still the smallest town in the worldPosted: November 26, 2007
Is it wrong that I want to go back to my life of Riley in Boston? I am detoxing hard, y’all. It was so great. I got *fed*. People never feed me; I always feed them. R and I were sitting on the couch, reading, on Thursday and there was the smell of onions and olive oil coming from the kitchen and J and the Boston girl made soup. It was so weird and great to smell food and have nothing to do with its production. Okay, so I did cut up the onion, but then I sat on my ass on the couch, aka my bed, and read. R and I looked at each other, wide-eyed with wonder – food! For us! Wow.
In other, fascinating Boston news, I ran into a friend from here in Virginia while I was up there in Massachusetts. Randomly ran into her in a bar (after our amazing hot tub experience). We walked into said bar near the Boston kids’ house and stood in the doorway, scoping the scene for a minute, and suddenly, like a flash of joy, my old friend M was standing with her arm around me. She is the original mama of the Cat Not Yet Pictured on Caved (the bad cat, if you must know). I’d emailed her before I went up there, but she was slammed with family and guest dogs and so didn’t get back to me until Saturday. I figured I’d missed her, as I already had plans for that night (Teh Hot Tub), but no! There she was in the bar, smiling her same smile. Icing on a cake of a trip.
Here is one of my ever-astute observations from this trip. Folks in Boston don’t say “hey” to you the way folks in Virginia do. You know how it is: you’re walking down the street and you see somebody coming towards you and so you make eye contact, you nod, or say “hey,” or “how’re you,” or *something*. And you keep walking. But in Boston, no dice. I kept readying myself for the greeting-in-passing, but I never got any eye contact! Folks were nice, but no “hey,” no nodding, nothing. Weird, huh?
On the other side of the spectrum, Boston girl and I went to the North End to see the sites and went looking for something to eat. We stopped in front of Dolce Vita and while looking over the menu, a short, fat, cute, clearly Italian old man came out and declaimed the virtues of “his” restaurant. “You vegetarian?” he asked? Well, the Special Antipasto! So good! And for me, the omnivore, well, there’s veal, or chicken! Not so much on the quantity, but the quality! So good! We were sold; he was so cute! Once inside, he snapped his fingers and said, “2 here!” to nobody in particular, and toddled off. We didn’t see him again.
Do you think I’ll be able to write about anything else ever?