Pawk yo' cawr

"Meg, I give you your faults."

"My faults!" Meg cried.

"Your faults."

"But I'm always trying to get rid of my faults!"

"Yes," Mrs. Whatsit said. "However, I think you'll find they'll come in very handy on Camazotz."

- Madeleine L'Engle, "A Wrinkle in Time" 

 

Breaking news: I now have a 7-month plan! 
I will live in my charming house in Cambridge at least through the end of May, and I have decided to grit my teeth into my most winsome smile and declare that I am going to learn to like this ridiculous city - whether it wants me to or not. 

I am beginning to feel settled here in Boston, find places that I adore, and move past the bewildered feeling that I have traveled to a strange land inhabited by unreliable buses, people who "payk thei' ca' awn Mass Av," and ROUS's.

Shakshuka is an Egyptian dish involving eggs poached in spicy tomato sauce, eaten with feta cheese and pita. My cousin and I cooked it after I discovered the Middle Eastern grocery store in Boston. Apparently people do not cook in Boston, and many of them are highly suspicious of my culinary skills; for example, my roommates literally asked me four times tonight why I was baking rolls, and they marveled last night that I "cooked" dinner. (I made nachos, and involved a can of chili, a bag of chips, and a few chopped vegetables.) This is funny for two reasons: 1) My family considers me to be a dangerous cook, and 2) I always thought cooking was a basic life skill, but here it is a mark of an intensely conservative upbringing!

Perhaps part of why they don't cook is that the restaurant food is so good! Italian food, seafood, and even food courts are delectable. The pastry - despite the rave reviews I heard before I arrived - exceeded my expectations. (I will tell you about eating lobster tails at a later time - stay tuned.) Bostonians are also intensely proud of their ice cream. As a BYU creamery loyalist, I had my doubts, but they have made an ice cream patriot out of me in every sense!

The Christian Science assembly hall is magnificent, housing one of the largest and finest organs in the United States. I attended a service and heard a professional organist play the 3rd movement of Camille Saint-Saens' organ symphony. If you have not experienced this tremendous piece of music, I invite you to repent speedily.

These two photos are taken from the train on my daily commuting route. This is my favorite part of the journey, when the train crosses the bridge over the Charles River from Cambridge into Boston, overlooking the Esplanade and Revere Park.

If you visit me in Boston (and you should! I think I have finally figured out how to give a good tour of the area. My apologies to those who have received substandard tours from me in the recent past), then you must tell me to take you on the ferry from the North End of Boston to Charlestown. It is a perfectly splendid ride - though I remain a true Mountain Girl, "almost I am persuaded to become a sailor."

I found my former self's grave. This other Lucy lived in Boston in days gone by and was buried in the famous Mt. Auburn Cemetery of Cambridge, a burying ground so beautiful that interns and students can spend an entire, happy Sunday morning reading the historic tombstones, viewing the splendid fall colors, and climbing a 40-foot-tall watchtower in the center.

The architecture is old and intriguing. This is Ralph Waldo Emerson's home in Concord.

These are some of the natives! I told you this is a strange land. (Minuteman Trail, Concord, MA)

My lovely sister (among others) visited me, and we explored the home where Nathaniel Hawthorne lived as a newlywed. She gets prettier every time I see her, so I thought you deserved this photo for reading to the end of this haphazard post.