Here's one of the Red-tailed hawks who frequent the gardens. Aren't they magificent?As Peter says, Aren't you always thrilled when the hawks fly overhead? Yes, without a doubt.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
February 9, 2012
Here's one of the Red-tailed hawks who frequent the gardens. Aren't they magificent?As Peter says, Aren't you always thrilled when the hawks fly overhead? Yes, without a doubt.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
February 8, 2012
Thought for now ...
Sauces are the splendor and the glory of French cooking.
... Julia Child.
Image ... Prayer flags, Dorchester.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
February 7, 2012
Thought for now ...
I don't watch TV. I have no time for that. You know, that's another thing. When I'm at home alone, I hate voices. I like music or singing, but I hate voices and stories. It has the feeling that they enter my life. I love to be alone to read, to sketch with music, but I don't like ready-made images. I prefer to live on my imagination.
... Karl Lagerfeld.
Image ... Tony playing drums with Blacksnake at Lucky's.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
February 4, 2012
Image ... Roofdeck outside Roofscape's old office ovwerlooking the Fiedler footbridge.
Friday, February 3, 2012
February 3, 2012
Le Chameau
On many days my regular route from SOWA profond to Back Bay, my home base, leads up Shawmut Avenue and past The Syrian Grocery. The display window features a crazy jumble suggesting a junk shop in some seedy souk. Hookahs, omelet pans, chased brass serving trays, kitchen utensils, a Little French Chef toy cooking set, packages of dried dates and figs, pots and pans, tagines, lanterns, pot holders, candlesticks, plus a myriad of other miscellania requisite for civilized living ... and a camel saddle.
The store has been there for years, ever since the street became the center of the Boston's Syrian and Lebanese communities (Kahlil Gibran, the author of The Prophet, lived here). In the years I've been browsing, the same camel saddle has been a fixture in the window.
It became a private little joke. I'd stare in the window and think, "I guess that there's just not that much demand nowadays for camel saddles in the South End." And the thought would always make me smile (I'm easily amused).
Then the other day, surveying the Syrian window I saw ... the camel saddle was gone. I looked high and low. How could this be? After all these years ... gone. And I said under my breath, "I wonder who just bought a camel?"
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