We were about to head out of the city for the day when it occurred to me that the city is in a brief flurrying state of blooming so we should stay and look around.

It’s so good that it’s hard to look. The bright soft petals will last as long as steam off hot soup.

Last night Joe and I had an extra 40 minutes of babysitter time after an event and we took it. We went to Marliave for hot fries and cold drinks. We sipped our drinks and shared the salty fries and talked about do-good dreams, the things we’d fix if we were mayor for a day. You should always keep these dreams in mind because someone might ask you to be mayor for a day, and then you’ll be ready.

I would tell you what my dream is but I need to do a little research before I say something and make a fool out of myself.

Do you have any mayoral dreams?

We have been to Marliave so many times for drinks and fries over the years; and oysters too, before they curbed their dollar oyster habit. It’s just the perfect place for that kind of thing–white tablecloths, glossy black trim, dim lights and big laminated menus. A very mixed crowd there and they never judge you for how little you order.

On Saturday I met with the owner of the Charles River Bistro, a restaurant that is improbably and dreamily located on the Esplanade. The Esplanade is a green park that runs the length of the Charles River alongside Back Bay. It has three pedestrian access bridges and hundreds of daily bikers and runners. This dream space for a restaurant has been poorly and sparsely operated for 25 years and finally, it has proper management and is now open every day into the evenings–9pm on summer nights.

I met with him, I thought, to give him some advice. Turns out he’s doing absolutely everything right. He has jazz brunches and free music lessons, pre-fixe dinners with tablecloths, and brightly strung lights you can see along the river.

And yet I didn’t eat there once last summer. I never heard about it from a friend. Still so few locals know that what used to be rather grim building is now a thriving restaurant.

So I’ve got a new dinner place on my summer bucket list and, before I go pointing fingers at any mayors, a good reminder of how often solid hard work goes unnoticed.

I hope I always remember this bonkers winter. Walking everywhere with my girls, the stroller completely unable to deal with the curbs, the car buried, the sidewalks nearly impassable. Walking somewhere–usually the library–and then going back outside to walk home, never surprised to see more tufted cold cotton falling from the sky. It was always the loveliest white.

It was our sleeping bear winter. We didn’t go out a lot. I mean, we went out every day, but we didn’t go anywhere or do interesting things. I didn’t really notice. The girls play together now. They danced to the nutcracker suite almost every day. They didn’t melt down before meals. I didn’t have panic attacks if Joe shows up an hour late.

I was always thinking, “one year ago this would have killed me.” I didn’t even join the gym! Goodness what a difference not to have a baby.

Our energy bill was more expensive this year. We don’t pay for our heat because of the way our building is structured, so we just pay the electric bill for our apartment. Bills were up for all of Massachusetts because they’ve shut down some coal plants and are replacing the power source with natural gas. Seeing this relatively meager bill pop up in my inbox, I would imagine for a moment what we’d done with that energy that we’d siphoned for ourselves. So many nights with the oven at 400, roasting one or two chicken breasts for a simple dinner paired with rice. So many nights of turning on all the lights in the apartment so the girls would feel comfortable using all the rooms, to make me less stir-crazy at 5pm.

This winter Joan learned to say coco for hot chocolate, mine, sorry, go, why?, and snow.

Snow sounds a lot like no from her mouth, but after she emphatically repeated it 30 times, we would deduce that she wanted a bowlful of snow from outside our window. It wasn’t until mid-March that the snow blocking most of our kitchen and bedroom windows finally melted away. I was so happy to have the light back, but the girls miss their favorite accessible snack.

All winter Joan liked to play at the sink. She would fill up glasses for each of us and bring them to us. They would spill on the way down from the sink, on the way down from the stool, on the way to us, and right before she’d handed them to us. They would arrive smeared on the edges with whatever else happened to be in the sink, with bits of food floating in them. Her eyes glowed with satisfaction when we would thank her.

There were people in the same city as me who had a different winter. They had to use their car every day. They only got paid if they made it to work. They counted on a bus that was abruptly cut from the schedule, or was so abbreviated that they had to wait in line to get on it. Their electric bill was inconceivably high, pounds of ice pulled on the edges of their roof and threatened their water lines.

I confess that most of the winter I didn’t think about these folks; how it was going for anyone besides myself. I thought about how fresh the white looked every time snow fell. I muttered a prayer over our car every time I walked past a neighboring car that’d been rilled by a reckless snowplow. I finally read the op-ed Boston’s Winter from Hell with wide eyes. I didn’t change anything after I read it, I guess I just went about more aware of what another storm really meant for the city.

Every season we finish here I always have a few more things I wish we’d managed. I didn’t take the girls ice skating. We didn’t watch the Christmas lights turn on on the Common. We went Colorado skiing, but not east coast skiing. Because the car was buried, we didn’t go to the MFA at all. Next year, I say to myself. This hint of anticipation, a good chance for a round two, is how I know I want to stay.

My friend Anna came over yesterday to take some photos of our family. It was a last-minute thing and turned out to be such a beautiful evening. Joan was feeling sick but she had just had a good long nap, and Lux was game for the adventure. We walked down from our apartment, through the Garden, all the way to Copley Square, and then finished with margaritas (and hot chocolates!) at the Oak Bar.

When Anna first texted me that she was available, I immediately wanted to hop in the car and head to Walden Pond, or a field & forest somewhere. The exotic always occurs to you at these times. But of course it made the most sense simply to walk around this little city, the spots we’re always walking. What a treat to celebrate and document them for an afternoon.

I feel so lucky to have these, thank you Anna!

all photos by Anna Burns.