Watertown, MA. September, 2012

My garden was pathetic this year. Six cherry tomato plants yielded a total of, count ’em, six cherry tomatoes. Period. The basil survived, but the parsley withered early. The only things that really flourished were the marigolds, which my friend James reminds me “like bad soil.” Thanks. The curlicues and cages seen here were my vainglorious early-season attempt to keep the neighborhood woodchuck from his eager sampling by creating a kind of fence-barrier. Epic fail, as the children say nowadays.

Watertown, MA. September, 2012

The summer was weird here in New England this year. Record-breaking heat, high humidity, drought conditions offset by heavy rains, you name it. Biblical weather. Consequently the plant life has been somewhat skewed as well. Crabgrass in my neighborhood is rampant in ways no one can remember. And look at this skeletal rosebush in my yard. Some flourishing stems, some desiccated ones, a blossom here and there. Odd as it looks, I like it. There’s something Japanese about it, don't you think? Something that might be found on a kimono, a piece of silk or porcelain, instead of against a stucco wall in an autumn garden.

Trinidad, Cuba. February, 2012

As I mentioned yesterday, I am sometimes known by certain friends as ChiChi. And so I was delighted to visit this pottery studio, Casa ChiChi, on a recent visit to Cuba. And to meet the proprietor, the other ChiChi, while I was there. It seems that all of my good friends have alter egos, or at least alternate names. Marin is sometimes Cupcake, James sometimes Muffin (in their attempts to include me in their bakery triumvirate they desperately dubbed me Little Debbie.) Marin is also Psychine (French pronunciation), James also Crunches. My favorite of Nick's, um, nicknames is Uscita Sottopassagio. My friends Lisa and Pam are LouLou and Coco. Jay is Mr. Spofford (based on his shocking resemblance to that character in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.) But no one has more names than my friend Patti. I sometimes forget her real name, she has so many: Patrice Gizelle, Tapenade Roulet, Taffy Haynes, Miss Piatelli, Chaka Cohen (author of the memoir, White by Mistake), Qué Lástima, the list goes on and on.

Boston, MA. September, 2012

Back in the 1980s, when I was at the peak of my Italomania, Jay came home from work and mentioned that some visitors from Italy had been to his plant that day. I went crazy! Where in Italy? What were their names?? He hesitated (never good with names) and then said, “I’m not sure, but I think one was called ChiChi Fargo.” Bingo! Of course, the visitor was not called ChiChi Fargo, but from that moment on, I was. It was just too good a name to waste. I use it for online Groupon-type services, Facebook, Fab.com, you name it. I am ChiChi to my Puerto Rican friends, to my Spanish tutor, to many others. And so I was delighted to see that my placecard at my friend Brooks’s 30th-birthday dinner was prepared (by his delightful eight-year-old stepsister Mary) as seen above. 

Boston, MA. September, 2012

Did someone say “brunch”? Yes, indeed. My friend Marin, who has a wonderful knack for combining great food and great company, did. To mark the opening of the saison, he assembled an enviably dishy crowd and served a remarkable homemade spread: scones with clotted cream or orange curd to begin; then, seen here, bacon, a homemade paté, a wonderful layered dish of zucchini, herbs and fresh mozzarella. But wait, there’s more. Ham “shelters” cradling poached eggs with mushrooms and chives. And for dessert, a baked blueberry/pecan French toast dish with a lacing of maple syrup. The conversation was intoxicating and non-stop. A perfect "welcome autumn" afternoon.

Harvard Square, Cambridge, MA. September, 2012

My friend Steven has a thing for publicity-crazed New England Patriot Rob Gronkowski. And so when Dunkin’ Donuts announced its contest with a “Lunch with Gronk” prize, he was beside himself. If the winner were to be decided by the number of photos someone takes of his friends with this larger-than-life cardboard cutout of the promotion-savvy tight end, Steven would be sure to win. (He had taken 23 at last count two weeks ago.) Here I am, a latecomer to the game, somewhat more amused than interested or involved. I wish Steven luck. (And I thank my late friend Coral Browne for teaching me the “fingers around the side” maneuver seen here and here.)

Old South Meeting House, Boston, MA. September, 2012

Meet my friend Sam, seen here rocking this venerable old Boston institution upon the occasion of the official launch event for his new book, Ghosts of Boston, Haunts of the Hub. Sam is an inspiration. Was it really only last year that he was out of work, low on hope, wondering what he’d do next? Then suddenly, an idea to parlay his interest in the paranormal into a book about one of America’s oldest cities (and therefore chock-a-block with ghosts and other spirits.) He wrote a proposal, found a publisher, wrote the book against an almost impossible deadline (two months.) Now it’s been published and has sold out twice already on Amazon. If the famous ghosts who reside in the Old South Meeting House were at home this night, they were respectfully quiet. And rightly so.