tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80251807023907943092012-01-28T18:54:06.457-05:00Outpourings from an old-fashioned room in a historic neighborhood<br> in the fairest city of a very blue state<br> by a person who understands the importance of layer cake.A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.comBlogger8821100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-3660310875610070972012-01-27T21:52:00.002-05:002012-01-28T10:29:20.716-05:00

Wendy received a very large, pale green snake in the mail yesterday, a gift from her aunt. She doesn't know what to make of a toy this large, as you can see from her wide-eyed expression. I hope she warms up to it. I would love to see her carrying this serpent around, singing her head off, as she does with her little green fuzzy snake. I often choose toys based on how ridiculous they would look

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-25417283335833695462012-01-26T22:49:00.001-05:002012-01-26T22:57:17.654-05:00

I couldn't believe my eyes as I walked along the sunny side of Commonwealth Avenue this cold, gray afternoon: Last year, I first spotted snowdrops on March 9, and here they are already — springtime in January. The rhododendrons are budding, too.  Do the flowers know something we don't? Will Bostonians have warm spring weather in March for a change, instead of having to wait until May or

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-58066919257445994442012-01-25T21:32:00.004-05:002012-01-26T10:22:10.943-05:00

I'm a Facebook friend of Garnet Hill — and we're even "friends with benefits" because they occasionally have special offers, including flash sales, that are only advertised on Facebook. Garnet Hill is one of a handful of sites and stores where I shop regularly and happily. Their quality, aesthetics, and pricing meet my fussy standards. I also like the fact that they are based in New England. And

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-37913208531815534522012-01-24T14:21:00.001-05:002012-01-24T17:20:53.821-05:00

We seldom photograph Snicky because she hasn't been her former, ultra-glamorous self for a long time, perhaps three years. In recent months, she's been looking worse than ever — she's lost weight to the point of being skeletal, and a visit to the groomer in the fall left her with large bald patches in her faded tortoiseshell fur. That was not the groomer's fault, but ours, since we've never

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-56341803126140895582012-01-22T20:54:00.002-05:002012-01-23T09:05:00.700-05:00

Last night, I realized that there weren't any open houses that I was even half-hearted about seeing today, and fell into a bit of a funk. That's always my cue to broaden my online search well beyond Boston. I imagine us with a horse farm in Concord, or running a bed-and-breakfast in some sprawling, decrepit mansion in Salem. I fantasize until I remember that I love Boston best and fall back into

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-86236057533067137002012-01-21T17:11:00.000-05:002012-01-21T17:11:49.211-05:00

Thursday night's snowfall was enough to make walking dangerous yesterday morning. I was hanging around in my bathrobe yesterday morning, drinking tea and looking out the window, when I saw an older man with a cane struggling on our brick sidewalk. He was stuck, unable to move in any direction. Doomed. As I watched in horror, he began rapidly shuffling backwards — out of control on a slippery

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-69787186514364357012012-01-20T19:50:00.002-05:002012-01-20T19:54:20.224-05:00

When I told Possum about my experience at the library (see previous post), he asked me why I didn't just put my ears back and hiss if someone was coming too close for comfort. "That's what I always do," he said. "Hissing may be a nonviolent deterrent but it always means business. Be sure to show off your teeth. If that doesn't work, you should growl, but that's most effective if you have a tail

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-81566934487640245972012-01-19T16:34:00.000-05:002012-01-19T16:34:00.405-05:00

Yesterday I went to the Boston Public Library, main branch, to return an overdue book. Remind me never to get in this situation again. I joined the line as two employees worked behind the counter. To my right, a tall, broad-shouldered man with obvious mental health issues was striding around the lobby and the area where we stood in line. He was agitated, talking to himself in a paranoid,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-83684430763169123272012-01-18T21:21:00.000-05:002012-01-18T21:21:47.351-05:00

Pretty "Wainscott" d'Orsay pumps from Anthropologie, in two fabrics: peacock feathers or a butterfly garden scene. With patent leather bows that remind me of the birthday presents of my childhood. They are probably ridiculously painful, and they are ridiculously expensive for sure. But who cares? Just the fact of their existence cheers me up. They're little works of art for our feet. (Not

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-20969161398434282342012-01-16T22:34:00.001-05:002012-01-16T22:35:15.053-05:00

I just looked out the window and saw a light blanket of white. "Snow is general all over Boston," I thought, remembering the final lines of James Joyce's The Dead. Yes, the news­pa­pers were right: snow was gen­eral all over Ire­land. It was falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, fur­ther west­wards, softly falling into the dark muti­nous Shan­non waves. It was falling too upon every part of

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-8338022348715865532012-01-16T15:07:00.002-05:002012-01-16T20:27:19.997-05:00

I can't watch TV without reading, web-surfing, or doing something. I spent the Giants-Packers game sorting through more than a year's worth of papers that had accumulated around my desk — in teetering piles or stuffed into little shopping bags, a file box, and the laughably small metal organizer that was supposed to hold everything. Once again, my desk was taking its inspiration from Hoarder

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-14105073146564822732012-01-15T18:28:00.000-05:002012-01-15T18:28:51.045-05:00

I went to a condo open house deep in the South End today. Man, it was cold walking over there. I could feel my Philosophy sunblock freezing into crystals on my face. I have no idea how I managed to get my 10,000+ daily steps throughout last year's frosty, icy winter. It's already proving to be a challenge this year. (I spend many evenings jogging in place indoors, in my socks, with a book...) I

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-37510975624999475812012-01-14T15:58:00.000-05:002012-01-14T15:58:50.134-05:00

Or a coat like Julie Andrews wore as she flew around with her talking umbrella and carpetbag in Mary Poppins. I confess I've seen that movie more than any other (not counting all the Godfathers). I saw it seven times in theaters, having gotten a head start when I was five. I still proudly play the soundtrack on my iPod, and I know every word. (Thanks to Dick Van Dyke's dreadful Cockney accent,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-85577158840014396692012-01-13T21:54:00.000-05:002012-01-13T21:54:48.848-05:00

... happened during Sunday night's episode of Downton Abbey, the Masterpiece series properly adored by all Proper Bostonians. I doubt that anything that might happen tomorrow — or until the next episode of Downton — will top this line by Maggie Smith: Edith! You're a lady, not Toad of Toad Hall. It put me in the mood to reread Kenneth Grahame's The Wind in the Willows, one of my all-time

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-86097114169699994482012-01-12T21:54:00.004-05:002012-01-12T22:03:04.042-05:00

I try to keep things positive on this blog, but I have to say it: Snalbert's breath could kill someone elderly, frail, or with a compromised immune system. He has the worst breath of any cat I've ever known. If he's on the floor near my chair and opens his mouth to yawn or talk to me, I practically keel over. When I give him his blood-pressure pill at night, it's almost enough to make my hair

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-80886116097238863542012-01-11T23:59:00.007-05:002012-01-12T12:44:57.730-05:00

Last year, after I thought I'd put away all the Christmas decorations, I kept finding odds and ends I'd neglected to pack. I always leave one balsam wreath up for an extra month or two because it's so loaded with pinecones that you can't tell it's dead, and it still smells like Maine. But in the days after I thought I was done undecorating, I found the antique postcards I'd arranged on a

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-82142913516251913712012-01-10T17:19:00.001-05:002012-01-10T21:33:47.795-05:00

I went to my laptop this morning and found this: Someone had been using my mail program, but instead of sending messages, he'd opened about 100 note documents. And he didn't know how to hide the evidence. By now, I don't need proof to know the perpetrator. Snalbert.  Snictoria and Wendy have no interest in communicating with the outside world. They know you can't email a mouse to come

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-5315815787081384172012-01-09T14:31:00.001-05:002012-01-09T14:33:16.663-05:00

A pair of unlikely allies joined forces to protest the removal of the Christmas tree in our apartment yesterday. They occupied the boxes so I couldn't put away the decorations. I can sympathize with their plight: it's hard to be a Furry Woodland Creature or a Wily Hunter of the Forest when you don't have even one lousy tree to hide under. But the tree was dropping needles by the bucket-load

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-17328324147170529252012-01-07T10:41:00.005-05:002012-01-07T21:28:46.145-05:00

I feel mildly guilty telling you about these... Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Almonds with Sea Salt and Turbinado Sugar. I'm not wild about nuts; I like them well enough. But add chocolate, sugar, and sea salt, and watch out. These little devils are terribly, terribly addictive. Be warned: I hope you have more self-control than I do. One of my husband's former students gave him a tub of these

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-88620380284068121362012-01-05T22:59:00.002-05:002012-01-05T23:00:19.616-05:00

We're feeling positive that this will be the year we move. New listings are finally coming on the market after the long dry spell that began before Thanksgiving. We've been looking for almost two years; we alternate between wary optimism and despair after all this time. This living room, spotted in a current listing, cheered me right up:  I can just imagine the realtor having her typical

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-91153243204614269332012-01-04T19:26:00.001-05:002012-01-04T19:27:53.122-05:00

Without (almost) any prompting, I was lucky to receive four Anthropologie gift cards for Christmas from various family members. How did they ever guess? The cards are made of thick cardboard, which makes my wallet bulge. To spare its poor zipper, I felt I had to spend at least one card right away. There was one item I loved but didn't buy at the amazing pre-Christmas sale, when sale items were

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-41087666355959887432012-01-03T22:28:00.001-05:002012-01-04T00:10:15.457-05:00

For your amusement and horror: sculptor/photographer Carrie M. Becker's series, Barbie Trashes Her Dreamhouse. I'm amazed by the creepy authenticity of her doll-sized scenes, much of which Ms. Becker makes by hand and then photographs. I think she is ingenious and terrifically gifted to have imagined and created such exquisite miniature trash and assembled these frighteningly realistic scenes:

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-5373262366893864452012-01-02T20:03:00.000-05:002012-01-02T20:03:23.799-05:00

In preparation for the upcoming cold snap, our heavy German flannel sheets (rather than the everyday Portuguese flannel sheets) are on the bed, under the extra-heavy down comforter and two coverlets. Our bedroom is drafty, and I can't putty the windows with Mortite as I've done every winter with my injured (but slowly recovering) hand. It is complicated to make the bed when there's a massive

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-35849850180302719542012-01-01T19:48:00.000-05:002012-01-01T19:48:54.899-05:00

We came in a few minutes ago from our first Anna's Taqueria burritos of 2012. (What took us so long? The Patriots game.) I found that Snalbert had been working at my computer yet again. He loves technology and has been known to open programs, type his own commentary in my Word documents, and send the occasional email. He also once installed a FireFox update successfully on my laptop using his

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-84291392592326296892011-12-31T21:04:00.003-05:002012-01-01T22:45:54.641-05:00

Possum wishes everyone a healthy, bird-and-rodent-filled New Year and hopes you've made some decent resolutions. He plans to sing louder in 2012, get back to work on his movie career, and take more time to eat the roses. As for me, I have so many resolutions in mind that I can't decide which ones to take seriously. Later. But I will pledge that we'll have a new address by 12/31/2012. And

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-35011073052259438852011-12-30T22:48:00.000-05:002011-12-30T22:48:31.101-05:00

I'm glad to be posting after a three-day break, but I'm too full of cheese and chocolate-caramel fondues from the Wine Cellar tonight to concentrate well. Before we left for Bethlehem, we had to take Snicky to the vet. She kept trotting in and out of the litter box and clearly had a urinary tract infection. A small accident on the bed clinched it. Her timing was perfect; how lucky that she

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-81149163634400294972011-12-27T09:14:00.000-05:002011-12-27T09:14:53.058-05:00

We're heading to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, the Christmas City of the USA, to visit my family for a couple of days. We are sad to be leaving our heavily ornamented and cat-filled apartment: But things will be festive and overdecorated in the CC, too.

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-55721059344823854252011-12-26T20:18:00.001-05:002012-01-13T16:40:40.852-05:00

I suspect you were not so covetous nor avaricious as to visit the Anthropologie website on Christmas Day. I was, of course, and was rewarded with this charming quilled (curled paper) creation on the homepage: This morning, I went out early on my traditional quest for half-price wrapping paper, buying rolls at Papyrus and Crane's. Then I met my husband at Brooks Brothers for their annual

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-76564581253888920102011-12-25T14:51:00.000-05:002011-12-25T14:51:09.774-05:00

Snalbert and Possum enjoyed their presents with us. Snicky had hers on the bed, where she was napping. We haven't seen Wendy, but she quietly knocked over the fireplace screen in the middle of the night and helped herself to the sparkly balls in the top of her little stocking. She's having her own private Christmas under the bed. We opened wonderful presents galore and discovered that

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-77550873941213525612011-12-24T23:10:00.001-05:002011-12-25T00:08:26.781-05:00

Two gingerbread men from Bova's took a suicide dive last night from our kitchen counter, then tried to eat their way out of the bag. I'm not sure how they managed all that since they are securely wrapped in cellophane. I cleaned the house, polished the silver, and brought out more candles; our little place glows. But I can't wait to move! Next year, we'll have Christmas in a bigger, equally

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-75767818865998212442011-12-23T19:50:00.001-05:002011-12-23T19:51:42.124-05:00

As I posted earlier, I was not in the mood this year to embellish our Christmas presents with elaborate ribbons and handmade bows. I mostly used the pre-made, stick-on kind. Some of my relatives sniff at these as inadequate while others think they're too extravagant. As far as I'm concerned, these positions neutralize each other. I bought three bags of bows from CVS. But I had no idea that these

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-55385632281977415952011-12-22T21:52:00.001-05:002011-12-22T21:53:25.352-05:00

We were at the Brookline Star Market tonight, buying ingredients to make Martha Stewart's Chocolate Gingerbread Cookies. I needed fresh ginger and, lo and behold, I found this: Other people find Jesus on a piece of toast or the Virgin Mary in the streaks on a hospital window. I got a rat. Look — it even has a little eye and ear, and there's definitely a ratty nose and mouth. After that,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-75920093386322895042011-12-22T00:34:00.002-05:002012-01-13T16:42:54.934-05:00

Want to spread Christmas cheer — or at least the scent of it — through your kitchen? Try dropping a full bottle of Penzey's Pumpkin Pie Spice from a great height, perhaps your second-highest kitchen shelf, way over your head. If it explodes in a rust-colored cloud, as mine did tonight, The Smell of Christmas will be with you for some time to come. I almost dropped a newly filled canister of

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-1689449890397961742011-12-21T00:01:00.000-05:002011-12-20T23:48:22.438-05:00

I took a very long break from gift-wrapping yesterday afternoon to visit Anthropologie, where all the sale items had been marked down another 50 percent. This is my idea of a great sale; I know Anthropologie does markdowns on Tuesdays, but I was surprised to see this kind of deal before Christmas. There was already a very long line at the registers when I barreled in around lunchtime. The lower

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-88398116060097283652011-12-20T22:43:00.000-05:002011-12-20T22:43:49.369-05:00

I love to wrap presents. It's the ribbons, bows, and tags I can't stand. I can wrap any bottle beautifully, or any odd-shaped box, including pyramids. That's fun; I've been wrapping all the family gifts since I was a kid. But I hate fussing over the ribbons nowadays. And tags just make me tired. I bought dozens of plain gold ones that work with most of the paper I have. I try to only buy gold,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-48149636132126843742011-12-19T23:54:00.001-05:002012-01-13T16:44:18.710-05:00

After four days of wreath-decorating to the Garden Club's exacting standards, I'm in a rebellious mood when it comes to my own wreaths. This has nothing to do with the Club or their decorating rules; I love the challenge of making wreaths that are lovely and creative enough to please the "judges." It's just my nature to be contrary. So for our bedroom, I choose a wild-looking balsam wreath with

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-73287409647599276892011-12-18T21:58:00.003-05:002012-01-13T16:45:29.289-05:00

My thanks to all of you who sent me encouraging and supportive messages during the three-dumpster house-clearing project for my relative. Like a Powdermilk Biscuit, you gave me the strength to get up and do what needed to be done. My husband and I have been out of the Christmas loop for several days, so it was nice to crank up the carols yesterday and decorate the tree. I don't remember

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-77233093065943768952011-12-17T21:25:00.001-05:002011-12-17T21:25:45.842-05:00

Our relative is back at home and adjusting to life in her clean, uncluttered house. We got multiple cryptic texts and emails from the family members who were with her when she arrived very late last night and are spending the weekend introducing her to all the changes we made. There were no tantrums, no grief, hysteria, or rage. Such responses are typical; her reaction was mild. She was delighted

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-81317826966622563572011-12-16T23:33:00.003-05:002011-12-16T23:37:17.025-05:00

Our house-clearing mission is officially ended and now we are bracing for "re-entry" — my relative is currently headed back into her "atmosphere." She's currently in Framingham, en route to encounter her decluttered, sparkling clean, wreath-bedecked house. The spacecraft metaphor is apt for her for many reasons, but particularly because her re-entry could be explosive. I will keep you posted but

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-75241650590928402692011-12-15T23:41:00.002-05:002011-12-16T09:44:59.403-05:00

We bought our tree last night at Wilson Farm in Lexington. Something spicy was in their oven when we arrived, maybe gingerbread loaves. The scent was strong, sweet and intoxicating. We became drunk with Christmas spirit. We filled our shopping cart with wreaths and boughs and bows, and stared hard at their big, fat tubes of colorful frosting, meant for decorating gingerbread men. We wanted some

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-70456381354960260032011-12-14T23:20:00.054-05:002011-12-15T01:14:32.528-05:00

I saw my doctor today about my hand. My husband and I adore her. She's our age, and quirk. She's petite, with long, wavy hair down her back. She wears long, floral, Laura Ashley–style dresses with clogs, as I did in the '80s. She squints through her spectacles and chews gum constantly. Her beside manner is brisk and businesslike in contrast to her girlish appearance. But while she may not look

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-48769207123209145822011-12-13T22:34:00.002-05:002011-12-13T22:49:27.422-05:00

I guess "my" dumpster is gone now. I hope I'll run into it here in the neighborhood; people are always gut-renovating these old Back Bay townhouses, ripping out graceful Victorian staircases, moldings, original floors, and carved mantels so they can replace it all with stuff from Home Depot and their ilk instead. Don't ask me... and it's not the dumpster's fault. I didn't go to the house today;

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-52817006235300273932011-12-12T23:58:00.005-05:002011-12-13T00:44:09.799-05:00

I still have "my" 7-ton Bay State dumpster but it will go away tomorrow, packed to the top with paper and all the rusty, filthy, moldy, rotting, infested, or decrepit things that made one of us say "Eewww!" as we cleared out my relative's house. I'm so fond of that dumpster. I never imagined I would fall in love with a giant, rusting container. I suppose I actually love what it represents: a

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-85492385235001452262011-12-11T21:32:00.002-05:002011-12-13T00:37:35.109-05:00

I've loved having the giant-sized dumpster. I love watching the full moon rise over its hulking mass in the darkness. I wish it were mine, parked at my own front door, daring me to fill it up with the unnecessary accumulations of daily life. I think everyone should be allowed a dumpster for at least a couple of days every year. Heaving and dragging things into it is so fulfilling that I can only

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-56132788296789576132011-12-10T23:35:00.005-05:002011-12-13T00:38:33.161-05:00

We made great progress with the house-clearing today. Dozens and dozens of boxes of papers were sifted through and tossed. Broken items, old furniture, dead plants, and other junk disappeared into dumpsters. Yesterday's overflowing 2-ton dumpster was replaced with a 4-ton model this morning, but to our newly experienced eyes, it looked too small for our needs. And we filled it before noon. The

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-38296321461210132182011-12-09T22:40:00.003-05:002011-12-13T00:38:12.223-05:00

I'm right smack in the middle of my ten-day December manual-labor marathon: Four days of decorating wreaths, followed by six long, dirty days of clearing out and cleaning an elderly relative's house; she has been a hoarder, mostly of paper, for more than a decade. The house has been in horrible condition for all that time but people are free to live as they please in this country — as long as

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-32627407301031995912011-12-08T23:55:00.002-05:002011-12-09T00:13:06.876-05:00

Garden Club wreaths are now bedecking doors and interiors of houses all over Back Bay, the South End, and further afield. With my trusty ice pack and gloves, I made six wreaths today, for a total of 23, beating my record of 22 from last year. I wasn't very uncomfortable; I paced myself. I decided to work primarily with large-scale materials today, so I'd need fewer items to fill the wreaths,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-43592518817251298932011-12-07T23:51:00.001-05:002011-12-08T00:04:04.202-05:00

I once wrote an article for a health magazine about Blackberry thumb. I may be the only person alive with wreath thumb. A cold pack, Advil, a couple of hours' rest, and cotton gloves helped me finish five wreaths today. My left hand is swollen and sore between the wrist and base of my thumb, an area I've never thought about before. I think it's called the "carpal metacarpal joint," a silly name;

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-20287522822194248892011-12-06T21:59:00.003-05:002011-12-06T22:09:30.771-05:00

Today I made six wreaths in-between stuffing myself with those yummy little cinnamon rolls that Whole Foods sells in clear round tubs. The Garden Club provides a generous breakfast, lunch, and snacks for the wreath crew, and they always have these rolls. I believe I ate one per wreath today and, frankly, they are the real reason I volunteer every year. At home, I no longer graze all day long;

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-50996243443997734602011-12-05T21:42:00.000-05:002011-12-05T21:42:26.109-05:00

Every year, the Garden Club of the Back Bay makes and sells hundreds of elegantly decorated holiday wreaths. The proceeds go to support the planting and pruning of the neighborhood's street trees. We work in a church basement that's transformed into a well-stocked workshop where dozens of women are busy decorating, supervising, organizing, sweeping up the considerable mess, and making bows. I

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-71982550323528608002011-12-04T20:36:00.000-05:002011-12-04T20:36:36.262-05:00

No, not the month. For heaven's sake. March is such a lame month that I've been driven in the past to post stupid lists of Semi-Positive Things About It. I'm talking about the novel, March, by Geraldine Brooks, a parallel story of Little Women from the parents' points of view. I had no idea it had won the Pulitzer in 2006 until tonight, or I probably wouldn't have read it. (There's a sticker on

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-90249016944840553372011-12-03T22:35:00.001-05:002011-12-03T22:37:07.734-05:00

I passed this garden on Commonwealth Avenue today: It's not a great photo, sorry. (I need a better camera.) But I hope you can still see that, while the tree has lost almost all of its red leaves, all those rosebushes are still working their tails off. Every bush had blooms and most had buds. They weren't among the happiest roses I've seen — they looked like they were wishing for sweaters —

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-50584376675132241422011-12-02T23:04:00.000-05:002011-12-02T23:04:59.186-05:00

The ordinary things we use daily can make our lives either more pleasant or more frustrating. I'd like share some practical finds that have proven themselves "perfect" chez the PB. Let's begin with the kitchen towel. I wonder how many hours (days?) of my life in total I've spent pushing water around and around on wet dishes in my attempt to dry them. It seems I've never owned a decent kitchen

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-47848329945164970932011-12-01T22:55:00.001-05:002011-12-01T22:57:08.263-05:00

I think August (Maine!) is my favorite month. On the other hand, September is perhaps an even more wonderful time to live in New England. For that matter, October often has September beat for autumnal beauty. May and June are usually glorious, too. Perhaps it's best if you can't make up your mind — that way, it's your favorite month for half the year. December is another No. 1 favorite of mine.

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-26386544431549953442011-11-30T13:29:00.000-05:002011-11-30T13:29:24.191-05:00

A few years ago, I found an Aerolatte Milk Frother in my Christmas stocking. It looks like this: Santa knows I don't drink coffee and that I'm not crazy about specialized appliances and battery-operated gadgets in general. But he also knows I'm a pushover for a cup of warm cocoa or an enormous glass of chocolate milk. It used to bother me that strangers like Santa knew so much about me — and

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-71363519427225854232011-11-29T20:47:00.001-05:002011-11-29T20:50:50.458-05:00

This week was the first time I ever Christmas-shopped in flip flops. I've enjoyed our balmy November. It's great to wear a sweater instead of a coat. Even snow-loving moi prefers not to be slip-sliding on ice while shlepping shopping bags. It unusual that I was able to start shopping in November. I usually can't drag gift ideas out of my family until deeper into December. This year, several were

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-50153605667863392112011-11-27T23:49:00.002-05:002011-11-28T09:03:55.621-05:00

Well, hush my mouth. I resisted getting a new iPhone despite my husband's daily entreaties to let him buy me one. He kept insisting I needed it, citing reasons I disagreed with or didn't understand. I suggested that it was shallow and materialistic to be embarrassed if your wife uses an antiquated iPhone 3G in public; he's said he wasn't. I think he said it had something to do with iCloud and

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-23117043283264029512011-11-25T07:55:00.002-05:002011-11-25T22:57:51.460-05:00

I'm still thinking about that house. I'll get over it. Another great house will come along, probably within the next FIVE YEARS. Or so. I'm fussy. Possum has been trying to cheer me up, although he admits he'd like to live in a real house, where he could chase Wendy up and down stairs, have his own room, hunt "things" in the basement, and nap under the grape arbor on warm afternoons. (Yes, it

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-8135484942798991552011-11-24T06:30:00.017-05:002011-11-24T06:30:03.578-05:00

Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way. This Native American saying appeared on the cover of the latest edition of The Back Bay Sun. If you happen to have a curmudgeonly relative or friend at your Thanksgiving table, who feels he has little or nothing to be thankful for, spring that on him. I know I have plenty for which to be thankful, this year and every year, but it never

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-66717304651732035792011-11-23T15:26:00.001-05:002011-11-23T17:30:01.566-05:00

I found the recipe for Ina Garten's Baked Chocolate Pudding in Good Housekeeping magazine, which keeps showing up uninvited in my mailbox. I would never subscribe, since I have a little problem with keeping too many magazines, so I rigorously edit my subscriptions. I called and emailed to ask them to stop it but it still keeps coming. I probably have this recipe in one of my four Ina Garten

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-60218953473708608232011-11-22T22:29:00.000-05:002011-11-22T22:29:38.442-05:00

We internally kicked ourselves today (we're very flexible). A few weeks ago, I reported that we'd seen the perfect house in Somerville. We'd procrastinated over visiting it because we love Back Bay's elegance and convenience (but not its big prices, tiny outdoor spaces, and noisy-neighbor situations). We're trying to keep an open mind about other neighborhoods that have their own benefits (

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-71831265494527598312011-11-21T21:46:00.000-05:002011-11-21T21:46:01.343-05:00

... but it's more than a month away. By then, the premature garlands on this Commonwealth Avenue townhouse will be just like poor old Marley in A Christmas Carol: "As dead as a doornail."  Maybe the budget for this building includes two rounds of decorating: one in November, plus a refresh closer to the actual holiday. Anything is possible when people have money to burn. Pretty. But

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-24799077903291225802011-11-20T11:29:00.006-05:002011-11-21T11:49:13.732-05:00

Lauren Bush and David Lauren. Photo: Bruce Weber. When Ralph Lifshitz and his brother Terry changed their last name to "Lauren" in the 1950s, they could never have dreamed of Ralph's future success as the premier American style-setter of the late 20th century. Even if they did imagine he'd be a smashing success in the fashion business, they could never have foreseen that their chosen surname

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-57993109130382993592011-11-18T23:47:00.023-05:002011-11-20T19:16:18.567-05:00

I'm back to blathering in my usual, tedious way: 1. Jury duty is our civil obligation. Among other responsibilities, we are obliged to be civil, no matter how difficult the trial or deliberations may become. Only judges are free to be stern, cranky, impatient, or whimsical. That's because judges are way cooler than everyone else — and not merely because they wear robes from Hogwarts and have

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-22790629606786181052011-11-16T23:45:00.000-05:002011-11-16T23:45:38.481-05:00

I spent so much time talking, listening, and chewing over ideas during deliberations today that I am clean out of words. I have nothing to say. I am cherishing silence and the absence of concepts. I'm going to bed to recover. I will resume blathering in my usual, tedious way tomorrow, probably. Wait! I have a few words left after all: In my absence, Snalbert has claimed the new iPad.

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-70221865915213696622011-11-15T23:22:00.006-05:002011-11-16T21:27:53.707-05:00

I've only worked at home since Wendy and Possum arrived two years ago, and now Possum is feeling neglected because I've been away on jury duty for a week. He said he wasn't getting enough conversation, food, petting, toy-chasing, and love. He didn't see why I couldn't stay home if I felt like it. It's another of those situations that reveal gaps in his understanding. Remember when he thought that

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-29502470722057696452011-11-14T23:48:00.000-05:002011-11-14T23:48:29.852-05:00

I don't watch much TV, but I have reached the conclusion that jury duty is like being an involuntary cast member on an unusually monotonous reality show. I'm not sure that's a bad thing, although I wish we had more breaks for commercials and someone to do our hair. After today's session, I returned to that pop-up crèpe restaurant, Doré, and ordered the "grilled cheese" crèpe with some additional

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-91251908722975675872011-11-13T20:31:00.000-05:002011-11-13T20:31:34.876-05:00

This was finally the week to enjoy brilliant canopies overhead and crunching through piles of leaves. We can look forward to another pretty and mild week to come.

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-48544888022824421712011-11-12T23:53:00.003-05:002011-11-15T17:57:19.690-05:00

I rarely bother with science fiction movies. I don't care if our planet is about to be blown up or the world is about to end in some even sillier way — when the whole cast is wearing polyester unisex uniforms, like they do on the Starship Enterprise, I feel they deserve everything that's coming at them. And in these movies, the world never ends anyway. It gets saved at the last minute, always a

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-70082254123210430202011-11-11T23:34:00.000-05:002011-11-11T23:34:46.313-05:00

There are more than 16,000 steps on the pedometer tonight. That's as many as I'll accumulate during a long day of traipsing around Paris if I don't get lost much. How did I get so many today? This morning, I went to Fenway Studios to return some materials my husband borrowed from a conservator. I'd never visited there before this week, but I've been there four times now. It's a wonderful place,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-83470377434056590012011-11-10T21:49:00.000-05:002011-11-10T21:49:16.059-05:00

Today I read that there's been an intriguing pop-up crèperie in town since June, and it closes in just nine days. Oh, man! Finally! I haven't had a decent crèpe in... 16 days. It's called Doré Crèperie, at One Beacon Street. Read all about it on Boston.com. Why didn't they tell us all about it months earlier? And why don't they ever provide the restaurant's address in their food stories these

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-53938754490272993212011-11-09T20:31:00.000-05:002011-11-09T20:31:44.239-05:00

Yes, it's that time again. I get called every three years like clockwork. After a few hours of tossing and turning last night, worrying that I'd oversleep and be late for the 8 am orientation, I got up at 2:30 because I thought it was 6:30. I've been only semi-awake ever since. Whenever I was lucid during the orientation video, I thought it was well done, but I couldn't agree with the former

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-30846589711285295872011-11-08T21:45:00.004-05:002011-11-08T21:59:10.352-05:00

1.  Bad... at least for fabrics and floors. Whenever you drop something that has peanut butter on one side of it, the object will always land peanut-butter side down. I've tested this (albeit informally) frequently enough to have my findings accepted by a scientific journal. Unfortunately, I've been too busy cleaning up peanut butter to have jotted down all the data required for publication. I'm

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-6547493622860177172011-11-07T19:45:00.000-05:002011-11-07T19:45:23.851-05:00

Today was a perfect day to walk in The Fenway. The trees were in color, the leaves were crunching, there was bright sunshine and a tiny bit of snap in the air. It's doesn't look or feel like November. And that's just fine. The sky was vivid blue and the water was like glass, except when ducks and Canada geese ruffled it. I always spot this big bird when I'm over there. I think it's a

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-48405330368561292812011-11-06T22:43:00.000-05:002011-11-06T22:43:35.313-05:00

We just made it through Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet. We ate eggs, meat, eggs, low-fat dairy, eggs, and the more boring vegetables — and after two weeks, we're done. We go through loads of packaging on this diet because we're going through bottles of V8, packs of rubbery cheese, cartons of cage-free you-know-whats, and more meat than we usually eat in a few months. We only cheated twice,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-68531965935563523332011-11-05T19:03:00.005-04:002011-11-06T08:48:11.763-05:00

We were carrying bags of groceries home tonight in the cold, as the sun was going down. Waiting to cross Commonwealth Avenue, we stood behind a group of four people with two little boys. Our attention was drawn to the young woman carrying the smaller boy. She was casually dressed in a cropped leather jacket and flared olive-green stretch pants, which flattered her unusually long, slender legs.

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-19283176208894797052011-11-04T21:38:00.002-04:002011-11-04T21:42:54.328-04:00

Last winter, I rediscovered the advantages of wearing long shirts and sweaters over leggings tucked into riding boots. This is what I wore when I took riding lessons in my 20s, and I've always liked the look. For a couple of years now, this style has been ubiquitous. And why not? If you're in reasonable shape and your coat or sweater is long enough to conceal whatever needs concealing, a pair of

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-60039687374553620062011-11-03T23:49:00.000-04:002011-11-03T23:49:55.185-04:00

Snicky has lost a pound and a half in the past three months. She weighs 4.7 pounds, about half of her normal adult weight. She's weaker than ever. We knew she felt much thinner and took her to the vet tonight. Our vet is fairly certain that there's something seriously wrong, but doubts we'll ever figure out exactly what it is, since Snicky is too old and fragile for extensive testing. She's so

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-28002056744404797132011-11-02T10:49:00.003-04:002011-11-03T00:02:27.802-04:00

Possum saw my last post about the iVictrolas and iPad typewriters at Anthropologie, and was not impressed. "What a waste," he said, a stern expression in his handsome hazel eyes. "We have a perfectly good stereo with an iPod dock and you don't even use your iPad. You are a conspicuous consumer." "Now, Possum," I replied, "I was just having a little fun. These are unusual, creative products. I

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-3167509659693587152011-11-01T10:50:00.002-04:002011-11-01T15:12:09.451-04:00

I'm generally on the cutting edge of the passé. I spotted these wonders on Anthropologie.com yesterday and knew I had to share them — even though it seems they've been around on other sites (Etsy, etc.) for quite a while. But I love their mix of old and new technology and brands. This USB typewriter ($798) is made by a guy in Philadelphia and can function as an iPad keyboard (clickety-clack,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-38424477118005667172011-10-30T16:42:00.001-04:002011-10-30T16:56:32.615-04:00

Our bed is always covered with cats now that our fluffy down comforter is back in use. Do they enjoy that extra layer of soft warmth? Or do they like the smell of goose down? They won't say: too busy napping. Possum recently discovered the pleasure of crawling under a blanket to snooze: Hmm. I think it's my turn now...

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-57089876231777348122011-10-29T17:06:00.001-04:002011-10-29T17:10:56.405-04:00

Beating the storm, we visited our favorite holiday hangout, Wilson Farm, for Halloween pumpkins. As usual, the place was hopping. This wall of pumpkins is something new — at least we don't remember it last year — and wonderful. I spotted a perfect little Cinderella (or cheese) pumpkin on the wall, near the ground and snagged it, replacing it with another. Such a wonderful, creative display

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-50809112219945555942011-10-28T17:27:00.033-04:002011-10-29T17:40:22.957-04:00

We always carve a pumpkin for Halloween, and we follow the old Celtic tradition of keeping it lit (or trying) until dawn so any wandering spirits who have died in the past year will have a warm place to rest before they leave the earth (check-out time is November 1). When it's my turn to be a wandering spirit, I plan to stay at the Hotel Danieli in Venice or the Hôtel de Crillon in Paris, but if

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-22019359545513160022011-10-27T22:31:00.000-04:002011-10-27T22:31:19.347-04:00

Finally, serious sweater weather — even coat-scarf-hat-gloves-boots weather — in late October. I didn't mind today's nasty, cold rain in the interest of wearing heavy socks, boots, and a toasty turtleneck instead of flip flops. It feels good to dress like an adult again instead of a camper. Even a louche, unemployed-or-work-at-home adult who actually dresses more like a student.... They're

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-52413981504761735662011-10-27T21:49:00.002-04:002011-10-29T17:13:10.334-04:00

Wendy and Possum have taken up a new sport, Pairs Slacking. This sport's competitions are high-pressure, breathtaking and emotional — similar to those in figure skating. But here, the nitpicking international judges are looking for unison in lazy posing and an exquisitely lethargic attitude in each lounging couple. Pairs Slacking isn't as easy as it looks. That table is hard. The judging

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-69782747938055661932011-10-26T15:53:00.005-04:002011-10-26T16:06:17.716-04:00

I heard this song today (in Anthropologie, where else?). It transported me back to the Latin Quarter, just where I'd like to be. Marie Laforêt recorded it in 1966 and her lyrics tell a different story from the original Rolling Stones song. Had to share it with you...  Be sure to crank up your sound!

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-17530156531316626562011-10-25T19:08:00.004-04:002011-10-26T18:55:26.515-04:00

We're in Day 3 of the South Beach Diet (SBD). Months (or years) of whoopie pies, cupcakes, layer cake, brownies, chocolate, triple-cream cheeses, and everything else under the sun have resulted in us looking tubby. In Paris, over 72 hours, I consumed three huge croissants slathered with butter, jam, and Nutella; I also had two smaller chocolate croissants, a sugar bun, an enormous pain au

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-69752683669803851262011-10-23T21:54:00.001-04:002011-10-25T11:28:34.328-04:00

My camera, a Leica C-Lux that's a few years old, got the blues on Saturday. Most of the photos I took on the last two days of our trip were all blue. I corrected them in Photoshop, but they still look like aging Kodacolor. I tell myself it's an aesthetic choice. I've known for months that I need a new camera but I wasn't expecting this one to develop mood swings. When it's not in its depressed,

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-78925994236766810272011-10-22T19:58:00.001-04:002011-10-25T09:54:08.593-04:00

On Saturday, my husband went to the Louvre in the morning, an easy walk from our hotel. I did some shopping. I tried on boots and bought Poilâne walnut bread to bring home, and caramel èclairs. Also elegant French toothbrushes and an absolutely strange cough medicine with codeine that tastes as green as it looks. (I've had a lingering cough from a cold.) I struggle to describe the taste: woody?

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-10725619463107334392011-10-21T21:02:00.001-04:002011-10-24T22:13:56.255-04:00

On my second morning in Paris, I was alert and determined to explore new neighborhoods. I had two new guidebooks in my bag, Secret Paris, compact but very heavy, and Parisians' Paris. Each was full of interesting, out-of-the-way places but using them together was confusing because they defined areas differently and Parisians' Paris has no maps. I found my way using a third guidebook, Access

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-8225454517072390292011-10-20T23:45:00.002-04:002011-10-24T21:02:15.299-04:00

After the always-a-nightmare overnight flight to Paris, when it's impossible to sleep or even get comfortable in rotten, cramped, coach-class seats, the rest of our travels were a breeze. No lines for customs or luggage, no problems getting the train to the Left Bank. Then we emerged from the Metro at St. Michel into a crisp, sunny day and our first view of the Seine. We rolled our suitcases on

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-46052557290075890512011-10-19T15:00:00.000-04:002011-10-19T15:00:10.083-04:00

We'll be there tomorrow (if the plane lands).... Well, I'm packed, although I wouldn't say I'm traveling light. Rolling clothing saves lots of space, allowing me to fill my little spinner suitcase with plenty of options, two pairs of boots, and a couple of books. My carry-on tote is embarrassingly heavy with guidebooks and magazines to read on the plane, and plenty of other stuff, too. But

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-28970304321202649032011-10-18T21:00:00.001-04:002011-10-18T21:25:46.344-04:00

I should be packing for Paris. We leave tomorrow for a very short trip. I have my usual plan to "pack light," which means a heavy carry-on tote with food, guidebooks, camera, pashmina and socks, magazines to read and leave on the plane, and much, much more. Then I have a small, carry-on spinner suitcase for everything else, which I check. And it will be bursting with way too much stuff if things

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-34036673022670007272011-10-17T11:50:00.004-04:002011-10-17T12:03:36.769-04:00

Saturday was Possum's "Gotcha Day," the second anniversary of the day we adopted him. It also marks the day he transformed me from a normal cat person to a besotted nutcase who gets physical pangs when we're separated for a few hours and gets her kicks by comparing him favorably with movie stars. We celebrated by taking Possum and Wendy to the vet for their annual Wellness Checkup. They didn't

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-50546068205887436992011-10-16T15:31:00.006-04:002011-10-16T15:43:06.665-04:00

Yesterday we saw the tribute corner for Steve Jobs in the Apple Store on Boylston Street. My husband found the written messages very moving, while I admired the stained-glass effect as light poured through the colored papers. I was unmoved — and I'm kind of a sap, usually. I wondered why people do it, since I've never had an impulse to leave notes or flowers at one of these temporary shrines.

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-85533183856852976272011-10-15T14:46:00.002-04:002011-10-15T14:51:27.250-04:00

Last night's Harvard bash turned out to be even soggier than we feared. We arrived for the indoor reception in a driving rain, as opposed to the pouring rain that came later. The hosts were distributing plastic ponchos for those going to the Tercentenary Theater for the real bash. We mingled, ate our cheese and crackers, and left when the rain simmered down a bit. The Tercentenary Theater was

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-17263481284046668602011-10-14T17:57:00.001-04:002011-10-14T21:09:14.176-04:00

We're invited to a big outdoor shindig tonight to celebrate the 375th anniversary of my husband's employer. Naturally, it's raining buckets at the moment but — no worries — it's supposed to stop, to be immediately followed by night of violent thunderstorms. It always rains when we go to outdoor events across the river, so this is no surprise. But since the PB has to get dressed up, it adds

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-9518250065654647862011-10-13T22:24:00.000-04:002011-10-14T08:26:04.744-04:00

My thanks to my friend Penny, who sent the mushroom photo in my previous post to an expert, Russ Cohen. He subsequently dashed my hopes, telling me it's merely Leucoagaricus leucothites or Lepiota naucina. At least its description says it's an uncommon species, and also this: Edible but best avoided due to possible confusion with poisonous species.   You bet. You can read what Mr. Cohen says in

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-49938273833208015312011-10-13T20:24:00.000-04:002011-10-14T08:26:28.355-04:00

I'm interested in mushrooms. I photograph interesting ones we spot, usually when we're hiking in Maine. I like to compare my photographs to those in my mushroom guidebooks, but I often end up so confused that I surrender and renew my vow to never, ever touch a single wild mushroom because the edible ones look just like some that are so poisonous you shouldn't even handle them. (I never pick the

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8025180702390794309.post-57419300287561978152011-10-12T23:07:00.000-04:002011-10-12T23:07:30.281-04:00

Snicky went to the groomer at 7:30 this morning. Since I don't wake up until 9, even if I'm dressed and out of the house long before that time, I don't remember much of the experience. But our groomer is a supremely wise, unflappable person, so I try to listen carefully to everything she says. We both have great respect for her. She was, after all, the only groomer in Greater Boston willing to

A Proper Bostoniannoreply@blogger.com8