Boston Morning Entry

Our next morning in Boston was gorgeous – we slept in a bit, luxuriating in the air-conditioned bedroom. (“This bed is delicious!” Kira exclaimed.) This was, after all, when temperatures were in the high 80’s. We didn’t want to get up, but there was much to be done – I needed two outfits for Gay Pride and a Red Sox game. Two very different and distinctive events that required two very different hats, literally. I love a shopping excursion with a mission, and the journey is always more fun than the destination. Kira and I began with breakfast at Cafe Madeleine, then took the T straight to Downtown Crossing, that necessary evil for mass shopping options.

Throughout it all Boston was in full bloom. At every step another container or garden was spilling over with blossoms. The Chinese dogwoods had come into their own, swaths of snowdrop anemones rose like delicate cotton-balls, and happy daisies smiled directly into the sun.

We had our usual cup of tea at the bay window looking out onto Braddock Park. It was my favorite time of the day to be in that position – later in the day the sun will stream in through the back bedroom window – for now, it filters in through the leaves of the trees, brightening up the table and the floors. We talked over the events of the night before, then made a loose plan for the day. These were the moments that I always ended up enjoying the most: the in-between times of anticipation and preparation, the forgotten minutes that make up a life. Learning to appreciate these instead of trying to rush through them is one of the keys to happiness.

Eventually, we had to move from the table, and with some reluctance – The day is so beautiful here! The sunlight is too perfect! – we showered and got ourselves together for a day in the city.

We strolled by the bee balm, and every shade of pink – in azaleas and rhododendrons and peonies – while deep purple irises called out like pulchritudinous sirens.

Boston in late spring bloom is spectacular.

There’s no place I’d rather be.

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