BROOKLINE & SUGAR HILL

My current view

Here we are on Memorial Day, hope it's a happy one for you. I'm just off the tennis court and of all odd things,  playing paddle tennis later. A friend of a friend from Portugal wants to try it and in the interest of furthering the international language of racquets, I'm on board.  I suppose the weather has been right for paddle, this was my friend June yesterday. 

June fighting off the cold on Memorial Day weekend in Sugar Hill

Laurent and I working on a Matryoshka doll puzzle that we'd bought at the junk store, missing a side piece as it turns out.

Sugar Hill is always filled with the best, meaning simplest, things. My body begins to relax before the journey even starts, anticipating the monumental quiet, the very dark of nights and the leisurely tempo of good friends, killer food and cocktails, long walks, the absolute best junk shop ever (kicking myself I didn't take any photos), chats about the garden, wild animal watches and wide-ranging conversations around the kitchen and dining room tables that can last most of the day and always touch on foraging after the apocalypse. From these dependables, the weekend can go in any number of directions; hikes, all kinds of complicated games from which I abdicate (one time while everyone else was playing, I walked around and around the first floor thinking through something while reaching 10,000 steps), Round the World on the tennis court, weeding or planting, a visit to Robert Frost's house, a trip to Littleton for the Farmers Market, ice cream or just general wandering that can include seeing the diner where all presidential candidates begin their work.

This time, we took a couple of walks, leaving when the weather app looked marginally favorable, only to get soaked. The second walk involved June and I bringing two plastic shopping bags that were beautifully folded up like a samosa, and a trowel that proved untrustworthy, to a patch of lily of the valley and wild ferns that were imported to the 02135 zip code. The photo two above is June preparing to accompany me on my misdemeanorous digging. Brrrr. 
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​Changing topics, I heard a British man interviewed the other day who used his words so beautifully, something I particularly appreciate after having struggled to understand basic conversation and use solely elementary words to communicate needs, certainly not complex thoughts. Speaking of his parents' reaction to something he'd told them, he said they "were a bit sniffy" which summoned in me a picture of an older couple with grey hair in a jumbly old farmhouse in Essex, perhaps reacting to their son's plans for summer holidays. This man also shared advice his parents had given him as a boy, to  "put your guts into something". English can be a beautiful and for me, very visual, language. 

​Speaking of visual, a friend on the court today was talking about how she was driving to meet us and heard a whooshing sound. Thinking it was the radio, she turned it off, but the sound continued.  When the car behind her eventually captured her attention, she learned the driver advised her she'd left her trunk open and somehow not noticed. No wonder it was so much brighter in the car, she said. 

Taken just before leaving  my Aix kitchen, this represents how I was feeling that day

Before arriving back in Boston, I couldn't imagine why I'd ever arranged to leave Aix. But it became apparent  the moment I stepped out of Logan, met by Carin who offered to not talk on the way back, sensing my disorientation (I was so happy to talk to her). She also bought food for me, really good food, including a box of Yorkshire Gold! And since that warm welcome, it's been one long and most happy reunion that over and over and over reminds me how incredibly lucky I have been to be born into this particular life.

No matter what I do, I can't make this photograph be the correct orientation, which is somehow not surprising. Katharine and me at The Newbury

Even my favorite Florida man came for a visit

Party on the porch

Having six months off in Aix was important. It wasn't always comfortable, but the luxury of being bored and pushed by that boredom was a meaningful entitlement I realize not many can have. In anticipation of returning to Boston, it seemed a priority to change that up by getting work, both for financial reasons, and to add some challenge to a life that has become too comfortable.  So, on a whim, I signed up to be a food tour guide, thinking it would provide an opportunity to meet people I wouldn't otherwise. The owners of the company were wise enough to suggest I go on a tour to see what it's like. So one very rainy Saturday, Sandra and I met 10 others on Charles Street to begin a two and one half hour chocolate tour that left us with both knowledge of Boston's small producers, and a belly ache. We sampled chocolates at two different places, some had gelato, as well as a soft serve with hard chocolate on top (couldn't hack it at 11 am), Mrs. Washington's chocolate (husk) tea,  a Boston cream pie and a large chocolate cookie with tahini in it.  It was lots of fun and I will likely drag unsuspecting out-of-towners to one of the other Off the Beaten Path tours. If you know me, you'll understand that what sealed the deal of me bailing on a summer of tour guiding was standing at the intersection of Tremont and School Streets in the rain, with not a car in sight, waiting for the walk light. Just not in my DNA to wait.

​Also, fortunately, right before I arrived back from France, work landed on my lap, so I'll have other things to distract me on my inability to still not have learned where to stand on a doubles court!

Here we are on the Boston Common, eating soft serve ice cream with chocolate and sprinkles