The poor cousins at Wellington T Stop
Weird co-existence of nature and some of man's errors
More of the same
Who knew?
I wonder what this was before
That's Tom on the left, who was in more of a hurry, and Bob, who liked to chat
Bob's rolling shop
Dreaminess
Back in my early twenties. I lived in a suburb with three college basketball players in a tiny cape house that smelled like the large, sweaty sneakers it housed. I worked downtown and didn’t have a car, so depended on the T for most of my entertainment. Of course I was poor, because who would choose to live under those conditions, and did my food shopping at the Haymarket most Saturdays. It became clear that my best days were spent with this malleable goal which provided opportunities for a wide variety of experiences, in this case allowing me to get to know different parts of Boston. It unknowingly became a life model, framing physical, social and emotional diversions when traveling, with friends, cooking, playing sports, learning or raising a child. The more curious I am to whatever appears front of me, the more fruitful life is. I'll admit, there are times, such as when cleaning house, that this model is a failure, leading from one distraction to another, resulting to a phrase famous in our house “On the road to cleanliness is a big mess", one that can last for weeks. And in truth, sometimes the alley I wander down may be dark and pestilent, but I’d take the risk of traveling the Rue de Rodentia every once in a while if not doing so would mean having a less interesting life.
So, yesterday it was back to the exotticness of the Orange Line to continue my exploration of places and people unknown. Wellington Station is also the stop for the Encore Casino, where a fleet of what at first appear to be luxury buses, but on closer inspection are T buses painted black, await. They sneer at their extended family who are lined up with their embarrassing “I Buy Cheap Houses” ads. Out of the parking lot I walked, along the Santilli Highway, which does not need repeating, past the Mystic River, an office park, the Teddie’s Peanut Butter factory, Nightshift Brewing, the Everett DPW, some Brazilian stores and a Halal restaurant.
When in New Canaan for Easter, my sister had just come back from Arthur Avenue with an annoyingly small bag of fresh cavatelli. There was something about their color and weight that distracted me to the point of wanting to cancel my dinner plans in order to not miss out on them. As it turned out, my kind sister gave me some to bring home and they were as good as my high bar, cavatelli from Thistle and Leek.
So,yesterday, the vague destination was Lilly’s, at 205 Main Street in Everett, which, according to my friendly search engine, sells one of the 10 best fresh pastas in Boston. As I wandered around with my camera intentionally strapped so that it was less obvious, an old man who turned out to be an electrician called Bob, said hello, and when I replied, asked me if I’d like to take his and his partner’s photograph. As it would be hard to argue that I had been making progress approaching people about portrait taking, I seized the opportunity and took another photograph of old people with too much junk going on behind them. Maybe that should be the name of my website. Bob had lived in Everett his whole life and liked it, though the mayor is a crook and because neighbors don't speak English, he can no longer say hello to his neighbors. He would have gone on talking all day, but I could sense Tom’s impatience, likely wanting to get back to work rewiring the apartment in this rental property, so I bid farewell.
It turns out Lilly’s is a wholesale pasta company, but they will sell you a three pound bag for $3 a pound. While I asked for cavatelli, I got shells, which fortunately have the same heft of the cavatelli of my dreams, and did not disappoint on the chewiness factor. So, if you are in the mood for fresh shells with Rao's and Parmesan, stop on by, I’ve got plenty. Once I’ve winnowed down the bag, next stop will likely be Monica’s in the North End.