Saturday, February 25


I would say that bagels are one of my weaknesses when it comes to food. I tend to eat them a lot on weekends, and especially when I'm in NYC visiting the Boy (duh!). This past weekend I was there and we were having a late late brunch with friends, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to enjoy a bagel in the earlier morning to tide me over. It was warm, and toasted to perfection and the sesame seeds gave it that extra factor I look for from them. The cream cheese was heavily smeared on- which I always enjoy- I highly dislike how some bagel joints really cheat you out of the right amount of cream cheese aka Brueggers.

Unfortunately it was not my lucky bagel day. First- my description of the bagel is from when it was first ready for my eating, it did not get handed to me until at least 15 minutes after that. At this point it was starting to cool and harden, utterly disappointing. I started to eat it anyway, can't waste a bagel when I have such a good excuse to eat one. Half way through, for reasons not to be outlined/detailed here, I was struck with the need to cry. Crying while eating/in food is never a pleasant experience. You try to muster through without letting it out and keep on plugging through eating- you figure it will distract you from the sadness. However, as you continue to eat the flow of tears do not subside, in fact your throat starts to swell a bit and eating becomes more laborious as you try to hold back your tears. This is when I would consider you are crying in your food. Although tears may not be falling, I still consider it crying because its the eating that is stopping them. This process completely ruins whatever you are eating. You lose your appetite, the food doesn't taste good anymore and all you want to do is sob, not be sitting in a little cafe eating a bagel that's gotten cold.

I haven't wanted a bagel since.

Sunday, February 12


I enjoy sports. I enjoy the excitement of a close game, rooting for your home team, getting excited and pumped up for a big game, and cheering even if you're not at the game. (My neighbors once asked me how the game was going when I crossed them coming and going from our cars, and only later did I realize it was because they could hear me yelling at the TV).
Got hooked up with 1/2 priced tickets for the Celtics game on Friday. Basketball is definitely not my favorite sport, but heading to the game was a great Friday night. Here's a picture from the game.

Saturday, February 11


Sitting at my desk yesterday I saw a peek of something outside my window and when I looked again I realized it was a plastic bag, floating through the air. As I continued looking out the window I noticed more bags, just floating in the wind, above the buildings around mine. Usually when we see something interesting out our floor to ceiling windows, the cubes perk up and we chat about what we're watching, awwing if its a dog, laughing if its an interesting South End character. This time I stayed quiet. I figured, maybe this is something just I can appreciate. Then I thought about American Beauty, when they are watching the video of the plastic bag dancing in the breeze. Even watching that I realized the depth of the message, how you can find beauty in so many small things, how even trash floating around in the air is beautiful.
Is it the somewhat mystifying image of something that can't fly doing so? Is it the secret that you may be the only one seeing it? There is something beautiful about it, floating in the air, you sitting behind a window watching, and it just floating there hanging on to the breeze that's filled it, rising again after its been tossed out. I won't go too deep, but it was a lovely moment. Sitting at my desk, figuring out which task to take on next and just looking out the window focused instead on this little vision of what someone else threw out turned into what someone else was finding beautiful.

Sunday, February 5

When One Door Closes

I buried my cat this morning, and met a friend for lunch that is starting the process of burying her relationship. When I was driving back from lunch there were these moments of brilliant sun light and then when you looked ahead, towards where I was heading home, it was dark and dreary clouds. Foreboding. When I pulled up to my house there was a stream of sun light pouring towards the house, and yet the foreboding clouds were still hovering over it. We'll all get through it, we'll mourn our loses and the sun will keep shining through our clouds to guide us to the next cycle. With my cat gone it is the door opening for my parents to hopefully adopt a cat from a woman who desperately needs a good home for hers. And, the friend burying the relationship will have many doors opening to move into and out of. Its quiet in the house, and it was quiet when Lyla was still alive- she had gotten so old she mostly just slept, but its the kind of quiet that comes when you're missing a piece of the puzzle and the new shape doesn't feel quite right yet. Yet.

I found her when I came home last night. My parents were in the air flying back from vacation. It was one of my fears, that I would come home to an empty house some night for a visit and she wouldn't be just sleeping on the grate she would have passed. "She fell asleep where she was happy." The Boy commented, and its true. I'm sure she was happy, fading into a permanent sleep. I didn't see her body moving with her breathing, that was my first sign. I thought that maybe it was just such a shallow breath I couldn't see it. I petted her a couple of times to see if it would rouse her, she felt stiff. I sat in the living room and called Sammy to break the news and hope he would drive up from Worcester. I walked back over to where she was laying and pushed on her feet, knowing it would just confirm what I already knew, but feeling like I had to do a lot more to actual believe it. Her body was so stiff. I went upstairs and sat, zoned out on the couch until Sammy got home, talking to the friend, distracting myself with the lose she was beginning. The house was freezing, I didn't want the air blowing through her causing smells or disturbances. Sammy brought people, more life to the house, I had people over too, I needed the distractions, the noises the fun, the beer.

We buried her with some deli turkey, which she loved. All standing together, all taking turns with the shovel. A foggy mist hovered in the air, the sun hadn't broken through yet. We said our goodbyes as the water vapor surronded us, a heaviness in the air, a heaviness in our hearts. Another door would open, the sun would stream through. We knew that, but Lyla's door was closing and we needed to lean against it for a bit longer.

Wednesday, February 1


On Sunday I was sitting in the window of a new cafe on Elm St. in Davis Sq. Originally I was going to go into Starbucks and sit in a comfy chair and support "the man" but it was too crowded and so I decided to try this new place instead. I'm so glad I did.
I was sitting on a counter stool at the window counter reading and often gazing up to watch everyone walk by.
I saw sneakers. The shoe in between boots and sandals, a hope for warm weather to continue but an acknowledgment of the reality that it might not. They are practical and useful, but can be stylish and trendy. And everyone I saw walking by was wearing them- really- I looked for a while once I realized what was going on. It was as if the unseasonal warmth of the late January day had brought out this hope in people that they could put their boots in storage and start dusting off the sandals that had sat for so many months unused in the back of the closet or under the bed. The even more outstanding phenomena was that everyone had gotten this same urge to wear their sneakers that Sunday- even I had. Something had compelled me to choose them over every other shoe I own, and its a lot. I looked around at the other people in the cafe and they to had donned the shoe of the day.
I was literally staring at everyone's feet as they walked by into and out of Davis Sq. There was a bounce to people's steps and an excitement that the warm air had brought on.
Father's marched by with their young sons bouncing behind in their laced up Nikes. Groups of college girls strolled along, giggling in their sweatshirts and sneakers. Couples walked, sneakered, arms linked, looking for a good cup of coffee and a place to read the Sunday paper.
I sat, my sneakered feet swinging below me, head rested on my hand, watching the locals stroll by, happy to have found such a prime viewing location, happy I had my moleskin book and pen in hand. I had caught the sneaker bug too.