A strange encounter

I should have written this in March when it happened...but I had forgotten I had such a thing as a blog. Which might mean I have no business having one, but that's another entry.

It is March 1st, a dreary day in Boston, and I am walking around the Jamaica Pond in deep, difficult conversation with the woman I am dating at the time. We are trying to figure out whether it is worth the effort for something so new--we are, afterall, lesbians. Mid-sentence, her battery dies, and I am left hunching my shoulders against the cold, fighting back tears and the disappointments of all my lost loves who gather like ghosts huddled behind me in these moments. The sun, which was peaking out from dark clouds at the start of my walk, disappears and I think it's only right. And then it begins to hail, the sky hurling tiny chunks of ice at me, stinging at my cheeks, and this seems right, too. And funny. I'm overcome with a giggle at how well the gods seem to know me. Of course, hail. Of course, now.

For a moment I am gentler with myself as the weather is harsh, sending the ghosts scattering into the woods. My eyes are wet but nothing falls. I round the bend along the Jamaica Way, almost done with my lap, and before me is an older man--maybe 75--in a bright red parka and mittens. His hair is white and his cheeks are more red than rosy. He's cold. I don't look away like I normally would, and he waves his hands out in front of him, all mittens and expectant eyes. "Hello, hello!" he says.

"Hello." I'm afraid he's mistaken me for someone he knows. He seems, potentially, crazy, but I remind myself this could be because he's being friendly during a hail storm.

"I wonder," he says, "if you might put my hood on for me." He raises his arms to show me he cannot reach behind his head.

I assess him a moment longer, comtemplate the risks, assure myself I am stronger than he is, and decide helping him is worth the potential dangers. I come in close to him, where I can get at his hood, which is lined with fake fur and has an elastic band around it. I am close enough to embrace him. I have to pull the hood up over his head and the elastic band and the fact that his coat is zipped up to his chin make this harder than seems reasonable. Only as I'm struggling to pull it up over his head do I notice the ear-flaps, which I tug on. And then he's in and somehow I'm smoothing his coat at his shoulders; it seems the right thing to do, like he is my five year old son.

He smiles at me as we stand inches from each other, looks me right in the eye, and then turns to walk away. Before he's more than a step or two he turns back. "Hey," he says, winking. "Send me the bill!" and then he walks on. And I'm left with this sweet little moment, an unexpected intimacy with a complete stranger during a hail storm, and I wonder what the gods are trying to tell me.

Fruit Smoothies on a Sunny Winter Morning

I start every day with a fruit smoothie and a cup of coffee. I figure it's hard to have a terrible day if it starts out so good. And the smoothies are pretty, so even if the day is gray there's something lovely in my cup.

My brother and his wife are big fans of a raw food diet and green smoothies. While I can't claim that my smoothies equal theirs in nutritional content, I can claim that mine are far tastier and pretty damn healthy, too--not to mention prettier. But, in honor of them (and my own health), I have recently started adding some green things (I'm pretty happy with a spring herb salad mix right now, plus some avocado and a spring of fresh basil). So, in the interest of actually publishing something to my blog after so long (and such a lame last post--nothing else happened, by the way), I thought I'd walk you through making a great smoothie.

You'll need: Vanilla Rice Dream (enriched, of course); 1-2 scoops of Kashi Go Lean protein powder (also vanilla; I prefer Kashi Go Lean as it tends to blend smoother than a lot of other powders); flax seed or flax seed oil; one banana; half an avacado; a quarter to a third of a cup each (or some combination) of frozen strawberries, mango, blueberries, raspberries; three quarters of a cup of herb salad mix (any mix will do...though I will say that romaine throws the taste off, while something like spinach doesn't); the leaves from a sprig of basil; a quarter cup vanilla yougurt; and a decent blender. It sounds like a lot, but it only takes five minutes to make and will yield about 30 oz (I'm completely guestimating this) of smoothie. If you can get your hands on fresh fruit, add it! I love to add a pear when I have one; peaches; apples; and other frozen things sometimes, too, like pineapple, peaches, cherries. The fact of the matter is that there really aren't fruits I'm aware of that can't be blended together to make something really tasty.

I find it blends best if you add about 3/4 cup of the rice milk, then the powder, then the banana, then the green things, frozen things, yougurt, and top off with more rice milk. I've never measured how much rice milk I end up using, but I would guess it's around 12 oz. Blend it until it's smooth (add more rice milk if it won't blend all the way through), and enjoy!
You can drink it all, or put the left over in the fridge for later. It's a great, tasty way to get a couple servings of fruit and a serving of vegetables to start you off on your day and it really takes very little time...I can even do it before coffee!

Revisions

So, today I'm actually going to deliver the note, though much changed. My roommate read it and thought it a bit wordy (I thought, me? wordy?) and I agreed. Oh, and there was the "upstairs neighbors" problem some of you pointed out (Thanks!). Here's the new version:

Hi Steve,

We got your note. Sorry our door is keeping you from sleep! We will certainly try to be quieter in our closing of it. Unfortunately, it's an old door on an old house, and, as it's the door to the outside, it's surrounded by weather stripping so we have to pull it into its frame to shut it all the way. That said, we don't think there's anything wrong with it (it sounds just like your front door), but if you want to talk to David about it please feel free.

Best,

Your downstairs neighbors

We'll see what happens.

Later I'll post some photos from yesterday's Sox parade.

"Slamming" Doors and the Wonder of Upstairs Neighbors

When I got to the bar last night, I had a moment of dread, because I realized that I did, in fact, want the Sox to sweep and I had gone and made it harder by not wearing my smelly 2004 World Series socks and my smell Jason Varitek t-shirt. Thank god they rely less on me than they do on each other!

How great was that win?!?

So, on the way home from the bar, Nikki and I did our best rendition of the Papelbon Irish jig to every passing car. Great fun. Though not so great on the bar-food filled stomach topped off with a bit of hard cider. There is nothing like winning a championship to bring a community together for that fleeting moment. It's surreal and wonderful, the tragedy is that we can't find other things to bring us together in euphoria.

Okay. I'm changing the subject and the thing is that you can't stop me, what with this being my blog and all. I'm changing it for a reason. Maybe even two. First, because I'm mostly speechless about the Sox, and second, because this crazy thing is happening in my building. It goes like this.

I live on the first floor of a typical three-family abode in Jamaica Plain: three floors, three apartments. Yesterday I found a note in our mailbox from our upstairs neighbor that read as follows:

Hi downstairs neighbors--

Could you please, please, please not slam your front door? Especially very early in the morning and very late at night, it's quite disturbing as I sleep right above your entry way. If the door needs to be fixed, please let David know. Thanks so much,

Steve, Apt. 2

Sweet Dreams!

Number one, there's nothing wrong with the door (the lock's a little sticky, but that's beside the point). Number two, if we ever slammed our door this might be a reasonable note for us to receive. But we're not really a door-slamming kind of folk. It's a front door. It has weather-stripping all around it to keep out the wind and other elements, and with such, has to be pulled shut into its casing...kind of like most front doors. It does that "fwump" thing into its frame; it might even shake the house a little...much as their front door does. It's true, one of my housemates leaves the house every day at 6:45...to go to her place of employment helping troubled youth. And finally, none of us come home past 11 on any normal night.

So, my question is this: what the fuck, Steve?

The other thing that adds nicely to this scenario is that Steve has a habit of building things--like with hammers and sanders and shit--in his room, so that we often have to turn up our television just to hear it. And that his room is an add-on; they wanted to cut down on their rent so they converted the space above our entry way into a bedroom. And one of them is a loud-walker. An all hours of the night loud-walker. And my room is situated just under the stairs, so I hear them every time they come or go. In other words, they aren't exactly quiet neighbors themselves.

But let me be clear about one thing: I have lived here for over two years and we have never left them a note about the noise they make. Mostly because we live in an apartment and other people's noise is one of those things that just kind of comes with apartment dwelling, right? I mean, if we were having raging parties at all hours on a regular basis, practicing our drumset (which we don't have...this is just an example) every night at 11, having screaming fights on a weekly basis, etc., well, then you might have an actual cause for leaving such a note. But asking people to not come into or out of their home unless you are fully through with your sleepy time is just insane. I mean, honestly, if you are stupid enough to choose to take a room above somebody's front door, you're going to have to deal with the consequences.

The thing is, now I feel like I have to respond. If I don't respond he's going to assume we are "slamming" the door on purpose (which, I will admit, my housemate did do this morning just cuz she was so annoyed by his note). If I respond as I do here, he'll feel all attacked and shit. It's important to me to have a good neighborly relationship with the neighbors. It makes for much easier living all the way around. But why are people so inept at seeing themselves? How is it that he can't deduce through the sheer fact of him living above us that we deal with his noise every day, too? Why pick this fight?

So here's the note I think I'm going to write him:

Dear Steve,

We're sorry our front door is keeping you from sleep. We can certainly try to be quieter in the closing of it, but we want to assure you that we don't "slam" our door and there's nothing wrong with it...it's just a front door, surrounded by weather-stripping and encased in its original wood frame. In fact, it sounds exactly like your front door when it closes (which we hear, too). I know it's annoying to hear your neighbors (the stairs to your apartment are along the wall of one of our bedrooms, so we hear all your comings and goings, too), but unfortunately, that's just part of apartment living.

If you're really concerned about it and want to ask David if he can do something about it, please feel free. We just don't think there's anything actually wrong with it.

Best,

Your upstairs neighbors

Diplomatic, right? I'd just like to state for the record that if this starts a pissing match, I'm all in. I'm not one to back away from childish behavior. But sometimes it just seems like playing at adults just makes more sense.

I'll keep you posted.

When the World Series is Boring We Let Our Minds Wander

I want the Red Sox to win. Of course I do. But wouldn't it be better if the Rockies gave them a little bit of a fight? If it seemed a little less like batting practice for the Red Sox and a little more like two really good teams duking it out?

I have a confession. I want the Rockies to win tonight. Just for that glimmer of competition, that small doubt that is the driving force behind every true Red Sox fan, that moment of dread. I've even decided to stop wearing the lucky socks and shirt, unwashed since we won game 5 of the ALCS. I'm not going to wash them. But I'm not going to wear them either. Remember the last World Series we won? Aside from the euphoria built into the meaning of the win, wasn't it a little disappointing? To just go in there and wallop the hell out of another team after fighting so hard to get there in the first place? Where's the drama of sport in this? Nikki, my girlfriend, refers to the National League as Triple A. Maybe she's right.

I have another confession. While watching game 3 at the parents' of a friend, I got to share a lazyboy with Jersey, the fluffiest, sweetest golden retriever perhaps known to man. As I've been in some serious dog-withdrawl for over a year now, I loved every second. I scratched her almost violently, whipping her fur up all over the place only to discover later that she was infested with ticks. Okay, so there was one, but I figure they're like mice, right? If you see one, there must be many others hidden from view. I spent the rest of the night assuming an army of ticks had imbedded themselves into my most hidden parts, feasting away while we routed the Rockies. I even made Nikki do a full-body tick check before bed.

This is kind of a lame first post. But I'm only blogging to avoid my homework. That's right. I started blogging today to avoid work I must do. How did people live before the internet?