I’ve never been a clothes horse, in part because I could rarely get anything that really fit. Let’s say the awareness has come long after childhood. Here are some of my favorites:
Wool socks.
My big green terrycloth robe.
My stack of sweaters.
Hawaiian shirts.
Banded collar shirts.
My three custom-cut Jos. Banks suits, back when I was with the newspaper syndicate. Not that they would fit me anymore.
Bell bottoms, back in the day.
And Levi’s, which actually came in my size. Though now I’ve moved on into slacks having more pockets.
Converse sneakers, at least until the fascia plantar kicked in.
Turtlenecks, now that I’ve retired.
~*~
So what’s your own favorite attire?
Pussy willows … harbingers of spring.
Of course, this is totally unrelated to the theme. Just another thing on my mind.
We could ride in the open-air bed of a pickup. And stand up looking out over the top of the cab, the wind in our face.
Nobody made us wear helmets when riding our bicycles. None of us had helmets, for that matter. We were lucky enough to have bikes. Helmets were for football players or soldiers.
We didn’t spend half of the day on a school bus.
We didn’t have armed guards at school or even a palsy-walsy policeman.
Dental braces weren’t cool.
Boys owned a suit or sports coat and neckties, which some of us could actually knot properly.
Girls had to wear skirts that covered their knees.
Older kids might have a manual typewriter. Or even electric. Forget smart phones or laptops or social media. Thumbs were for sucking during particularly tough tests.
There were three television networks – plus an educational station in some cities. And network news wasn’t rightwing propaganda.
We all went to Sunday School. And said our bedtime prayers faithfully.
Grow lights over shelves of seedling trays in our bay window. The 24-hour lights themselves, even before all the green shoots appear and flourish.
The dramatic possibility of the biggest snows (though I could do without the digging out that follows).
Arts & Letters afternoon in the Quaker meetinghouse. We have some fine painters and writers and quilters and weavers and sculptors and even musicians. Think of it as a salon without a piano.
As I’ve already mentioned, a salon of Friends.
Cutting pussy willows. A first harbinger of spring. Many of our friends welcome the gift.
The realization we just might make it through another winter.
First bulbs in bloom. Sometimes surrounded by melting snow.
Bird migration. Especially the geese overhead.
Flying kites at the beach.
Those new wool socks from Christmas, now that they’re in regular rotation.
~*~
What do you find personally meaningful in the month of March?
Yes, an icicle. Our neighborhood can be full of these long daggers.
It’s prime time for hot soup. We’re not talking about anything out of a can or a package dropped into boiling water. These are the ones made with fresh ingredients – or things you froze in season for use later. Probably with a good homemade stock, too.
Tomato. Seriously, my wife’s is always a hit – and the glutten-free, lactose-intolerant, or vegans aren’t left out of the pleasure. Our secret ingredient is the tomatoes we cook down and stick in the big freezer in high summer in anticipation of this.
Potato-leek. Simply comforting. Again, with our own leeks. Storing them through winter is a special challenge – so far, we find peat moss works best in buckets placed at the back of the cellar.
Split pea and/or lentils. I imagine there are whole cookbooks devoted to the possibilities.
Ramen. Remember, Japan created restaurants purely for this. Forget that cheap stuff in the plastic bag – though if you do, add tofu, the way we do.
Pho. A hearty Vietnamese dinner in a wondrously big bowl.
Seafood, meaning clam chowder or lobster bisque. (OK, that’s two. I just love both.)
Hot and sour. Fresh Chinese bamboo shoots can make a world of difference.
White bean. Last one I had was an Iranian version with lamb’s neck and another eight or nine ingredients. It was heavenly. Or you can stick to a hambone. Just don’t disparage good beans, OK? (Well, let’s add a footnote for turtle black beans, especially as a great Cuban bowl.)
Ravioli. Yes, as a soup. Slurp ’em up!
Asparagus. We put those stems we cut off to work later.
Well, India’s Mulligatawany belongs on the list, too. I doubt we’re done here yet.
And the surviving strands are getting narrower and narrower, almost like spider-weave now.
Realizing how often I have – and still do – misread social cues, unintentionally hurt others, blown opportunities. I’ll even admit to some serious regrets now.
All the friendships I’ve lost along the way, moving from job to job and town to town.
Too much sensitivity to hot and cold.
Won’t ever hike the Appalachian Trail at this point. Or other similar heights.
Realize what a gap exists between me and those 50 years younger. It’s not just the technology stuff, either.
~*~
What don’t you like about being the age you are?
Snowflake cookie cutter in a kitchen window catches the sunlight.
I’m married to a most attractive and fascinating woman – even if she’s smarter than me.
We’ve settled in a good place, with good friends. Survived to get here.
Our two kids are way, way above average – and we’ve never had to post bail for either of them.
I’m not trailing an oxygen tank or using a walker.
I have a prodigious amount of literary writing to my credit. I’m actually proud of most of – I’ve written what I want.
After a remarkable life journey, I have perspectives that sometimes feel like wisdom.
My spiritual practice keeps deepening.
I haven’t run out of great things to read.
I’ve never sung better, and maybe the same can be said for my dancing – New England contras and traditional Greek. Never knew about either of them as a young man.
Somehow, we’re able to pay our bills. Most of the time.
Hardworking leaders. We’ve been blessed by people who want to get things done. The town’s made a huge turnaround in the past 20 years, from a time when the mill windows were boarded up to the vital business incubator it is today.
In general, we tend to vote more to the left, in a working-class streak. In a small state like ours, you’ve probably met the governor and at least one of your U.S. senators. And our city counselor lives across the street.
Family friendly. We actually have four high schools – the city’s (which is moving into a new building), St. Thomas Aquinas, Portsmouth Christian Academy, and the state-chartered Cocheco Academy of the Arts. The Rotary and Kiwanis clubs have been active influences in shaping this direction.
The Greek Orthodox church, one of the oldest in North America. Outwardly, they’re at the opposite end of the Christian spectrum from my Quaker plainness – something I find challenging and refreshing. But they’re welcoming and wonderful and have provided great grounding for my upcoming novel. And, as I’m finding, they’re everywhere in this town. The interior of their house of worship, by the way, is visually gorgeous.
Public transportation to Boston. C&J buses run hourly to Logan airport and South Station. They’re clean and quite comfortable. And Amtrak’s Downeaster heads to North Station five times a day – what a delight! – as well as the other way to Portland, Maine, or a little beyond.
Yes, we neighbor Maine.
Fresh food. Farmstands are just minutes from downtown, as well as two farmers markets. Sweet corn’s no problem. Pick-your-own strawberries, blueberries, peaches, and apples as well. And then there’s the seafood – not just lobster, either.
Market Basket. Well, technically it’s across the line in Somersworth, but this legendary supermarket chain is significantly cheaper than its competition while being highly responsive to its local customers. (It has the best tofu around. The Asian restaurants all get theirs there.)
Police and fire and rescue services. They respond instantly, as we found out back when we had a phone button on autodial. (And they were very friendly about it.) Just as telling, women aren’t afraid to walk home late at night downtown. And, from what we hear from immigrant communities, they’re sensitive and supporting.
Garrison Hill observation tower. The walk from our house starts through our neighbors’ yard, twists up some side streets and then through the woods to the top of the hill and then up the flights of stairs to the crown of the tower where the panorama spreads out over the village -like setting of downtown or, the other way, clear to one flank of Mount Washington. And then it’s the reverse. Great for quick exercise or a jaunt with our guests. See where we live?
For the past 18 years I’ve lived in a small city. One of 30,000 men, women, and children in addition to dogs and seagulls. And it’s felt right. Way back in my past, many folks expected I’d wind up in New York City, and while I do hold a certificate in urban studies from my university, my career took me in another direction.
Well, here are 10 reasons I like where I am:
Quaker Meeting. It’s my core community, my circle of kindred spirits, and we’re the fifth oldest congregation in the entire state. The four before us were all state-supported Colonial Puritan institutions. We were the renegades.
Walking distance to whatever is usually essential. What a civilized way to live! We’re a mile from downtown, in one direction, and the hospital, in the other. (Oh, yes, we can stop somewhere nice for a drink and not worry about having to drive home.) It’s pedestrian-friendly place, really. Cars have to stop or, well, I’ve seen them halted by cops on big horses.
I really like our mounted patrol. As do most of the kids.
The Community Trail. As long as we’re walking, we have the option of a former railroad line that’s become a narrow woodsy park heading out from the train station (I often take that route to Meeting on Sunday morning) or a riverside meander heading upstream. Sometimes I think I’m much further north, in the mountains, especially when I’m on cross-country skis in deep winter.
Centrally located. Within an hour’s drive we have Atlantic beaches one way, forested mountains in another, and the Hub of the Universe in a third. OK, Boston depends on the traffic, but I do rehearse weekly in a choir there.
Waterfalls in the heart of downtown. The river falls to the tide and runs through an arch in the big brick mill. It used to power the mill, too. The scene’s quite charming and sometimes dramatic. And salmon are returning to the fish ladder.
The city’s indoor pool. I swim a half-mile four or five times a week. Nice bunch of fellow swimmers and lifeguards. Not bad for a Christmas present!
Our neighbors. They’re a story in their own right.
Architectural diversity, as you might expect in the seventh oldest settlement in the continental U.S. We’re always seeing something unexpected when we stroll.
We’ve become the downtown for the state university one town over. A third of its students live in apartments here, so we have a bit of that college town flavor. But not so much that we lose our blue-collar edge.
~*~
What do you like about the place you live?
And for a little sobering perspective. It’s wet and cold on the bough.
Jnana's Red Barn 