You can't get any more summer than that.
Showing posts with label Revere. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Revere. Show all posts
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Cruisin Down the Coast Goin' Bout 99 (Route 1, Summer, and Sol Bean)
As far as I'm concerned, everyone should take themselves on a drive up Route 1, play 101.7 so loudly it drowns out Google Maps, steer with one arm, and dance with the other.
Lana Del Rey kept playing today. I didn't mind. On an Indian summer kind of day, driving somewhere I'd never gone before, it seemed right. You know, DJs used to play Will Smith's Summertime when the weather got warm. Now they play Summertime Sadness.
One summer ago, I spent a lot of time on Route 1, going up to Revere Beach or the North Shore. For me, it's impossible to be on that road and not think of summer. With the sun streaming through the car windows and a smoothie to look forward to, I could still pretend that it was summer today.
At Sol Bean in Middleton, I got a Tropical Colada smoothie (coconut water, pineapple, spinach, mango, and coconut butter), plus an Athena quinoa bowl with chicken. The smoothie was so good. It was green and refreshing and it tasted like straight up pineapple. Best parts of the quinoa bowl? A seriously ample portion of hummus (totally beat the chicken for flavor) plus warm quinoa. The menu is huge and I would happily try another smoothie (maybe the Purple Rain next time).
I sat outside on the porch. Yeah, the porch overlooks Route 114. But at least it's a pretty part of 114 (green leaves, green hills, and cows) and I was happy to be outside.
When it was time to leave, I got in my car and turned the volume to low. I had to pay attention to get back to Route 1 and I got confused. But as soon as I was back on Route 1, it was a straight shot to Boston. So the music came back on.
Lana Del Rey kept playing today. I didn't mind. On an Indian summer kind of day, driving somewhere I'd never gone before, it seemed right. You know, DJs used to play Will Smith's Summertime when the weather got warm. Now they play Summertime Sadness.
One summer ago, I spent a lot of time on Route 1, going up to Revere Beach or the North Shore. For me, it's impossible to be on that road and not think of summer. With the sun streaming through the car windows and a smoothie to look forward to, I could still pretend that it was summer today.
At Sol Bean in Middleton, I got a Tropical Colada smoothie (coconut water, pineapple, spinach, mango, and coconut butter), plus an Athena quinoa bowl with chicken. The smoothie was so good. It was green and refreshing and it tasted like straight up pineapple. Best parts of the quinoa bowl? A seriously ample portion of hummus (totally beat the chicken for flavor) plus warm quinoa. The menu is huge and I would happily try another smoothie (maybe the Purple Rain next time).
I sat outside on the porch. Yeah, the porch overlooks Route 114. But at least it's a pretty part of 114 (green leaves, green hills, and cows) and I was happy to be outside.
When it was time to leave, I got in my car and turned the volume to low. I had to pay attention to get back to Route 1 and I got confused. But as soon as I was back on Route 1, it was a straight shot to Boston. So the music came back on.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Summer Days
I am on a long, hot run through the Financial District. I'm sprinting down Atlantic Avenue and suddenly decide to veer under the arch of Rowes Wharf. I work my way out to the water and along the wharf and I'm about to turn back to Atlantic when I take a big breath. Salt air. I stop, facing the water, and breathe. Salt air.
Salt air means only one thing to me: landing in a tiny plane on the airstrip in Nantucket, popping my head out of the airplane and being so happy to smell salt air. Summer after summer, year after year, I'd walk down the stair cart that had been rolled up to the airplane, breathing in the air and knowing that we were finally there, that we had a month ahead of us. A month of kite-flying and bike-riding, frappes from the soda fountain at Nantucket Pharmacy, Quidnet Beach, morning walks to Sconset Market to get the New York Times (for my parents) and chocolate milk (for everyone under the age of ten). And there was clam chowder, but I was little and didn't like seafood, so I would order clam chowder just to get the oyster crackers. I read and read and read those summers and I won the kids' reading contest at the Nantucket Atheneum library several years in a row. The librarian eventually had to disqualify me because I always won. If I couldn't sleep at night, I'd lie in bed and watch as the light from Sankaty Lighthouse flashed through my bedroom window. I'd count the seconds between each strobe of light and I'd eventually get too tired to keep counting.
***
Much later that day, I'm on Revere Beach. We've spent the day reading and lounging in our matching beach chairs, wading into the water, buying cups of frozen yogurt at Twist & Shake. It's late in the day, about 3:30 or so, but the afternoon is magnificent. It's sunny with just a little breeze, the light is golden, and the beach is calm. I pull out my iPhone and I open up Pandora. I'm playing the 90s pop station -- you know, N'Sync and Backstreet Boys -- but then Eric Clapton's Layla comes on.
And I think of the kitchen in Nantucket. The stove with the quirky pilot light, the big wooden table, and the tall chairs painted light blue. Were the chairs really light blue? Memories play tricks on us. But I think they were light blue. In the corner was the white wicker chair and near the countertop was the radio. I remember Layla playing on that radio. Did Layla really play? I think it did. And even if it didn't, my memory of Eric Clapton playing on the radio as we sat around the big table and shelled peas fresh from Bartlett's Farm is a good one. So I will keep that memory.
It's a truly beautiful afternoon. I have to be back in Boston for a 6pm board meeting. I look over at B and say that I don't want to leave the beach. I never want to leave.
Salt air means only one thing to me: landing in a tiny plane on the airstrip in Nantucket, popping my head out of the airplane and being so happy to smell salt air. Summer after summer, year after year, I'd walk down the stair cart that had been rolled up to the airplane, breathing in the air and knowing that we were finally there, that we had a month ahead of us. A month of kite-flying and bike-riding, frappes from the soda fountain at Nantucket Pharmacy, Quidnet Beach, morning walks to Sconset Market to get the New York Times (for my parents) and chocolate milk (for everyone under the age of ten). And there was clam chowder, but I was little and didn't like seafood, so I would order clam chowder just to get the oyster crackers. I read and read and read those summers and I won the kids' reading contest at the Nantucket Atheneum library several years in a row. The librarian eventually had to disqualify me because I always won. If I couldn't sleep at night, I'd lie in bed and watch as the light from Sankaty Lighthouse flashed through my bedroom window. I'd count the seconds between each strobe of light and I'd eventually get too tired to keep counting.
***
Much later that day, I'm on Revere Beach. We've spent the day reading and lounging in our matching beach chairs, wading into the water, buying cups of frozen yogurt at Twist & Shake. It's late in the day, about 3:30 or so, but the afternoon is magnificent. It's sunny with just a little breeze, the light is golden, and the beach is calm. I pull out my iPhone and I open up Pandora. I'm playing the 90s pop station -- you know, N'Sync and Backstreet Boys -- but then Eric Clapton's Layla comes on.
And I think of the kitchen in Nantucket. The stove with the quirky pilot light, the big wooden table, and the tall chairs painted light blue. Were the chairs really light blue? Memories play tricks on us. But I think they were light blue. In the corner was the white wicker chair and near the countertop was the radio. I remember Layla playing on that radio. Did Layla really play? I think it did. And even if it didn't, my memory of Eric Clapton playing on the radio as we sat around the big table and shelled peas fresh from Bartlett's Farm is a good one. So I will keep that memory.
It's a truly beautiful afternoon. I have to be back in Boston for a 6pm board meeting. I look over at B and say that I don't want to leave the beach. I never want to leave.
Friday, July 6, 2012
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