little ones that make the biggest commotion. (No word on whether Lilico was still part of the tribe.)

After the aquarium, we continued our impromptu tour of classic touristy Boston with a stroll through Faneuil Hall, and lunch at the Union Oyster House, which has always been too crowded for us ever to get seated. That’s the beauty of an early lunch – there’s usually an opening.

We wound our way through Downtown Crossing before heading back for an early afternoon siesta. A nap would make up for our morning start, and despite the wind, the sun poured into the bedroom as we finished watching ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evilâ’ and enchantments of Savannah set our minds to beautiful daydreams.

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

“Never explain yourself. Your friends don’t need it and your enemies won’t believe it.” – Belgicia Howell

#TinyThreads

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Gratuitous Shawn Mendes Post

I suppose any time is a good time for a shirtless Shawn Mendes post, like the ones that provided fodder for these shower GIFs, and helped bring sexy back here

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Golden Cracks of Winter

When in doubt, simplify. 

That’s the adage of the stark season, when lack of everything has us all a little antsy. Paring down things in early anticipation of spring cleaning has led me to the brilliance of ‘Kintsugi Wellness: The Japanese Art of Nourishing Mind, Body, and Spirit’ by Candice Kumai. Part cook-book, part self-help book, and part inspirational-guide, it’s a beautiful work of art that feels designed to help us get through the winter. Kintsugi refers to the Japanese art of melding broken objects with threads of gold – taking the ruined and turning it into a work of art. Practical and purposeful, it reminds the reader that no matter how broken-down we might feel, no matter what we have gone through in our lives, there is always the possibility to turn every trying event into a learning experience and, ultimately, a thing of beauty. 

There is also a group of recipes in the middle of it all, starting with a couple of miso soup variations, the simplest of which I tried on a recent winter night. The best recipes are those that keep things simple, relying on the best ingredients and the proper preparation. I made this miso with some wakame seaweed, miso paste, and tofu.Ms. Kumai added a cup of root vegetables to her version (I chose carrots), and it was done in a few minutes. Topped with some freshly-sliced scallions, it was the perfect antidote to the dimming of a winter’s day. This will definitely be part of my seasonal soup arsenal.

I like that miso soup can be so subtle. It has a gentle warmth to it. Truly a comfort food. Nothing too sharp or spicy, nothing too hot or bitter. Just a simple calming bowl of sustenance. A bowl made for winter. A bowl to warm the stomach. A bowl to warm the heart. 

 

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Valentine Music by Madonna

She is and was a romantic at heart. In her best songs, she celebrated the various ways love entered and changed our lives: the good and the bad and the occasionally-ugly. She put it all to a melody, heightening the ache or the joy, because when words aren’t enough the only left to do is put it into a song. Even then, it’s hard to contain what love is, but on days like this we do our best.

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A Valentine Cherub with Broken Wings

BABY, I DON’T UNDERSTAND
WHY WE CAN’T JUST HOLD ON TO EACH OTHER’S HANDS
THIS TIME WILL BE THE LAST I FEAR
UNLESS I MAKE IT ALL TOO CLEAR
I NEED YOU SO…

The scene has already been set, and the rainbow of lights on the roller rink is spinning as wildly as the wheels on our skates. Round and round and round we go, where we find love we’ll never know. It’s winter and I’ve not yet happened upon the very first brush with a crush that would drive me crazy. For now, it was enough to swirl around the roller rink

My wings had not yet been broken, crushed or clipped. They were as fine and untouched as a newly-hatched chick, minus the messy wet stuff I suppose. I flew around the roller rink as if gliding on air, propelling myself between and among the couples trying in awkward fashion to hold hands, their flailing arms and legs a sure sign that this was not easy or comfortable for them. I could swerve in and out of the groups, weaving among friends and strangers alike, unbound and unattached and all the more uninhibited for it. There is a certain happy freedom in not being tethered to anyone.

TAKE THESE BROKEN WINGS
AND LEARN TO FLY AGAIN AND LEARN TO LIVE SO FREE
WHEN WE HEAR THE VOICES SINGS
THE BOOK OF LOVE WILL OPEN UP AND LET US IN
TAKE THESE BROKEN WINGS

Before romance even entered my life, I embraced the rebellious freedom of childhood – not in any sort of misbehavior or rule-breaking, but in the way children are naturally inclined to rebel against the strict rigid social structure imposed by adults and the arbitrary madness of trying to contain and control the human heart.

As a child, my favorite dreams were of flying – soaring high over hills and streams, beside the clouds and between the earth and the stars – of effortless and uncontainable joy. The closest I could get to that in the little town of Amsterdam was a roller rink where I could go faster than almost anyone else thanks to a quicksilver attitude and an ability to melt into the background while getting exactly where I needed to go.

BABY I THINK TONIGHT
WE CAN TAKE WHAT WAS WRONG AND MAKE IT RIGHT
BABY IT’S ALL I KNOW, THAT YOU’RE HALF OF THE FLESH
AND BLOOD MAKES ME WHOLE
I NEED YOU SO…
SO TAKE THESE BROKEN WINGS
AND LEARN TO FLY AGAIN AND LEARN TO LIVE SO FREE
WHEN WE HEAR THE VOICES SINGS
THE BOOK OF LOVE WILL OPEN UP AND LET US IN

In many ways, I never gave my wings to anyone to break – I’d destroy them myself, in choices made from ignorance and innocence, in the mistaken name of love, in the moments where the heart overrode the head, and passion took doomed flight without permission. They were my wings to pluck, my flight to take, and when I chose to walk and keep them closed and unseen, they were my burden to bear.

TAKE THESE BROKEN WINGS
YOU’VE GOT TO LEARN TO FLY, LEARN TO LIVE, LOVE SO FREE
WHEN WE HEAR THE VOICES SING
THE BOOK OF LOVE WILL OPEN UP AND LET US IN
LET US IN
LET US IN…
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A Friendly Valentine

“We have all a sufficiently hard battle to fight in life and we fight it a great deal better from feeling that we have a wall of friendship which we stand up against and have only to think about the foe in front of us.” ~ Isabella Stewart Gardner

When you think about it, the first way most of us learn about Valentine’s Day is not in any romantic sense, but in a loving friendship sort of way. In grade school, we were tasked with creating card receptacles for any Valentines we would receive. These little bags were secured to the edge of our desks, and we would go around and deposit the Valentine’s Day cards we wished in our classmates’ bags. Looking back, this feels extremely dangerous – it left the possibility for empty bags for the unpopular among us, and though that never happened to my recollection, it did make it obvious whose bags were full and whose were notably on the lighter side. I’m trying to remember if I was ever cruel enough to not give out a card to anyone, and though it sounds like something I might relish in doing (especially to Sammy, who was mean as a viper to many of us) I honestly think my mother made me fill out cards for everyone.

Back then, Valentine’s Day was a frivolous and frilly holiday where some of my favorite colors were celebrated and sanctioned for all (pink and red, whoo-hoo!!!) Hearts and flowers were the order of the day, and I loved both. It was a day of artifice – of lace doilies and conversation candy in all sorts of pastels – and I thrilled at it all. Underneath that, however, was the collection of Valentine cards from all my classmates. I was popular enough to get one from everyone – even Sammy, I’m pretty sure – and most came with personal messages from friends. How could anyone not like such a day? That celebration of love – in the name of friendship – has remained with me over the years. Despite the awfulness that became the holiday once I was old enough to be cognizant of being single and alone during my early twenty-something years, part of it still touched my heart. Yes, it’s silly and foolish and an absolute travesty to celebrate not being alone (as if there’s anything intrinsically better about someone who has paired off), I still believe in the celebration of love. When it’s the platonic love among lifelong friends, how can anyone be bitter about that?

Eventually we outgrew the Valentine Card bags, and even the friendships of grade school. Yet whenever ‘That’s What Friends Are For’ plays in a store or on the radio, I think back to the group we were then, back when we as kids were all more or less friendly in spite of our gender or race or financial situations. When left to our own devices, we as children tend to have our shit together better than most adults who only want to separate and label and divide. Valentine’s Day reminds me of that love.

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

Life is messy. Perfection is an impossible, elusive thing.

That doesn’t mean we can’t try.

It does mean we shouldn’t expect anything.

#TinyThreads

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Forcing the Spring Through Shades of Coral

The fiery shadings of the Coral Bark maple lend pizzazz to the winter garden. They rings of a deeper red when brought inside at this time of the year, and when I added them to a bouquet of evergreens during the holiday season, I thought that was all I needed. Then they started budding out at the end of their vase life, which gave me an idea to try my hand at forcing a new batch.

Regardless of whether or not it works, they make a finely handsome statement as they are – subtle yet elegant, and the shading of the bark is just enough to ensure that this is more than a bunch of dead branches. If they are good enough to pop into a few chartreuse pom-poms of maple foliage, so much the merrier.

To force branches in the winter (think forsythia or cherry or any early-blooming tree), I usually find a pocket of relatively warmer days (last week’s quick thaw of 50 degree days worked well) and cut off a few prime stems. (If you notice that there are tiny buds ready to swell, that’s an indication they may force well.)

With smaller branches, it’s best to soak them in a large bucket of lukewarm water for a few hours (completely submerged if possible) to rehydrate their system. The branches here were too long and unwieldy to fit into a bucket, so I gave them a shower – literally, in the bathroom – for a few minutes, wetting every inch of them and letting them take in as much as possible before re-cutting their stems and plunging them into a vase.

We shall see if they deign to send forth a few leaves. I do so hope it happens – it would be lovely at such a barren time of the year. Keep your fingers crossed and say a little prayer for this coral-barked beauty.

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

What do you think about people who talk on the speakerphone in the grocery store, or any store for that matter?

I despise them.

#TinyThreads

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Weeping in the Cold

Still weeping amid the snow, this larch holds tight to its globular buds, and is a great deal hardier than its elegant form would have most believe. I understand that this powerhouse can withstand the crazy-cold temps of Zone 2 (we are in Zone 5, and you’ve heard how nasty it gets here – can’t imagine what Zone 2 winters are like). Hardiness and elegance – a powerful combination as rare as it is exquisite. Its form is a nice reminder that structure, particularly in the winter, is an important aspect of the properly plotted garden.

When the wind and snow rages, and color drains from the landscape, the architecture of a garden comes into focus and play. That’s why I tend not to prune anything in the fall. The seed heads of grasses, the broken and cracked branches of woody perennials, the dried umbrels of an ‘Autumn Joy’ sedum – they all contribute to the interest and delight of the garden in winter. A blanket of snow instantly elevates this beauty. Without the bones, we’d be left with nothing but flat white. The mind requires further stimulation.

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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

Forget living paycheck to paycheck, I’m living three paychecks in the future. That’s how much money has already been spent.

The only math I know is subtraction.

#TinyThreads

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Zac Efron Bulging, Flexing & Mustaching

The title of this post basically says it all, but there are other posts that put Zac Efron more fully on display. Still, it’s always nice to get more new GIFs, especially if they’re showing off Zac’s assets in a wrestling singlet. I’m not even going to criticize the mustache. It’s a Monday and we need some eye candy/guy candy. To that end, here’s more of Mr. Efron. Here’s a naked ass shot. And another one. And yet another. A Monday with a shirtless Zac Efron is always better. A Monday with an underwear-clad Zac Efron is better than that. And a Monday with a Speedo-bulging Zac Efron may be best of all. If it has to be the start of a work week, let us have all the Zac Efron we can

 

 

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A Funky February Recap

No real reason for this to be funky, other than I’m in a funky way. I don’t mean deep-groove funk, I mean funky in the strange, odd, off-kilter way of full-moon moments, or when Mercury is in retrograde. I don’t know if either of those things is happening right now, and that’s probably for the best. May ignorance be bliss. On with the weekly recap…

A really bad parking job

Chris Hemsworth gratuitously shirtless

Adam Levine’s nipples

Tiny Threads run on and on

Best life hack ever? Possibly. 

Eyes of winter.

Tulip curves.

Sky of winter

When Iris eyes are smiling.

Life in miniature.

Tillandsia heads.

My days at the roller skating rink.

Hunks of the Day included: Gabriel Phoenix, Jordan Fisher, David Andrews, and Beau Mirchoff.

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