June 30, 2012
Codman Farms, Lincoln, MA. August, 2011
On the afternoon that Hurricane Irene blew into New England and then blew out again, James came over in his truck and we headed out to his garden at the Codman Community Farms. It was windy and wet and there were many trees and power lines down, including some that closed one whole street, attended to by chainsaw-wielding workers just as we approached the farm. His end-of-summer crops of cabbages, beets, tomatoes, peppers and melons looked wonderful in the dampness of the afternoon. And, almost needless to say, because of the weather, we were the only ones at the garden. Still, this sign that James has posted reminds that at other times the abundant plots often attract light-fingered visitors.
June 29, 2012
Plaça del Pi, Barcelona. November, 2010
My friend Karen is a graphic designer who loves repetitive patterns. So I’m hoping she likes this window display in the knife-and-scissors store just steps from our go-to hotel in the city’s Barri Gòtic. I love little shops in Europe, each the antithesis of “big box” stores here in the US of A. And this is one of my favorites. Dark wood walls and cabinets, lighting fixtures that have probably been in place since opening day many, many years ago. Offering a different kind of tool for each use (nails, hair, fabric, kitchen), the proprietors are serious about their specialty...but also might close shop at a moment’s notice to go for a coffee nearby. Thankfully, they keep their beautiful windows illuminated through the night, dazzling one and all.
June 28, 2012
San Diego, CA. January, 1990
I was in Los Angeles for the press event for the 10th anniversary of PBS’s Mystery! for which I had written Vincent Price’s introductions for many years. “Event” is the correct word, too, as star Diana Rigg called in sick and was replaced at the last minute by Jeremy (Sherlock Holmes) Brett (who was loudly admonished by the press agent, “And lay off the booze before your speech!” Brett, by the way, paid no attention whatsoever to this warning.) The next day, I took the train south to visit my friend Eldon. We went to take jumping pictures and eat fish tacos at the Hotel del Coronado (where Some Like It Hot was filmed) and passed stores with names like “Guns ‘R’ Us.” I also recall walking through the Hillcrest neighborhood and learning the name of the local gay bowling league: Spare Me. In the midst of all this excitement, however, I looked up and spotted this somewhat blasé local resident.
June 27, 2012
Rome. November, 1984
When I first went to Rome, I thought the word guasto meant “telephone.” I saw handwritten signs with it posted on so many public phones throughout the Eternal Città that my error was not without some justification, I think. Actually it means “broken.” Here it is in its feminine form, indicating that there’s something wrong with this beautiful mailbox. Guasto is a good word to learn before going to Italy, so often does it appear throughout the country in so many different applications. Another useful term to master: in sciopero. “On strike.”
June 26, 2012
West Newton, MA. June, 2012
I often find myself at meetings in church basements. And no meeting room is finer than this one at a Universalist church not far from my home. It’s used as a children’s classroom during the day and the walls are happily decorated with examples of the youngsters’ views on life. For example, this eight-year-old (almost nine) was asked to list a few things that he enjoys. Witness his answers, simple and direct. Once in this same room, I was amazed to read what had been the kids’ responses to “What is God?” This was a question I’d been struggling with for years. Honestly. I’d read the Bible, the Koran, the Tao Te Ching and many other spiritual guides, hoping to find some answer I could embrace and be comfortable with. Nothing. Then, there among the “God is a friend” and “God is a father” and “God is my cat” scribblings, I read this: “God is incomprehensible.” Bingo! I could relax. This bit of wisdom (from the teacher, I’d guess) was just the answer I’d been searching for, and it’s served me well for years now. (On a related note, my last drink was 30 years ago today. I like living.)
June 25, 2012
Mergellina, Naples. October, 1984
When I arrived in Naples for the first time (on an overnight train from Zurich), I experienced a little bit of culture shock. The Swiss follow-the-rules behavior was nowhere in evidence in this anything-goes Southern Italian city. For example, the “don’t throw anything on the tracks” signs in the main train station were almost completely obscured by the mounds of cigarette butts tossed at them. With my Let’s Go guide in hand, I headed by subway to the nearby neighborhood of Mergellina. Less riotous than the centro, it still had the Napoli craziness that I came to love. Cars still did not stop for red lights, which made crossing streets (especially the six-lane route along the waterfront) a challenge. But once across, lovely moments such as this reward the survivor. When I returned to Naples four years later with Nick, we also opted to stay in Mergellina, returning to the same, rather basic family-run place I’d visited before that Nick promptly dubbed the Pensione Squallido.
June 24, 2012
Watertown, MA. May, 2011
When the day’s Groupon offered 50% off an Syrian-Arabic cooking class near my home, how could I resist? It had three essential elements that appealed to me: ethnic food, a bargain, all within walking distance. And even though I am spoiled by the wonderful cooking classes that my friend Nick teaches, I wasn’t disappointed by Ahmad’s class at his spacious and spotless Yasin Culinary kitchen. Seen here, one of two dishes we prepared that night, Fetet al-Hummos, a stew made from whole chickpeas sitting on a bed of crispy torn pita bread, raw broccoli florets, all bathed in a sauce of pureed chickpeas, tahineh, garlic, lemon juice and Aleppo pepper. Then sprinkled with more of the pepper, chopped parsley and melted butter. I was glad that we were able to eat what we made. Simple, straightforward, healthy and good.
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