Browsing all posts in November, 2007.

Nov 30th
Friday

A creamsicle moon frosts the twilight treetops somewhere in the distance . . .
a dark and serene sky, the canvas
I need a sliver of this star-filled tranquility for thousands of reasons
and my soul sleeps

It’s at the corners of Solace and Hope
that I realize the Boulevard of Dreams is gridlocked, my mind cries out for home
searching desperately for an avenue out . . .
and my snow-covered soul sleeps on

A dying creamsicle moon gives birth to the ever-reddening dawn
and somewhere a candle flickers, a baby cries and
an already fragile world offers up a ray of hope that shines on my soul,
still fast asleep
but searching for that elusive sliver of tranquility
and a reason to finally believe . . .

Nov 27th
Tuesday

boston-sunset-700.jpg

Lass hit me with a tag several weeks ago to do a meme.
And though I’m not big on meme’s I figure I owe her one.
Lord knows, I’ve managed to snake my way out of a few of them but this one was actually interesting in many ways.
And the fact that Lass is a good friend and has been on my blogroll since I started this whole blogging thing.

Without further ado here are a few of the “bests” in my area.
I’ve decided to give you a tour of Boston (my second home).

Best Place to Eat:

This one is almost impossible to answer in a city like Boston.
There are just too damn many great restaurants.
If I had to pick a few I’d have to say L’Osteria on Salem Street in the North End. This is your quintessential Italian bistro. When the warm crusty bread and salad make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven, you know the meal will knock your socks off.

After having the Veal Piccata, I’m still searching for my socks.
Another incredible restaurant is the East Coast Grille in Cambridge @ Inman Square.

It’s mostly a fish type of place but beef dishes are over the top (ask my wife).

This funky little place is unique. Period.
I had Grilled White Pepper Crusted Tuna with House Pickled Ginger, Aged Soy Sauce, Pacific Farms Fresh Wasabi, Grilled Vegetables & a Spicy Bok Choy Salad.
This meal had me moaning (once again, ask my wife).

I can’t wait to go here again. My birthday is in January so . . .

There’s the Rattlesnake on Boylston Street with the best damn catfish Po’ Boy I’ve ever had in my life.

I’ll wrap this up with Al’s State Street Cafe with their State Street Special: prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, fresh basil leaves and thinly sliced plum tomatoes, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar served on a crusty French baguette.

Hungry yet?

Best Shopping Mall:

Not really a mall but a wonderful place to hemorrhage multiple Franklin’s; Faneuil Hall
Click on the link and take a “virtual tour”.
If you’re a woman, send hubby to the Union Oyster House.

You’re going to be a while . . .

Famous Landmark:
Should be plural for Boston.
Driving into the city via the Mass Pike the Citgo sign in Kenmore Square greets you (and every other Red Sox fan).

After that the Pru (Prudential Center) and the John Hancock buildings can’t help but catch your eye. They’re huge and stunning. I take them for granted. Shame on me.

There’s Paul Revere’s House, the Old North Church and last but not least Fenway Park.

Best Tourism Attraction:

The Freedom Trail

Symphony Hall

&

Fenway Park (again)

This list could go on ad nauseum.

Best Place for Kids:

Museum of Science
is a pretty safe bet.
It’s huge, loud and a ton of fun.
(once you find the effin’ place)
The frozen “Duck Pond” on the ‘Common” is great in the winter months for skating, the summer months for swimming.

Popular Outdoor Activity:
Walking, running, skiing, snowboarding, skateboarding, ice skating, roller blading.
It all happens here.

Breath-taking views:
Top of the Pru doesn’t suck on any given night and a four hour ride north of the city will put you in North Conway, New Hampshire in the heart of the White Mountains.
On a clear, fall day the view is spectacular.
Ever seen leaves explode in technicolor?

Only Found In:

Yawkey Way (Fenway Park)
You haven’t lived until you’ve walked this stretch of pavement on a Red Sox gameday.
The smell of simmering sausages and onions is a sacred thing.

The Zakim Bunker-Hill Bridge is a magnificent structure that connects Boston to Chelsea and beyond; awesome during the day, a religious experience at night.

Berklee College of Music; my alma mater. Scary. Cool school.

Newbury Street- Boston’s very own “Rodeo Drive”.

Though this list could turn itself into a book, I’ll stop here.

Should ever you find yourself in Boston, drop me a line.

I’ll meet you at Foley’s for a Guinness or three.

~m

Nov 26th
Monday

“Stumble aimlessly amid the trolls and waste, but remember what peace there be in staring at your toes for a couple of weeks. As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all readers. Publish your posts quietly and clearly, and listen to podcasts, even the dull and garbled, for they too have a right to hog bandwidth. Avoid loud and aggressive bloggers. They are pains in the ass . . . “

This is without a doubt one of the best posts I’ve read lately.
I found it through Rain.
(And if you haven’t visited her yet, shame on you.)
Now click on the “Desiderata” above and prepare to be thoroughly entertained.
This is brilliant.
And yes, I wish I’d written it.
No comments are neccesary here.
Save them for Ian.

~m

 

Nov 23rd
Friday

It was a cold, brisk November night several weeks ago that Pamela and I went out to dinner (a rare occasion), not an expensive “date” by any means; a burger and a shared salad along with a few Shipyard Pumpkin Ales which were quite good, one or two and you’ve had your fill of this delicately spiced brew.
Maybe it was the up and coming holidays that turned on the “memory” faucet for me but for some reason I began thinking about my mother. (big surprise, huh?)
When I think about her, I really miss talking to her.
I wonder if that feeling will ever stop?
The two just go together, I guess.

It was no surprise that I found myself on Sunday afternoon making a big pot of Beef Stew, a recipe that I adopted from her.
The simple act of cooking something she used to make brings her back to me, in a quiet and introspective kind of way.
She’s almost standing next to me in the kitchen and to be honest, I love it.
Strange, huh? Not really.
After Thanksgiving dinner, I found a great seat on our “way too comfortable” living room couch and joined my daughters while they watched “Ratatouille”, the Disney flick (and a real good one at that).
I’m not giving anything away regarding the movie but now and then souls and memories intersect for reasons unknown.
This simple children’s movie spoke to me deeply.
Sheesh. It’s Dizzney.
Go figure. (one scene in particular)
Should you ever care to watch it, maybe you’ll understand where I’m coming from, maybe not.
I’ll just say that special dishes are such a beautiful and lasting thing in terms of our deepest fields of memory.
Our minds literally refuse to forget the special foods we ate and loved as children.
They bring us back.
Way back.

It was no surprise to me that the beef stew came out as good as it did.
The simple act of re-creating a recipe my mom once made me feel so good.
Maybe she had more to do with the end result of the beef stew than I did.
I like to think of it that way, anyway . . .

~m

ps.
My mom’s beef stew recipe is up for grabs for anyone that wants it.
If there’s enough interest, I’ll post it here at S&M.

Nov 22nd
Thursday

A little something for after the turkey dinner.
Achtung, baby.

[youtube=http://youtube.com/watch?v=MugQDD2FcKQ]

Nov 19th
Monday

The next few days will find me laboring in the kitchen.
Not a great time for blogging.
I’ve had a few great ideas over the past few days but they won’t see the blog until sometime next week.
Please be patient.
I may be around, I may not.
But don’t get too excited.

A Happy Thanksgiving!

to all of my readers!
Be safe, be well and damn you if you’re frying your turkey.
Sommmm’ bitch, I’m jealous!
Talk to y’all in a few days . . .
Peace, Out
~M

ps. as far as which one I’d stuff?
Guess it all depends on how many people I’m trying to feed.
Later, folks

Nov 16th
Friday

Thanksgiving is next Thursday.
If you like fungi, check out my own recipe.
3/4 cup vegetable oil
1/2 cup Cider vinegar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
basil leaves
peppercorns
crushed red pepper flake
1 clove of garlic, crushed
2-3 bay leaves
Heat all to a boil and simmer 1o mins
Add 1 lb to 1 1/2 lbs cleaned, sliced mushrooms
Simmer for 3-5 minutes.
Cool and serve.
These ‘shrooms rule.

~m

Nov 16th
Friday

For every fork in the road, there are often two paths to choose from,
the one you “should” take and the one you want to take.
Take the second.
Always take the second.
Just my opinion . . .
Have a groovy weekend, folks.

~m

Nov 12th
Monday

I’m amazed on a daily basis as to what I can find on the net. From obscure colognes like Salvador Dali to disgusting products such as the turdtwister, the speed at which the internet puts these things at our fingertips is downright scary.

I was looking for neither of the above products but I was looking for a song from a long time ago. I remember the video as well as the song but I couldn’t for the life of me remember the name of the artist(s) that performed it.

Where’s a guy to go?
I Googled the first line of the song:
“you don’t know how to ease my pain, you don’t know . . . “

Man, Google delivered faster than a Josh Beckett fastball.

The name of the song was “Cry” from a band that went by the name of Godley and Crème. Godley and Crème?
You may know these guys better as 10CC (I’m not in love)
Interesting track record for these two guys. Chances are you’ve seen videos they’ve produced.

I’ve posted the video below because I wanted to watch it again and share it with those of you who may remember it.
I know of at least two bloggers that will watch and listen to this and say, “He’s lost it. I think he’s gay.”
Though I’m a blatant heterosexual, I’m posting it anyway. :0)
Very cool tune and a great video.
Check it out.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1Z8pSXCNFI]

~m

Nov 10th
Saturday

When I was a little boy and needed an answer to the multitude of questions life threw in my path, I would ask my mother.
She was an all-knowing, mystical 8-ball in human form, I didn’t have to pick her up and shake her for a reply.
And I didn’t get “Signs point to yes,” or “Ask again later,” or “Outlook good,” as a response. I got advice on the inner machinations of the female mind, sticky social situations, manners, clothing – it didn’t really matter; my mother had an answer for virtually everything and I could never quite figure out how she got so damn smart.
But she was.
It’s evident now that she didn’t have some predictable icosahedron spinning around in that head of hers like the ubiquitous manufactured 8-ball.

It’s frightening how many questions have pig-piled their way into my brain since she got sick. They never stop coming in, a veritable hailstorm of unanswerable queries.
I get to a point these days where they get mentally filed for future processing.
There’s no other way, right now.

Last Sunday morning (the last day of my week off), Pamela and I took a ride to my mother’s grave.
It was a beautiful, crisp-as-a-new-fallen Macintosh fall day with abundant sunshine and a slight breeze, the aroma of burning leaves from someplace nearby oddly reminded me of frankincense.
We sat on the rose granite bench bearing my mother and father’s names and retreated to our own respective ‘quiet places’, both of us pondering some considerable ‘life thoughts’.
I’m thinking about the approaching winter and how I’m going to get the coal we need to stay warm. And I’m thinking about the fast approaching Christmas holiday and how we’re going to stand up to all its financial and emotional stresses.
I know Pamela is thinking the exact same thing; Christmas? . . . not again?!?
Something’s gotta give, and soon.
Pamela spotted a new gravestone off in the distance and got up to go and see it and I followed her.
It was a fairly elaborate jet black headstone with two smaller stones on each side.
This was the resting place of a 10 year-old little girl named, Victoria.

She died on December 21, 2005.

We stood there staring at the stone, both of us shedding tears for a little girl we didn’t even know, silently wondering how in God’s name her mother and father got through the holiday season and we began saying prayers . . . for all of them.
And here we were thinking we had it rough with our three beautiful, intelligent and loving daughters that we could go and hug anytime we wanted.
Damn, we were so incredibly fortunate.
We walked back to my mother’s bench and sat down taking in the endless miles of cerulean fall sky.
I couldn’t help but feel that my mother had found yet another way to give me an answer to a question I’d yet to ask.
We drove home in a very different mood. And our life was good.
We just needed to open our eyes to see it.
Thanks, Mom, for teaching me to remember to cherish all that I have . . .

~m

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