Saturday, June 16, 2018

Annals of Real Estate: Why? What?

The other day, an old friend of mine who also likes to browse real-estate listings wrote to me:
I see so many listings that look like the photos were taken by a drunk with a 2006 flip phone.
So when I saw these photos from a local new listing in the high-six-figures, I knew what he meant:

I think of exposed brick as "an opportunity to learn plastering." (Except in lofts.)

Perhaps those towels take the art of folding to a level beyond my understanding,
but that item on the left looks like a stack of sample cups for urinalysis. Chic.

It looks like an unpleasant substance is lingering in this Talavera sink,
but I think someone ruined the glaze with steel wool or sandpaper.

Usually, I credit photos from listings but, in this case, it seems kinder not to. Plus I forgot to note the addresss . . . in Brookline, maybe? 

It's probably already under contract, probably for many thousands over the asking price. 

Tuesday, June 12, 2018

Seen Around

I've returned to walking 10,000 steps on at least six days of the week, so here are some random shots from recent walks. 

An MIT student with the most ferocious backpack I've ever seen:


An ivy-covered house on Banks Street in Cambridge makes me wonder what the inside looks like:


We spotted the first lupines on the Esplanade the other night, pink instead of the usual purply blue:


A twilight view of Boston from the MIT Boathouse:


On Marlborough Street near the Public Garden, we spotted someone who could be Lion's cousin:


Old-fashioned roses outside the former Prince School on Newbury Street. Their pale yellow and cream shading makes them glow:


Sunday, June 10, 2018

My Husband Takes Better Photos


My husband took these photos of Harris yesterday when I wasn't home. I'm so envious that I've "stolen" them to post here.

When Harris decides to be photogenic, no one is more photogenic than Harris. The rest of the time he looks devious, goofy, peevish, or just cute. But he can be transcendent when he feels like it.


It's not his fault that there's a car tire stealing some of his thunder.

If I'd been around, I'd have been shooting next to husband and possibly elbowing him out of the way. But his iPhone is newer than mine and thus has a better camera, so he usually gets the best shots.

Friday, June 8, 2018

Recent Adorableness


My husband had company in his office yesterday. This is his photo. When he is working in there, Possum takes over that chair to be near him, and Toffee likes that window, but it is rare to see Lion out and about between breakfast and dinner. He usually hides, unless he's in the mood to play or thinks he can wrangle a snack from of me.

Under that drab neutral velvet slipcover is a crime scene: our shredded orange-purple-gold paisley chair, which I reinforced with bright-green duct tape before the slipcover went on. The slipcover is a success: I no longer shudder when I see the chair and nobody seems interested in scratching it. Harris has even stopped pulling off the arm covers and throwing them on the floor.

Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Wendy Is Weird

Wendy surprised me the other day as I was reading on the sofa. I heard noisy purring nearby — Wendy is louder than any of the boys — and I found her on top of the sofa cushions, within range of my hands.

She actually let me, Evil Mommy, pet her. I had my phone handy to document the occasion:


I made a terrible movie, but you can hear her purring and see that she's enjoying herself. When she walks away, you'll get a glimpse of her "party pants" — she has wide orange-and-white stripes on one leg and black-and-white stripes on the other (and cute black polka dots on her feet).


It was like she'd forgotten her eight-year idée fixe that I'm eternally plotting to Murder Her Until She Is Dead. It was weird.

Then she kept me company at a safe distance.


She looked calm and relaxed as she watched me a big change from her usual dilated pupils and high-alert, feral expression:


It was great! It was like having a female cat who liked me.

It will probably never happen again.