A.M. The past.
This morning the parish where I work was featured in a televised Mass, broadcast live at 7 a.m. We had to be there at 6:30, so my day started early, with a drive in fresh snow through the streets of Boston and Beacon Hill, to the studios of Channel 7. I passed the coffee shop where I often met my dearest girlfriend during the three years she lived here. It’s a Fox News station now. I drove down Charles Street and remembered a particularly delightful brunch and shopping day with another friend, with whom I’ve since fallen out, probably irreparably. The snow dusting the Vendome Hotel Memorial on Commonwealth Avenue made it even more impossibly moving than usual. I passed the St. Botolph Club, where I sang a memorable gig more than a decade ago. I glimpsed a favorite sushi restaurant, where I haven’t been in four years.
In the many years since I’d last spent time in Boston by myself, so much has changed. I now see my life as having different periods. I am getting older; we all are, of course. I’ve accumulated enough memories now that the involuntary slide show can now be divided into categories. I wonder what I will call this phase.
P.M. The future
Seven years ago tomorrow, my magnificent Akiva was born. To encounter his intelligence, wit, soulfulness, and mischievous smile on a daily basis is truly a gift from heaven. I love who he is now, and I am deliciously curious about how he is going to develop.