This is a companion piece to a previous post that espoused the hidden objets d’art that can be found on the street. I wasn’t planning on following up with a similar post so soon, but when you see a razor entwined in a chain-link fence, you stop and take notice. Or, in this case, you take a photograph.

The stories one could spin about this have no limit. The first one my mind entertained was a girl bringing this razor to school for a friend who was going to shave her legs for the first time, and trying to hide that fact from her mother. Strange that that should be the first possibility that comes to mind, over a boy who might be shaving his face for the first time, but I suppose relating to girls has always been my province.

Some cheap purses belong on the street. I’m hoping that the person to whom this once belonged suddenly came to his or her senses, threw it down in a fit of sudden fashion-sense, and never looked back. More people with bad accessories should be so bold.

Finally, this dirty yet shiny lollipop spoke to me in a David Lynchian whisper. It wasn’t quite a severed ear, or the blue-tinged body of Laura Palmer, but it carried its own eerie mysteries.

The main thing I’ve always wondered about the raising of children is this: what’s with all the fucking Cheerios?

Having had more experience with my niece and nephew in recent years, however, along with the explanations of helpful friends who are now parents themselves, it seems that Cheerios are an ideal snack: not too heavy on sugar, not too messy (though kids will find a way to pulverize anything and make a disaster area), and convenient enough to stuff into any plastic baggie. (Yes, I just wrote the word ‘baggie’ for perhaps the first time in my life.)

Personally, though, I like the Cheerios were utilized in these home-made bird-feeders, seen around the corner from my place in Boston. Ingeniously constructed by some geometrically-shaped pipe cleaners, this looks to be the work of the day-care on Columbus Avenue.

I have no idea if the birds actually like Cheerios, or if such processed food is all that healthy for them, but the sentiment is pure, and the design is simple yet effective.

I’d employ the technique and give these a whirl in my own backyard, but it’s more than likely that the squirrels would get to them first, then go around wearing pipe-cleaner necklaces and mocking me from afar. I get enough abuse without giving them additional cause for ridicule.

The sign on Tremont alerts passers-by to something special down Pembroke Street. A couple doors down, the windows of the store-front offer tantalizing glimpses of overflowing gift baskets in various states of filling, and all sorts of mouth-watering objects. This is the world of Olives & Grace {A Curtsy to the Makers} ~  a small artisan shop that sells a variety of goods, from the culinary to the pretty, and everything in between. The first thing that catches my eyes is a tall, colorful stack of cooking salts – everything from an elusive Fennel Thyme Salt (for which I’d been searching over the past several months) to an Aleppo Chile Salt. A bottle of Honey Chamomile Bitters is ripe for winter cocktailing, and containers of tea and cocoa stand ready to banish what remains of the frigid season.

Not limited to the savory, there are an equal number of scintillating sweets, including a stack of flavored sugars to rival the stack of salts. Chocolates of all sorts, honey, and several interesting syrups – along with canisters of cocoa – mean that  there is something for every sweet tooth as well.

There are non-edibles that are meant to be worn and seen, such as some intricate metallic jewelry for the ladies or a few softly-hued pocket squares for the gentlemen. Everything is carefully crafted with pristine care, the time and effort apparent in each stitch of fabric, every curve of metal.

The emphasis is on what is local, ensuring a continually rotating stock of specialty items, worthy of frequent stops and regular browsing. While the unique stock alone is worth the stop, it’s the customer service that stands above and beyond any mainstream chain, and Olives & Grace boasts some of the friendliest and most helpful staff in the South End (which is saying something substantial.) I only wanted one of the salt blends (a chicken recipe has been calling for fennel salt for a while now), so the woman helping me looked up the supplier online, and saw that it was available in a fennel version. She wrote the name on a card, in case I wanted to order it on my own. That’s what keeps a business in good standing, and the customers coming back for more.

Olives & Grace is right off Tremont, at 81 Pembroke Street. 

This past weekend in Boston began the slow march to spring. It’s going to take some time – there is still so much snow – but as these photos attest, hope is in the air, and poking through the ground. There’s a familiar thrill when the first daffodils and tulips begin tentatively telescoping from the earth, scoping out whether it’s really safe to fully rise. These are dangerous times, and they sense that. There is still the likely possibility that a snowstorm with dump a foot of crushing ice crystals on top of them, leaving tattered tips, if not killing them outright.

Yet this year I can’t blame the tender shoots for being so ready to emerge. It’s been a difficult winter, and many of us are similarly anxious to let it go. Even with whispers of another impending storm on the horizon, I still wouldn’t draw back and hesitate now.

Making use of the free wifi at Copley Place, I’m testing out whether this blog can be done by satellite, so bear with me if the format is slightly screwy or the usual perfection is in short supply. At the time of this writing I’m still in Boston. It’s a sunny but brisk Sunday morning, and the sky is a very deep and brilliant blue. I’m patiently awaiting the noon opening of retail stores – particularly John Fluevog, which has a pair of wingtips that caught my eye in the ‘Improper Bostonian.’

While I’m not exactly in need of new shoes, I’ve been saving a bit of money, and it may be time for a little reward. I did splurge on a scarf earlier, and a silk pocket square, but I put back an Armani coat (even though it was half off!) and declined a leather Coach tote that screamed my name. More difficult was saying no to a new Tom Ford Private Blend – ‘Oud Fleur’ – and a long line of Byredo Parfums at Barneys. Yet somehow I did it. That’s will power.

This concludes my test of the blog’s satellite capability. I’ll attempt to put up a Boston pic to see how that works, or doesn’t work, but for the most part it seems to be possible. This is a very good sign.