Tuesday, December 6, 2011

hereafter.

((I still owe y'all a Kat and Nicki Do Boston post, but it'll have to wait until I rip the pictures from the clutches of my camera.))

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In the first month after moving to Boston, I kept a running list of ideas for my Since Moving to Boston series. Some of them I used, some I didn't, but I came across the list yesterday and I couldn't resist sharing. 




Things I've Discovered Since Moving to Boston:

--Living in a nice residential neighborhood means you pick up nice residential neighborhood habits, like ogling your neighbors in SPITE of you promising yourself you wouldn't fall into such nosy-neighbor pitfalls.


--You quickly get used to living in front of neighbor Joe (an elderly, golf-loving widower who lives directly behind us with only a waist-high fence to separate our yards-- meaning yes, he sees all the times we're dancing in the kitchen and yes, he sees my morning-hair when I let the dogs out in the morning and yes, he hears my terrible singing when the windows are open and yes, he sees my midnight raids on the fridge. Joe sees all. Joe knows all.)



--Squirrels? FASCINATING.



--Gardening: Forget green thumbs. I've got a bonafide black thumb.





--There is a local _____ for everything. Your local cupcake shop. Your local urban winery. Your local organic dog treat baker. Your local goat butcher.



--Everyone is deliciously friendly.



--Live lobsters don't scream when you cook them.




--When a Bostonian tells you their dog's name is Koopa, they don't mean Bowser from Mario. They mean Cooper. You will spend the next twenty minutes in your living room giggling and saying "Coopah, the wicked good dog."



--Smiling and say "We're Southerners" will get you anywhere here, even though you're actually from the snowy Pennsylvania countryside and only moved to VA when you were 20.



--We're rapidly descending downward into a hippie spiral, complete with hand-crocheted market bags and compost piles. Yes, compost piles.




--Summer is more precious here, and every fleeting glimpse of summer sun reminds you that winter is coming, and it's coming quickly.




--Even though you're poor, in debt, and months away from your first paycheck, everything seems wonderful and fresh and new, a come-clean beginning, a cocoon opening, a fluttering awakening-- and the grass is greener and the flowers are brighter and the water is sweeter and you look at each other and say this. This is what we've been waiting for. Just this, only this, this sweet hereafter we've found.