-
Sling Diares: inspiration
I returned from visiting another city inspired to rediscover my own. That was the most unexpected element of our trip, the way I came back ready to see Boston as I had seen Rome. What are the old habits you find yourself in, that you haven’t even noticed? The cafe you always go to, the cafe you never go to? The part of town you haven’t visited in years. That park you’ve heard is beautiful, but it never quite works out to visit. If you were visiting your city for the first time, what do you think you would fall in love with first?Carrying a toddler can have a similar effect. We talk about ducks, and suddenly she’s pointing out that ducks are everywhere, in fact there are flyers for a duck parade in every window on our street. When I’m pushing her in a stroller, we have a bit of separate experience—she’s chatting away while I’m eyeing street signs, curb ledges, the uneven sidewalks that are coming up next. But slung up next to me, we share the moments as they pass. And why not stop to watch the bikers ride by, their wheels skimming over the pavement with such precision? Why not closely examine the flower buds as they open just a little bit more each day? Why not head in a new direction for the morning, the day unplanned but certain to be filled with something new?
This is my first post for the Sakura Bloom sling diaries. Lux is slung in the simple silk sling in amber made by sakura bloom. There are thirteen other moms with babes of all ages participating, what a treat to take part!
-
Moving In
Before we moved last weekend, I’d been feeling whiny about living in Boston. I wrote a friend my “honest opinion” of city life and the grumpy stuff, the month of March stuff, came out. How expensive it was. When we were apartment hunting, it felt like everything had gone up $800 from the last time we checked. How it felt like everyone in my neighborhood had nannies. The messy trash on the streets distributed by people who acted like it wasn’t their backyard they were dumping in. Sometimes it felt like having sunshine come through the windows and onto your kitchen table was a privilege only for the very rich. I was sick of accidentally buying too many groceries and carting them back on an overloaded stroller and my shoulders. I was tired of carrying Lux through the slush for six blocks when I couldn’t find parking near our apartment.
Then we moved on Saturday, the most spring-like of all the days we’ve had. I walked around with a friend, buying beer for our moving-friends, ordering five pizzas to be delivered from Upper Crust, stopping by the market to get gatorade. Friends walked over to pick up Lux and stroll her to the playground while we moved. Other than driving across the river to buy indulgent pastries from Flour, we walked from place to place, adding to our bags as we went. “Never take all this for granted,” she said, having come from Rhode Island for help for the day, “it’s fun for now.” We were diving through the packs of people making their way toward the Common to sunbath (as much as you can sunbath in jeans). Ah yes, I thought, a voice my past. What I used to know. I guess late winter does that to you.
But boy, I was ready for this apartment. We’ve been here for four days and we’ve all taken to it like ducklings to the Garden. I think Joe and I feel like we’re dating again with all this space–we have long conversations about everything we want to tell each other about our day, and then we each pick a space to get a little bit done in the evenings. Yesterday was shockingly cold and Lux and I stayed inside all day playing–a total impossibility at our old place. I don’t think we’ll ever get tired of the view, or seeing the way the city looks different with every passing hour.
Oh Happy Day has been posting about her family’s San Francisco apartment this past week. She writes that she once lived in a cheap place without sunlight for years and will never do it again. I know exactly what she means. She also (with two little boys!) picked location over space, which I find very inspiring.
I’ll post more photos once we’ve made the place feel more like home!
-
Tomatoes in Somerville
Growing up on the second floor of her family’s Somerville triple-decker, Brown remembers picking and eating tomatoes right off the vine from the yard, and salting them with a shaker hanging from a piece of twine. She recalls those tomatoes sun-drying on the roof; eggplant resting under bricks; and pasta drying on laundry racks.
Love this city summer memory from the new Edible Boston issue, a free magazine available all over Boston. Non-sequitur photo from the children’s clothing line Bobo Choses. I can’t get their stuff out of my head.
-
Visit: Union Square Donuts
Skirting union square, just over McGrath Highway from Boston, across the street from Target, and in an abandoned restaurant storefront lies Boston’s long awaited answer to the donut trend. Come on the weekend and you’ll probably wait in line. Come after noon and they’re very likely to be sold out. I think we can safely say Bostonians have been ready for creative donuts for a long time.
Honestly, I was up for the donuts to taste terrible. Hype, desperation, different taste in frying methods, anything could go wrong! But they were deliciously doughy, almost a sourdough, barely fried and impeccably finished. Hibiscus cherry was one of my favorites, Joe loved the honey almond. We also bought the opulently bacon-y maple bacon, chocolate chipotle (more spicy than chipotle, which I liked) and orange ginger cream. All of them were done just-so, never too much, with plenty of chewy dough to balance out the toppings.
This is strictly a to-go operation, open Thursdays-Sundays. A tiny warm storefront with the kitchen operation attached. Pick up a box to take home or on the way to brunch. We munched through all of ours in the car, and then headed to Sherman’s for some cozy coffee. Besides the maple bacon, all donuts are $3. I saw three decidedly non-hipster older men eating their donuts in the parking lot across the street and overheard, “This is worth $3, this is worth it.”
Flavors change all the time. Follow them for lots of updates!
Union Square Donuts, on Twitter.
-
The Discovery Museum
New museums feel like Disney World these days. Better even. Joe and I can be pretty lazy when it comes to weekends in Boston, but fortunately our friends up the street invited us out early Saturday morning to see a place outside the city, The Discovery Museum.
There was something extra appealing about this one, founded in the ’80s and settled into an old Victorian house. Back when painting on the wall and building tiny tree forts meant great things would happen. They knew the power of a room full of stuffed animals, a Rube Goldberg-esque design to learn about gravity, or a wall of switches to flip and buttons to push.
I always leave public spaces for kids contemplating things we could change about our space for Lux. Introducing new textiles, or a space to drop things through tubes and, gasp, they reappear, or maybe just a spinning wheel secured to the wall. A lever here, and light switch at their level.
Though hidden under the snow now, the grounds seemed lovely as well. I think with a picnic packed you could draw out your visit here during the summer in a wonderful way.
-
Missing the Liquor
Well it’s practically March and oh my goodness do I miss cocktails.
I just finished the Dinner a Love Story cookbook (so good, so good, by the way) and Jenny frequently mentions her retreat to an evening gin and tonic whilst cooking, and especially while cooking with toddlers. Her loyal love of one good cocktail (with “only fizzy tonic”) made me like her all the more, but also made me desperate for my own.
“This is a tough time of year to live in Boston,” I announced to Joe.
“I think it’s a tough time of year to live anywhere,” he said, too moderately for my taste, especially at 8am.
“I don’t think it’s a tough time of year in Mexico.”
Joe gave up alcohol and coffee for Lent, which is extremely noble. I pretended to dither about it, but really I can’t give up another thing. Pregnancy is lent, as my dear friend and priest’s wife so nicely pointed out. Last night with the doulas we discussed what a mysteriously big baby Lux was (9lb 10 oz) and I blamed it on a protein shake I drank a lot while pregnant with her. “And no white sugar or white flour?” one asked. My mind blanked as I searched for something I was currently eating that wasn’t comprised mostly of white sugar and white flour. “Uh well, a lot of pasta,” I said lamely. “A lot of macaroni and cheese,” I clarified. “Oh.” she said. I mentally scratched off a few more items to feel confident about when eating.
My twenty-three-year-old brother Leighton offered to not drink for my entire pregnancy if, I also, did not drink. Imagine the audacity.
Like most modern conversation topics, whether you drink or do not drink is treated as a highly personal decision that one makes for themselves based on highly personal feelings. The conclusions on whether the fetus is affected by occasional drinking are bounced back and forth between opponents like a swinging ping pong game. Nonetheless, if you visit an OB office in America, a nurse will probably say something along the lines of “It seems silly to say, but of course you’re not drinking?”
Leave it to family to cross the safe line of modernity’s “It’s your decision, not mine!” politeness. I took him up on his offer because it was so thoughtful. This is a kid who, at the time, probably got a safe quarter of his weekly calories from beer. I couldn’t resist his offer of co-denial in its sheer chumminess…and because of a slew of other implications that seemed to lie within it.
It seemed implied, for example, what kind of barbarian was I? If he could go without a glass of wine now and then, why couldn’t I do it? In the past, a tiny part of me admired women who completely abstained, but a larger part of me held them off as a little juvenile. Like, if everyone’s having mimoas at brunch, is it really necessary to wave your hand and insist on only orange juice for yourself?
But it was pointed out to me by my dear, over-curious family (keep in mind I’m the first one to have a baby among them) that to decide to drink simply to satisfy my rebellious counter-cultural francophile streak was absurd indeed.
True that.
So I think I’ve texted him a total of five times for exceptions to our plan, i.e., very special occasions. Five drinks in 22 weeks is certainly a more moderate environment than Lux abided in. Soak it up, baby, and let’s see it in the SAT scores in 18 years, ok?
February 28th and it’s bleak folks, bleak! There are still small slumps of snow on the street, each protectively harboring its own disgusting pile of soggy trash. Mmm, this looks delicious, Lux says, as she picks through each one like a little alley urchin.
Mercifully we were at Formaggio Kitchen this morning for coffee and they had piled up a basket of the darkest cinnamon bread loaves I’d ever seen. You know how you want cinnamon bread, not some-bread-etched-with-cinnamon? This was it. As a rule Lux doesn’t eat bread (white carbs, Mom! she says reproachfully) but we both tore off hunks and ate it as we walked.
We’ll get through this yet.
-
You, me and Photoshop
Along with a random blizzard, blogshop blew into town this weekend.
While I was off frolicking with bloggers, Joe spent the whole weekend with Lux! They had such a good time together. It was really nice to realize we’re now “at that age” where hanging with Dad all day is a treat (these days Lux actually calls him Joe, as in “jo! jo! jo!” yelling from the other room. Because of course, that’s what I do and she’s noticed it’s quite effective).
When I first signed up I thought the tuition price for the workshop was crazy opulent (thanks Mom!): $770. After two days absolutely packed with tips, techniques and lessons, I don’t think it is at all. We learned so much! If you think of it as the quick n dirty equivalent of a night class in Photoshop, it starts to make sense. I only hope I can roll out a few of the skills I learned on here in the near future. Bri and Angela are totally dedicated teachers who answered all of my 90 questions completely.
For example, here’s a header that I whipped up, just for fun:
(that drawing is from The Thinker of Tender Thoughts by Shel Silverstein)
And I walked away with some new header shots to clean up my social media act and make you all think I’m actually a published author on the side.
All in all it was really a treat to spend the weekend with other women pursuing their hobbies and talents, eating good food, and learning how do things I’ve wanted to do for a long time.
How do you feel about Photoshop? Did you know all Adobe products now have a monthly subscription option so you don’t have to buy the whole package for a zillion dollars?
-
The Snowiest Day
Marion Cunningham’s favorite simple pancakes (cute illustration of the recipe). I think the secret is there is a lot of baking soda in there.
When we come indoors, Lux picks at our shoes for bits of snow to eat. So we’ve started offering to get her a fresh bowl of snow. This makes her happy beyond expression.
The one thing Governor Patrick asked on Friday was that people take the storm seriously. Good point Deval because I think most of us were waiting with raised eyebrows and crossed arms. But wow, it is a lot snow! Part of me is wondering when we’ll see our car again, and part of me just shrugs that we won’t use it till April if need be.
I really wanted to be winter adventurers and hike around town, but it was blustery! Every time the wind blew we cowered into our jackets. And most of the businesses were closed. It sounds silly to say but I was sort of imagining a cozy hot chocolate at Starbucks capping off the trip. I was sad they were closed. (Marliave, one of my favorite Boston spots, was open both blizzard nights. Well done!)
Roasting canned tomatoes to make them taste like summer ones. These will turn into bruschetta. They’ve been cooking at low heat for hours and the smell is probably what Pizza Hut pipes in to make you keep ordering food.
-
Bits this last weekend of January
I enjoyed reading the interview between Miranda July and Lena Dunham. I did not know Miranda had a baby, and I did not know she was married to the writer behind Beginners! Now I want to watch it again. I can’t wait for Lena Dunham’s book because I’m so curious to learn more about her relationship with her creative parents and how she managed to love them so much while growing up in a little NYC loft with them.
My brother Leighton renewed our subscription to the New Yorker for Christmas. After a few months without it, I have to say how grateful I am for that magazine. They have the most interesting articles, always taken from a totally researched yet creative perspective. It keeps me savvy, it really does.
(Newman’s oreos do not taste like real Oreos. Organic isn’t cutting it here folks.)These mug shaped loose leaf tea bags from David’s Tea. Aren’t they clever?
Lux and I visited our friends Natalie and Alfie and she pulled out all the stops on the coffee tray. Isn’t lovely when people do that? And she asked me which mug I wanted. Then we listened to Pete Seeger and Sesame Street on the record player. Thanks Nat!
Last week Joe and I finally went to a Boston dance party that I’ve been eyeing on Twitter for forever. It’s the third Friday of every month, with a $5 cover charge. It’s just dance dance dance, which was exactly what I needed. We got there at 9pm and felt lame because no one was there yet. However, we had to leave around 11:30 and saw the huge line out in the freezing cold…I’ll be getting there early every time (and making it till 2am one of these days). If you want to look it up, it’s called Picó Picante. I highly recommend it. (mailing list here)
(and they gave us feathers to put in our hair, which made everything immediately more wonderful. I won’t be able to wear this top for, oh, another year, so happy new year to it too.)
-
Social Clubs of Boston
I’ve been reading this
nerdy(trendwatchers wiser than I say that you can’t call things nerdy anymore when you secretly believe they are awesome. Hipster trends have cancelled out self-deprecating comments like that. For the best, I suppose.) fascinating book I picked up at Brattle Book Shop. Most Boston clubs began because there weren’t good dining options at the time. And most of them were men only. Many of them still exist (like the Club of Odd Volumes in Beacon Hill, or the Union Club on Park Street). But you probably wouldn’t notice their clubhouse if you walked past it, or know that it might have been purchased by club members more than a century before.
You can probably see straight through me: I want a social club of my own. Primarily there would be velvet armchairs, fresh scones, and a big fireplace. We might have charge dues but you also might get to nap like a cat on the rug in the sunshine. You would know you could bring your friends for drinks when they came to town, there would be seats for everyone, and you wouldn’t have to shout over the music or feel guilty if you didn’t order lots of cocktails. In fact there would be a very grand dark wood bar, but members would take turns being the bartender. There would be a letter writers meeting, and many many book groups. Maybe there would be a little terrace to share iced tea. We would have a playwright among our members, and we would perform her plays annually (this is stolen from the Tavern Club, they still do this!). And we would have a very nice emblem monogrammed on all our towels. There would be a knitting meeting where everyone got very drunk. And movie showings, with a full candy bar. Yes, I do think we’d have to charge dues.
Speaking of classy traditions…I finally learned how to play chess! Maybe an old fox can learn new tricks…maybe I will learn stick-shift one of these days!
