Best of Boston, Life Lessons


Growing up, I spent my summers at our town pool.  My mother, brother, and I formed a little parade as we walked through the parking lot, carrying beach chairs, umbrellas, towels, and a cooler.  On the weekends, my father joined us, and led the parade.  Nothing was planned yet we always found neighbors and friends to sit with, and we’d set up camp for the day.  No one worried about getting too much sun.  Although some of the ladies swam rather awkwardly, craning their necks so their hair wouldn’t get wet.  Funny how my brother and his friends would take a running start and cannonball into the water as these ladies tried, in vain, to shield their hairdos from the big splash.  The Olympic sized pool was crystal clear and we’d stay in the water until our fingertips shriveled like prunes.  Once we got older, my mom would drop us off in the morning, knowing we were safe amongst friends, and come back for us just before dinner time.  It was perfect suburban bliss.

As a city dweller, I’ve relied on rooftop hotel pools when the temperature rises into the 90’s and the humidity frizzes my hair.  These tiny, sky-high pools can be pricey but when you’ve got the flop sweats, money is no object.  On weekends, these hot spots get crowded quickly, mostly with post-college urban professionals who are more interested in the small plate menus and trendy pastel-colored martinis, than in taking a swim.  And depending where you manage to find an unoccupied lounge chair, your view could end up being nothing more than a cluster of flat rooftops.

This summer, I finally discovered poolside nirvana at the Mirabella pool in Boston’s Italian North End.  Situated right along the Harbor, with magnificent views of the Charlestown Shipyard, the Bunker Hill Monument, and the Zakim Bridge, I’ve marveled at the ferries and sailboats as they pass by.  I’ve found the perfect aquatic oasis at this historic neighborhood pool.  There’s a great sense of community and diversity, as young families gather, their toddlers padding around wearing neon colored water wings, giggling teenagers hang out with their BFF’s, my peers luxuriate without using their phones or laptops, and older, retired folks who’ve mastered the art of relaxation, smile or nod as I walk by.  I love this pool for its clean, refreshing water but I love it more for the nostalgic memories it has evoked in me.

Best of Boston

Snow Day Dreamin’

The snow days of my childhood were idyllic.  Just like Peter, the little boy in one of my favorite books, Ezra Jack Keats’ The Snowy Day, my brother and I, bundled up in our snowsuits, boots, and mittens, would go outside to play in the newly fallen snow and make snow angels.  We would do this over and over, until we were soaking wet and shivering.  My mom would get us dry and warmed up with hot soup and a freshly baked batch of chocolate chip cookies.  What could be more perfect?  The day off from school.

Last week’s Nor’easter brought 55-mile-an-hour winds that rattled my windows and changed the direction of the snow so it appeared to be falling horizontally.  But the City of Boston generally does a good job of snow removal.  And New Englanders don’t scare easily when it comes to extreme weather, until both the mayor and the governor tell everyone to stay home.  And just like that, children and grown-ups alike were given a gift – a most uncommon occurrence – a snow day.

But there are no real snow days anymore.  At least not the care-free, snow angel, chocolate chip cookie snow days I remember.  WiFi and laptops make it not only possible but mandatory for us to work remotely from home.  Maybe I was cozy and comfy in a pair of yoga pants, sweatshirt, and spa socks, as the barrage of emails came as fast and furious as the snow.  With my landline ringing and my cell phone humming, I didn’t even take a lunch break until 3 in the afternoon.  I was so focused on the work at hand, I didn’t realize the snow had let up.  As I watched from my living room window, neighbors shoveled out, walked their dogs, and played with their children.  I’d missed it all.  My snow day was over before it ever began.

Pop Culture

Movie Magic


“You should have fandangoed,” I was told, when I got to the movie theater and found the show had already sold out.  Are you kidding me?  It was 11:00 on a Saturday morning.

Fandangoed!  Where’s the spontaneity in that?  Call me old school, but if I have to plan that far ahead, pick a particular date, and specific time to go see a performance, it better well be a Broadway play or a rock concert.

Recently, I tried out this new high-tech multiplex where I was required to choose my seat by viewing a touch screen.  Then I was handed a tablet with a pre-loaded menu that ranged from burgers to steak, and bottled water to designer martinis.  All I really wanted was popcorn.  Or a box of snow caps.

Whatever happened to the movie magic?  The kind I felt every time I stepped into a movie house with an art deco lobby, velvet curtains, and a balcony.  They had names like The Paris, The Cheri, The Paramount.  Maybe the bar was set too high for me, because the first time I ever went to the movies I saw Mary Poppins at Radio City Music Hall.  I was three-years-old.  And everything about it was magic.

When I mentioned all this to my mom she not only agreed with me, she reminisced about her teenage hangout.  “We called our neighborhood movie The Itch,” she smiled nostalgically.  The Granada – fondly nicknamed The Itch – was rundown, with dirty, sticky floors from all the soda the kids spilled, and it was not uncommon to see a critter skittle by every so often.  The place sounded like it just oozed movie magic, and I’d take it over some soulless cookie cutter multiplex any day.

red poppy