Seconds and Minutes and Seasons

About a month ago, we went to the Cape for a long weekend. We watched the waves and tried to spot sharks at Nauset Beach, and then we ate shrimp or fish tacos or lobster rolls and drank wine.

Mornings were for the "breakfast" part of "bed and breakfast," and for coffee and stories. Dennis, the husband part of the husband-wife B & B owners, liked the phrase "a New York second." As in, a seal will kill a fish in a New York second. Or, a shark will get a seal in a New York second. Generally, the New York second came up in the context of the food chain. I always thought the phrase was a New York minute, like the Eagles song, but a New York second sounds even better. It sounds even faster.

Now I'm typing this on the Northeast Regional train as it pulls away from Penn Station and our not even thirty-six hour New York weekend seems just as fast. The days, and the weeks, and the months seem fast, the seasons too. I love every season, equally -- Christmas presents and wool socks in the winter, picnics (but also allergies) in the spring, the beach in the summer, and then apple picking and leaves and plaid and all cliched and all wonderful things New England in the fall. So I am a little sad but not too sad to see the summer go, because here comes another season that I love. The 23rd is the fall equinox. So today is the last Sunday of summer. So this weekend is the last weekend of summer. And so on.

Last Monday was the last Monday of summer. So we went to Hampton Beach. It was that deceptive kind of beautiful, sunny cold. We drove up with hoodies and hot coffee and put our rash guards on to get in the water. We body boarded, rolling to shore on the right wave at the right time and sometimes getting rolled underwater by the right wave at the wrong time, and talked about taking surf lessons next summer.

When we got out of the water for a break, all salty fresh and tired, I looked at my watch. It had only been twenty minutes. It had seemed like longer. But twenty minutes is still a whole lot of of New York seconds.

And there went the last seconds of this summer on the last Monday of this summer; and here go the minutes of this train ride back to Boston, this train ride to fall; and here goes the overlap of the seasons, the fade out of summer and the fade in of fall.

The Cup Is Half Full

B gave me a bag of homemade trail mix last weekend (Shout-out to B!). Delicious trail mix, which I put in my purse and totally forgot about. Until tonight, when I was walking home from dinner out and reached in my purse for my keys. Rather than my keys, I pulled out a walnut. I was all confused and then I realized what had happened and looked down in my purse and OH MY GOD THERE ARE DRIED CHERRIES AND COCONUT FLAKES EVERYWHERE.

Or last Sunday. I had big plans for Sunday. And then I woke up with food poisoning. And threw up for five hours straight. I am confident that I would have died if not for two angels of mercy who brought over ginger ale, soup, and anti-nausea meds. Thank you, angels of mercy! I'm sorry that you had to see me half-naked and scary pale.

I banged up my knee this week. I banged it up real good. Somewhere between sprints and yoga and circuits and treadmill workouts, my knee decided to take part in the government shutdown and go on furlough in solidarity. It hurts super bad. And I lent my foam roller to B, so the one time I really need it, I don't have it. Come back to me, foam roller! Come home!

But really, what am I going to do other than laugh it off? In the case of food poisoning, drink ginger ale (actually in the case of food poisoning, send out a SOS text message and have Listerine and ginger ale brought to you). In the case of a knee injury, ice it. Because life, especially daily life, is made up of a million moments - good, bad, and otherwise. And where I'm at right now means that I want to love the good and tell funny stories about the bad and appreciate everything else.

Like fall and Boston and afternoon sunshine. The bum knee and the food poisoning can't take anything away from that.

Weekend

Hustling home from work and then out the door for a run, running as far as I could in 15 minutes then turning around.... Baking oatmeal raisin cookies, dried cranberries added on request, with the apron strings wrapped tightly around my waist and tied in the front.... Rolling out pie dough and looking outside at the golden-red leaves... Walking down Newbury Street with a coffee in hand.... Making dinner for E and roasting sweet potatoes with plenty of olive oil and just enough salt and pepper... Putting on my absolute tallest high heels for salsa dancing... Working my way through sets of bicep curls and tricep dips then holding the plank position... Taking an old friend and a new friend around Boston, walking past Quincy Market towards the North End, and pushing my sunglasses up as dusk falls.... and, just because I can, baking chocolate chip cookie bars.

How was your weekend?

The Rain Began

Wednesday morning, I run laps around the Boston Common, pulling off my fleece jacket as I get warmer. A flock of birds take off, their black silhouettes a startling contrast against the pale October sky. I veer behind Park Plaza and, as I wait to cross the street, a light, chilly rain begins. I raise my face to the rain... and I slip my jacket back on.

Thursday, I'm walking home from the T. The spine of my umbrella is broken and, tossing it in a trashcan, I pull my raincoat around myself more tightly. I'm chilled and wet, but I have "Daylight" by Matt & Kim on repeat and I truly wish everyone around me could hear it as well. I want to take a running start and jump into a puddle. Or dance.

And then there's the remix.

Later that night, rain turns to snow.

One Fine Day & An Apple Galette

Step 1: Pick apples at Belkin Family Lookout Farm, South Natick

Step 2: A few hours later, in a Boston kitchen...

It's okay if it's messy. Apples you pick yourself always taste the best. And this pie crust is a winner.

Apple Galette
(Adapted from the Galette of Rhubarb recipe in The New Basics Cookbook)

1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cold and cut into small pieces
1/2 + 1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
2 tablespoons cold water
6 tablespoons brown sugar
2 + 1/4 cups apples, peeled, cored, cut into chunks, and tossed with lemon juice (to taste)

Combine the flour, sugar, salt, and 1/2 teaspoon of the cinnamon in a medium bowl and stir well with a fork. Add the butter pieces and cut the butter into the flour mixture, pressing well with your fingers and tossing until the mixture resembles large crumbs.

Sprinkle the water, 1 tablespoon at a time, over the flour mixture and mix it with a fork until it's incorporated and you can easily gather the flour into a ball. Knead briefly, then wrap it in plastic wrap and refrigerate it for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Lightly flour a baking sheet and roll out the dough with a lightly floured rolling pin to form an 11 inch circle. Mark off a 9 inch circle in the middle. Sprinkle 3 tablespoons of the brown sugar evenly over the 9 inch circle and add the apple chunks. Sprinkle the remaining 3 tablespoons of brown sugar and 1/8 teaspoon of cinnamon on top of the apples. Fold over the edge of the dough to form a crust.

Bake for 40 minutes. The crust should be a very light golden brown and the apple chunks should be soft. Cool slightly and serve. Serves four people.

September Days

Sunday:

Hanover Street, North End

Monday:

Boston Public Library, Copley Square

 Tuesday:

Whole Foods, Central Square, Cambridge

All the Roads are Winding

The day is clear, the sky is the palest blue in patches and vivid in others, and there's just enough cool in the air to let us know that autumn might be coming soon. The streets are full, with runners, dogs, tourists, baby strollers, shoppers... I'm running along the side of the Common, heading towards the North End, but I know that its tiny streets will be too busy. I take the next right onto School Street. I randomly pick streets and head deeper into the Financial District, for a little space to run.

I run in a trance. I'm barely aware of the mechanics of running,  though a little twinge from my left hamstring is a reminder.  I ignore the cones blocking off what looks to be a construction site. But, just outside Winthrop Square, I'm stopped. It's a movie set. I'm told that it's the new Jeff Bridges and Ryan Reynolds movie. I jog in place and, eventually, filming stops and I'm let through. The square is quiet, with traffic diverted elsewhere, but, a few blocks away, business proceeds as usual.

When I was last in New York, I found a movie set near Grand Central. Vanderbilt Avenue was blocked off and transformed into New York of long ago.

Extras waiting in line for the craft service table

But back to Boston. I arbitrarily decide that I want to run to the South End. No good reason. I just do. I pass New England Medical Center and I cross the Pike. I have no destination and I unintentionally run in a circle, crossing the Pike again on Arlington Street. The view of Bay Village is not unfamiliar to me but it's still extraordinary -- red brick rowhouses with slate grey mansard roofs against the blue glass of the John Hancock skyscraper. It's as if someone Photoshopped Boston and saturated the color.

I spend a little time in Bay Village, finding my way to Park Plaza. I have no idea how far I've run. I'm not paying much attention to my watch or to stoplights... I run when there's no walk sign and I find myself running in place at a street corner, my mind wandering, when I do have the walk sign.

I run these streets to know them. In a few weeks, when someone mentions Herald Street or Winthrop Lane, I will know it. I run to see one neighborhood fade into the next and to find the connections between them. And I run because Boston is at its best today. There is so much happening, so much being played out on our streets and sidewalks. Outside Cheers, there was a bride in a huge, poufy dress, with white plastic sunglasses. Her bridesmaids, dressed in primary colors, carried sunflowers. In Bay Village, a shopper returned home by bike, with a Brooks Brothers shopping bag stashed in his basket.

I intend to trace Arlington Street to the river. But, looking down St. James, I see the corner of the Boston Public Library peeking out and I want to get closer.

And I'm off again.

Not Quite Autumn

I slipped away from Boston for a few days, to a place where summer is still in full swing, to a place where September 1st holds absolutely no connotation. And I didn't mind missing that day at all. Even before I left, there were moving boxes piled on sidewalks and U-Hauls getting stuck in narrow Boston streets (Yes, stuck. Yes, I watched. No, I don't know how it happened).

When I got back, suddenly autumn was in full swing. The change that Boston undergoes when we flip our calendars to September is incredible. The college students are back and their classes have started. And we're making plans for apple-picking. I've never been apple-picking; I've never made apple pie or apple butter. I can't wait.

But, really, we're not seeing autumn yet. We've had a few wet, chilly days that remind me more of early April than September. Last night, I walked along Arlington Street, along the side of the Public Garden, and I looked out across the wet pavements and empty benches of the park, shrouded in a smoky, violet dusk, to the twinkly lights of the Financial District.

I love my rainboots and walking through puddles as the water splashes up around my legs. But I'm not ready to let go of summer yet.

Soon enough, peaches will be out of season. And we'll be looking out of our windows at falling leaves and, a little later, snow.

Maybe September could slow down a little bit. Because there's a lavender-colored ruffly sundress that I haven't worn yet. Because I didn't have a chance to make white wine sangria. Because I really love late summer tomatoes and those warm days and cooler nights of September in Boston.

Maybe we could have a little more summer. Because the seasons will change soon enough.