Today as I went to Herrells to get a cup of coffee, I noticed this skateboard that someone took time to bold to the bus stop sign. It’s a
Mt. Auburn Cemetery on Febuary 29.
I had never been to Mt. Auburn Cemetery in the winter until I biked there this afternoon on a sunny, 30-degree day. Mt. Auburn became such a regular part of my life last year and it seemed like a shame to experience it in every season but this one. I didn’t know what to expect and at first I didn’t quite know what to look for.
This afternoon proved to be a perfect autumn afternoon to stroll through Beacon Hill with a friend. After lunch at the 77 Pub, we wound our way leisurely through the narrow streets, exploring alleys and sidestreets as we came upon them, pausing in mid conversation to admire one mansion or another, taking everything as an excuse to prolong our meandering.
This morning I took some time to myself and spent my first hours as a 30-year-old at Mt. Auburn cemetery with may camera and my walking shoes. After breakfast at Zaftig’s in Brookline and before heading back to BC for work, I lucky enough to find myself in Concecration Dell where I noticed the green film that had been accumulating during the summer now had a layer of new-fallen leaves embedded in it. Contemplating the leaves in a a garden cemetery seemed like a fittingly meditative way to begin my third decade –just enough momento mori to set a reflective mood without getting too morbid.
If you walk around Allston Village, the neighborhood of Boston where I live, you may notice the graffiti and street art that appears on walls, lampposts, sidewalks, and just about any other public surface. No doubt these contribute to the slightly dumpy feel the neighborhood has, but they also can provide ongoing, dynamic commentary on what it means to live in this particular corner of the city.
A few days ago, I was walking through my neighborhood and noticed this image of a rat spray painted on the sidewalk. Bizarre, I thought. Why would someone take the time to create a stencil of a rat and then spray-painted it on a random section of sidewalk? Someone clearly has too much time on his or her hands. Or this person’s sense of humor is just absurd enough to make them represent our neighborhood’s rat problem in this form.
This is the Allston Congregational Church building (now owned by the Brazilian World Revival Church)
Before leaving Fargo, I pick the last raspberries from my parents patch along the side of the house. It brings back memories of my grandparents farm south of Fargo where the supply seemed unlimited. As kids we would
This sunny Sunday afternoon I strolled around Lake Harriet after having ice cream with some friends at the Edina Creamery. As I often do when I’m in the Twin Cities visiting family, I found myself relating to this place neither as tourist or native, but as prospective resident.
This week I’m at home visiting my parents in Fargo, ND. This picture is of their house which was built in 1917 and was where my mother grew up. My parents moved there just after I moved away for college. Because I often visiting my grandparents here and because it’s only 6 blocks away from the house I grewup in, this feels like as much, if not more, than our other house.