Category Archives: Boston

How perilous the perch when you have to rely on another, and how precarious to be the one on whom reliance is placed. There is little way to win in this life, little chance we each have of making it through unscathed. Those are the thoughts that went through my head as I studied this bit of street art in Boston. A whimsical thing, it was actually impressive of size and stature, climbing high onto the exterior of a building near Back Bay. Strolling deeper into the night, I held hands with the moon, who was kind enough to reach down and extend her light for the way home.

That walk will be much chillier now, and the only way I’ve found of making it through these dismal winter months is to hunker down with a few select friends, make some comfort food (a beef stew is a fine choice), and find a few candles. Then, laughter will light the night, love will warm the way, and friendship will see us through to the next day. Soon, it will be spring again. It doesn’t feel like it, but wait.

I had to be there at 7 AM on a Sunday morning, not my idea of a weekend well-spent. It was inventory at Structure, that loathsome time of the year when stock had to be taken, merchandise counted, and every last belt and pair of socks entered into the computer system. On this particular Sunday, I was still working at the first Structure I ever worked at: the Faneuil Hall location (now an offensive Abercrombie & Fitch).

It was October 1996, and Hurricane Lili was raging when I woke up. I was about to have my heart broken, or so I thought. That’s what it felt like, anyway. Even if it had all happened before. Even if it would all happen again.

I walked out to the kitchen and looked outside at the gray world. The rain was pouring down, and the wind was raging. Walking the few short blocks to the T station would have me soaked before I even started the long day. I thumbed through the phone book and called a cab. In all my years in Boston, it was one of the first times I used a taxi to get around, but it was absolutely worth every penny. I ducked into the yellow car and we sped off through the volatile weather.

Like waiting for a furniture delivery or in the extra hour of Daylight Savings, inventory was one of those bracketed pockets of time which feel removed from the rest of the world. A few other sleepy workers had already arrived, and soon we set to work. It was good to occupy the mind, and the hands. So much of survival depends on the simple task of keeping busy, of keeping in motion. Stillness and quiet allow the heart to go turbulent. I kept myself moving, faking a laugh with my co-workers, and eventually, years later, the laughter became real, until I could no longer tell what hurt so much. That’s the only way to trick the heart.

October has always been the time for such tricks.

There haven’t been as many Boston trips of late, but a few are coming up, with a possible game at Fenway in the works with a certain webmaster. I haven’t been to a baseball game since 1993, when the Red Sox were down by 11 in the 7^th inning and I left to go shopping on Newbury Street. It was the best decision – and they did not make any sort of miraculous comeback.

This summer, guided by my brother and his methods of procuring tickets, we may check out a game, as long as it’s not against the Yankees. Cooler heads must prevail.

Just because I’m not there in person doesn’t mean I’m not there in spirit.

Happy Pride, Boston.

You are beautiful.

Now and always.

When Boston beckons, I usually heed the call. In this instance, and for this upcoming weekend, I’m heading into town to pick up a pair of shoes from John Fluevog (which is more substantial than the usual flimsy excuses concocted for making the trip.) These are no ordinary shoes, however, and they will get their own showcasing post a little later.

For now, I’m just looking forward to being in the city where this kind of magical afternoon light happens right in my backyard. I’m also joyfully anticipating a Japanese dinner at Douzo or O Ya. Oh, and the baked goodness at the South End Buttery. And the brownies at the SoWa Market. And the pho at Pho Basil. And the cards at Luke Adams Gifting Co. And the plants at Niche. And the salts at Olives & Grace. And, perhaps most importantly, the shoes waiting for me at John Fluevog. (They’re that good.)

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.