Make It New

30 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Green Life

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ripped vest

My old life: if it’s broken, ripped, or torn keep it around for a few months or a year, finally, regretfully throw it out.

My new life: if it’s broken, ripped, or torn, keep it around for a few months, remember the tailor, do some research on the internet, take it in for repairs or attempt (more than once) to repair it myself, once repaired, add back to my collection.

As illustrated above, you can infer that I dislike throwing things out. Ever since I learned about landfills (or worse, dumping castaways into the ocean), I’ve cast a doleful eye on trash. Curious, then, isn’t it, how long it still takes me to remember the tailor, the internet, my own two hands -capable of simple mending and/or surfing the web to locate someone with more skill!

Black, Brown, Green, and Cyber

28 Monday Nov 2011

Posted by in Green Life

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Leaves fly by

This year, I had the idea to convert Black Friday into a crafting/reading/writing day. Instead I took a nap.

If I hadn’t been so exhausted by the week’s earlier activities, I might have answered the call of quilt, book, holiday cards, novel-in-progress, or blog. In my younger years, I participated in cruising shopping mall parking lots for that elusive empty space, bleary-eyed scanning the piled boxes of new electronics, hunting for something good (and cheap) that may or may not exist (or actually be cheap.)

Since moving to Boston, I’ve adjusted my habits from participating in events like Black Friday (or Brown or Green Saturday) to devoting my teeny holiday gift budget to farmer’s market finds, craft fairs, and local, independent shops. Certainly, this marks a change in my values and capability (um, can’t haul a TV home in my panniers and IKEA is too far to bike) but also I’ve realized that the true appeal of shopping at 1 AM wasn’t the shopping, it was the togetherness.

The goods, the economy, that tiny surge of purchase-conquest -I’ve realized that none of these marked my true reason for braving the money-slinging hordes. It was sitting in the back seat of the car, my mother and brother up front, music on, street lights flashing by, headlights and tail lights of approaching and passing vehicles reflecting on all our faces.

This past Friday, I continued my true tradition: pulled on my shoes, hoisted my reusable shopping bag and bleary-eyed from my nap, set out on a walk down the ave with my closest available family –my partner.

How did you fare this past Friday -what color did you paint it?

Looking Forward, Looking Back (And Gratitude)

24 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in Boston Moments

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My life in Boston continues to amaze me.  Just in this past week I:

  • Danced until 12:30 PM at the second JP vs Somerville Dance-Off in support of Boston’s own Girl’s Rock.
  • Volunteered for my ninth consecutive year at Pie Central, sorting and quality checking pies for Community Serving’s enormous and enormously profitable pie bake sale.
  • At work, hosted the 40th Annual Thanksgiving Potluck Feast, where at least two hundred community members attended and ate turkeys (purchased by my job, roasted by volunteers) and more dessert than is probably appropriate.
  • Swung by late to my friend’s pre-holiday potluck, where I successfully bombed at a game of Cranium.

The hours I’ve kept:

  • Sunday: 1:30 AM arrive home, by bike
  • Monday: 10:30 PM arrive home, by T, lugging bike
  • Tuesday: 10:30 PM arrive home, by bike
  • Wednesday: 10:30 PM arrive home, by bike

Exhausted?  Yes!  Luckily, at all the above events, I’ve been graciously accompanied by friends, whose energy and enthusiasm inspired my own.

I often compare my experience here in Boston with my younger life in Jersey. Naturally, I’ve had a lot of good times in Jersey, but when I think back to high school, it doesn’t escape me that my scheduled looked more like this:

Weekdays: Up at 7:30 AM (groggy), 8:20 AM school, 12:30 PM bus to second school (a story for another day), 2:30 PM school end/bus back to my home town, 3:00 PM work at library, 6:00 PM picked up by mother or brother, 7:00/8:00 dinner, 9:00 PM homework, 11:00 PM bed

Weekends: Hang with mother, aunt, cousin.  Knit/crochet.  Read.

I don’t mean to imply that my life in Jersey wasn’t a perfectly good life -I was safe, loved, happy, and had all the library access my little heart desired.

Still, (here comes the gratitude), how very thankful I am for strange, funny, exhausting, and beautiful Boston moments!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Bike helmet on chair

Bike helmet in costume a la JP Halloween Bike Ride

Phoebe’s Best in Boston Favorites How-To-Say-It?

21 Monday Nov 2011

Posted by in Boston Moments

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One of the roles I’d like this blog to fill is a written celebration of my personal Boston (and Boston-area, I’m looking at you, Cambridge) favorites. From area-events to flora and fauna to singular moments in my memory. I’m not sure what to call this collection, but I’m kicking off the series with a tree I see frequently on my excursions to Arnold Arboretum, just five minutes from my apartment.

I’m open to name suggestions for my series!

Have you ever seen such a massive, gorgeous, precarious tree? I wonder often how the nearby homeowners feel spying it each day, wondering if, someday it might crush their house.

Favorite leaning tree on way to Arboretum

MBTA Confessions: Don’t Ask, Just Help!

17 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in Boston Moments

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Giant-binder-clip

One my least favorite activities on the MBTA is to lug my bike and full panniers from Cambridge to Boston. Last night was no different so, as I stood swaying, gamely holding fast to a break lever to keep the bike from rolling, I amused myself with memories of strange, bygone rides.

I’ve had no less than three silent rescues while riding the Green line back in my Allston days:

1.) Struggling to open a GIANT binder clip (see illustration above) while shoving a fat stack of papers into it’s metal maw, I had a male rescuer look on with what I can only assume was amazed pity. Naturally, he stepped forward on the crowded D-line train, oddly silent, and gesture for me to hand him the clip. I did. This resulted in me holding my clip-captured papers on my lap as I tried to decide if I should be amused or embarrassed.

2.) Waiting for a B-train in Park Street, I struggled to open a glass juice bottle.  I tried with both hands, using the cloth of my shirt, grasping the bottle between my knees.  Just as I reached my highest level of voiceless frustration and gave up, a man (notice a trend?) stepped forward and held out his hand.  In silence, he proceeded to open the bottle with a crisp pop and hand it back.  I almost didn’t want to say thank you.

3.) Rinse and repeat #2.

Now, I’ve tried on myriad occasions to assist fellow T-passengers, elder women lugging carts, parents with strollers or pack carriers, people who’ve dropped articles of clothing.  Often, my assistance is declined.  So -combined with the above I can only conclude that, going forward, I should either a.) suddenly become a tall, silent, white man or b.) stop asking and just start helping.

In Which Phoebe Learns How To Climb A Tree

15 Tuesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Learnin', With Friends

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This morning I thought, innocently, “Why am I having a hard time lifting my arms?”

A good portion of the day passed before I realized the answer: on Sunday I’d climbed a tree using ropes and various clamps and tools I can’t name. I’m not even sure how high the tree was. I hadn’t intended to be in it, but I’d tagged along with my partner and a few friends following our weekly coffee hour at City Feed and Supply. One thing led to another, and I found myself following the instructions of our friend Andrew, a self-taught naturalist and long-time recreational climber, inching my way up a stately white oak.

tree-climbers

Back during summer, I’d similarly found myself doing something curious with Andrew and friends: spying on a collection of bee hives at the Boston Nature Center in Mattapan from a safe distance –until that distance was no longer safe and we had to run away! And then we respectfully chased some wild turkeys at a nearby community garden.

Here we see Adam turkey-stalk

It does not escape my notice that I continually, accidentally enjoy the types of adventure that many people pay good money for, and I do it for free. Or, more accurately, I do it for the price of my own curiosity and willingness to give things a try, my drive towards meaningful connection, my interest in feeding care into the relationships that support my partner. For this gift, I’ll gladly bear the sore shoulder or two.

Meet My Bike

09 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Bike Life

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I thought I’d introduce you to an important member of my family. I never loved Boston more than when I started bike commuting from Jamaica Plain to Cambridge. Every weekday, I travel a little over twelve miles to and fro, more when I have evening activities (which is most evenings.)

05_19AThree years in, I’ve logged somewhere in the neighborhood of 5000 bike miles per year. Each winter, I find myself extending my season a little further because it hurts to be off the bike. Typically I’m not a jealous person but watching someone cycle past on a bright day, no matter how bitter cold or how bundled the rider, makes me yearn for my wheels.

Meet my rusty, trusty stead: a pink Raleigh mountain bike hybrid circa 1990s(?) Also known as:

  • The bike
  • My bike
  • The $60 police auction special
  • Heaviest bike on earth (not true, my Huffy was heavier)
  • The tank
  • The rickshaw

Panniers-annotatedMy “trunk” used to be a plastic milk crate, but I quickly outgrew that. Now I’ve a large set of bright yellow Ortlieb panniers. Unlike the bike, they’ve got actual names: Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I named them in part because I have trouble with left and right. So Fred “rings and bell” and Ginger “turns on the light.”

This past fall, I got a death sentence for the bike: frame rot. Sadly, I know our days are numbered. In the meantime, I will continue to appreciate it as the best bike I’ve owned in my adult life, purchased from the first auction at which I hefted a number, hand trembling with anticipation when I won my “prize.” What a prize it has been.

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