The Bean

Resting in the grizzly heat in the plaza next to the Old Globe Corner bookstore (which is now a Chipoltle) across from the Old South Meeting house. Sight seeing trolleys and buses and duck boats go by so often that the tour guides' patter sounds like a rap - "Old South...ooo Old South..ooo old south...meet..I say a...meeting house." A tall man in scrubs croons the hits of Motown into his home made amp and mic slightly off key, and renders one of my favorite Larry Graham songs, "One In a Million You."

"A one in a million
chance of a lifetime
And life showed compassion
and sent to me
a stroke of love
called you.
A one in a million you..."

The pigeons eye me as I eat my nectarine. A tiny boy in seer sucker shorts chases them, screaming wordlessly. Why do little boys chase pigeons? Perhaps because they always run or fly away?

I'm suddenly engulfed by the Robinson family who wear neon orange shirts that say "Robinson Family Reunion". They are on a tour being led by a guy in a colonial costume complete with tri corner hat. I send out a compassionate vibe to him as he sweats beneath several layers of fabric and tries to grab the attention of the rambunctious Robinsons to tell them about the Boston Tea Party.  I want to ask him why the Boston Tea party participants dressed up as Mohawk Indians to do their deed if they were proud of what they were doing, but he and his day glo group move on.

Tricorne (tri corner hat)

A humid breeze ruffles my Macy's bag. I'm resting from pushing through racks of sale clothes with a bunch of other shoppers, bobbing and weaving through ugly slacks and tons of stiff polyester trying to find something with at least some cotton in ample women's sizes. The lady who rang me up told me she'd been working since 7a and had agreed to a double shift to work until 7pm but was now wishing she could go home. "I'm ready to roll my eyes at somebody," she says. "Girl, you go ahead," I reply and we cackle.

Back in the plaza a little boy of Asian descent is staring at me solemnly as he slurps coconut water through a straw. He looks like my nephew, Bill, a little, stocky and strong and intent. I wink, which is really the only movement I'm capable off now that I've finished off my fruit, and he smiles just a little before his father scoops him up and sets him on his hip.

I heave myself up and follow them down the street. People are moving slowly through the jello air, stopping at kiosks to finger knock off handbags and scarves and caps that say "Boston" on them. The peanut cart throws up it's enticing scent and the guy behind the sausage and peppers cart is caught in a cloud of steam. An impossibly tall woman in a tube top and leggings steps in front of me to get to the escalator but it's too hot for me to give her the stink eye behind her back. We descend into the ripe subway station and what an aroma we've discovered.

It is cooler, though and the ineffectual fans that are randomly placed about the platform stir the steamy air. I think they put the fans out to make fun of how hot we are. The platforms are crowded with tourists and shoppers like me with their environmentally approved reusable bags crammed with merchandise made cheaply half a world away.

The train lumbers into the station and we line up at the doors leaving just enough room for the riders to disembark. I score a seat right under an air conditioning vent and I can feel myself grinning in relief.

A family from Spain asks a man how to get to Harvard Square and he begins a discourse on local lore. He's either a historian or a know-it -all. They speak animatedly until we start over the Longfellow Bridge and the Charles River is revealed. Jaunty little sailboats skim across the water, the leaves are lushly green against the intense blue summer sky, and the gorgeous vista of Back Bay on one side and tree lined Memorial Drive on the other is revealed.

I sweat. I smile. My town.

Santa Barbara

The sun finally burned off the marine layer yesterday afternoon and the clear light, deep sky and crashing waves beckoned us to the beach.

We're a giggly brood anyway, and the chill ocean and sun brought out the belly laughs. Erica stood at the water's edge and talked to the waves, and Halle and Kai ran down the sand. Carlton dug a hole for his feet and observed us like a Buddha under his Ohio State hat, and I got sand in my teeth from grinning.

Bathing beauties Kai, Erica, and Halle

Cool Cat.