OK, we’ve reached the last day of 2025. It was certainly not the year I had hoped for when I worked on the 2024 election. Let’s face it, a full year of Trump 2.0 has been devastating. Ain’t no way to sugarcoat that. And we’re only 25% done with the senile tangerine rapist’s second term.
But I’m going to look back on non-political memories of 2025 and post 12 photos (one from each month). I double-checked that these are all photos I haven’t previously posted. No more Ireland pics I promise!
January—We lit a fire in our fireplace and I made a truly top notch s’more.
February—a black and white butterfly in the Key West Nature Conservatory
March—a hauntingly beautiful self-portrait by Vincent Van Gogh at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts. This one was painted around the time he was hospitalized for severe mental illness.
April—my driveway on April 12. This is the only major problem with Massachusetts…winter lasts forever.
May—a chilly and misty weekend in Portland, Maine with my dear friend Gail who turned 60 about a month before I did. Who knew cruise ships stopped in Portland?
June—For my birthday, my dear friend Susan took me on a “Karen Read” tour of our old hometown (Canton, MA), which was the epicenter of the Karen Read Murder Trial in 2025. Here she is in front of the infamous Waterfall Restaurant, where we had lunch. (IYKYK)
July—I went to a very elegant wedding in the Boston Public Library and my dress matched the library gates. It is hereafter known as “the wrought iron gate dress.” August—my son, husband and me on a Boston Harbor cruise in late August. It was already getting chilly at night be then, but at least that meant I got to wear my new wool sweater from Ireland.September—my granddaughter turned one that month. I love her and her wonderful mommy so much. 💕October—Monthly flower arrangement from BloomsyBox
November—I went to a wonderful concert in Boston’s Symphony Hall with my dear friend Eileen who absolutely HATES to be in photographs. I’ve never seen anyone refuse to smile for a camera like Eileen. We had a great time up there in the second balcony.
December—We had the most wonderful Christmas with this darling girl.
Wishing everyone a Happy New Year’s Eve. Our plan is to go to the movies to see Wicked Part 2. I’m a Wicked fan, but we haven’t seen Part 2 yet due to The Knee. Hopefully this first foray back to the movies will go well.
Yesterday I participated in a sacred circle dance where we honored Yule and the winter solstice.
AI depiction of our sacred circle yesterday, which included a 90+ year old woman and her 5 adult daughters all dressed in white for her birthday
The sun set at 4:16pm yesterday so we lit a fire in our fireplace in the evening. I had a memory of how much we really wanted a fireplace when we were house hunting. (Our first house did not have one.) We only use our fireplace occasionally, but it IS special to have an an indoor fire on these longest, darkest nights of the year.
As the embers burned down, I made myself two s’mores for dessert.
And now, on Winter Solstice morning (December 21) it is still pitch black at 6:30am and I’m awaiting the replay of the livestream of the ancient chamber at Newgrange in Ireland, which we visited in June. (I wasn’t up at at 3:40am to watch it live.) We saw a demonstration of how the sun lights up the inner chamber on the solstice when we were there, but I want to see the real version.
Finally, if you missed this year’s Lucia Morning broadcast from Visby, Sweden on St. Lucia Day (December 13), it’s a great thing to experience during these dark long nights. I watch it every year. The second children’s choir (the younger kids in the adorable wool coats and sweaters) are particularly enchanting.
Wishing all of my fellow Northern Hemisphere dwellers a light in the darkness this December solstice day. It only gets brighter from here.
There are many beautiful old doors in Boston’s historic North End (aka the Italian neighborhood), but 160 Endicott Street is not one of them.
It’s an old, unrenovated building……in a great location in Boston’s North End—just around the corner from the original Pizzeria Regina
It is, however, a meaningful door in terms of my life story. I lived there in the early 1990s with my roommate Bridget, a friend from work. It was the last place I lived as a single woman. After that, I moved in with a boyfriend who I later married.
160 Endicott was truly a dump. It was the first floor apartment over a convenience store that I think was some type of front for a low-level gambling operation. Their most popular item was lottery tickets. They had a few dusty cans of soup and literally nothing else you would ever want to buy. The irony was the hand-carved sign, “If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.” They never had anything I needed. Not a tampon, not an Advil, nothing.
The apartment itself was totally unrenovated and smelled liked cats. The kitchen was horrible. The bathroom had cockroaches. The downstairs neighbors (who lived in an unfinished basement beneath the store) were always asking to borrow my car so they could drive to the dog racing track up north. But it was in a great location in the heart of old Boston and we could afford it on our art museum salaries, with absolutely no help from parents, which was my main objective in moving there. I really didn’t want to be beholden to my parents for anything. I needed some space from them and my troubled sister.
I took my kids back to visit in 2009. It looked much the same from the outside, but the store inside looked cleaner and nicer. New owners had taken over.
I didn’t ask to see the old apartment, but the green exterior bay window looked exactly the same. And the sign was still there:
“If we don’t have it, you don’t need it.”That was the window of my “bedroom” which was actually the living room. I slept on a pullout sofa. A return trip to 160 Endicott Street in 2009In 2009, the humble exterior looked identical to how it looked in 1990.
The twenties are such a formative decade. So many forks in the road. Decisions made. Paths chosen. Roads not taken.
Memories of my time on Endicott Street include gaining a more visceral understanding of poverty (I thought our place was bad, until I saw how the people under the store were living); finally ending a longterm romantic relationship that had been going on and off for years; great authors—like Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou—introduced to me by my roommate Bridget (a reader and a feminist); and food smells—especially Bova’s bakery, open 24/7. Not much in Boston is open all night…but Bova’s is. There are better bakeries in Boston’s North End, but nothing smelled as good as Bova’s at 3am.
In 2011, I started keeping a list of books I’ve read in my phone’s notepad, so I could remember them.
Here is my list for 2025 in the order I read them:
“Night Watch” by Jayne Anne Phillips (c2023)
“The Last Train to Key West” by Chanel Cleeton (c2020)
“Florida” by Lauren Groff (c2018)
“The Frozen River” by Ariel Lawhon (c2023)
“Intermezzo” by Sally Rooney (c2024)
“Small Things Like These” by Claire Keegan (c2021)
“Foster” by Claire Keegan (c2010)
“James” by Percival Everett (c2024)
“How to Lose Your Mother: A Daughter’s Memoir” by Molly Jong-Fast (c2025)
“Savannah Blues” by Mary Kay Andrews (c2002)
“The Director” by Daniel Kehlmann (c2025)
“Tom Lake” by Ann Patchett (c2023)
“The Covenant of Water” by Abraham Verghese (c2023)
“A Visit from the Goon Squad” by Jennifer Egan (c2010)
“The Candy House” by Jennifer Egan (c2022)
“The Summer Before the War” by Helen Simonson (c2016)
“Ordinary Human Failings” by Megan Nolan (c2024)
“Heart the Lover” (c2025) by Lily King
Many of these selections I read for my book group, which I absolutely love. We have such good discussions! Three of the four other women in my book club read way more than I do, so it’s sometimes hard to find something that none of them has read before. So this is how we choose our books:
We rotate the job of picking the book. When it’s your turn, you circulate three titles that interest you and the others rank them 1-3. Usually a clear winner emerges without much math needed.
Looking back on the list, I think Florida by Lauren Groff was my favorite. I’m not usually a short stories person, but this collection really blew me away. I read it before heading to Key West for the first time in February. If you’ve spent any amount of time in the Sunshine State, at least one of the characters will resonate with you. There’s a grain of truth in all the “Florida Man” jokes and memes (that’s why they’re funny) and this book goes deep into the truly fascinating and unique characters that seem to be made possible only in that flat, sticky, hot, beautiful, bizarre one-of-a-kind American state.
I read several books by contemporary Irish women authors this year (both before and after my big 60th birthday trip to Ireland in June). Sally Rooney, Claire Keegan, and Megan Nolan are all great. Several of their novels have been adapted for film and TV. I especially recommend “Ordinary Human Failings” by Megan Nolan. I’ve never read a more aptly titled book. Here’s the quote where she uses the exact words. It’s early on in the book.
On one of his first mornings a memo had been sent around from Edward to the desks of the entire editorial staff, which read:
A REMINDER! Reasonable excuses for lateness/missing meetings/not doing something I told you to do etc, include: Bereavement (parent only). Serious illness (life-threatening, your own). Reasonable excuses do NOT INCLUDE ordinary human failings such as hangovers, broken hearts, etc etc etc.
I think it’s the “etc etc etc” that makes this line so good. The story is all about the etceteras.
165 Congress Street in Portland is a John Calvin Stevens building. Stevens (1855-1940) was Portland’s most prolific architect. He was known for Shingle-style and Colonial Revival designs.
My son and I took a trip to Portland in July 2021, when he was a 20-year old college student. We rented an AirBnB in the historic Munjoy Hill neighborhood of Portland (which is where these cool indigo doors are located). We had a nice time walking around, eating, and shopping. We also went to the outlets in Freeport, Maine and got a bunch of clothes.
A lot of mothers say that it’s hard to stay close to adult sons once they get busy with their own families and careers. I hope that doesn’t happen to us. My son turns 25 next week. My baby. We’ve got a shopping trip planned for next Friday.
Yesterday I went to a concert by the world-renowned Boston Symphony Orchestra in Boston’s historic Symphony Hall.
Boston’s Symphony Hall yesterday afternoon
My friend Eileen and I had wanted to attend this particular concert because the planned guest conductor—a young man we knew from our days working together at the Conservatory—was making his Boston debut.
AFTER we bought our tickets, we were notified that he wouldn’t be conducting due to “ the recurring effects of a shoulder injury.” Instead, 29-year old BSO Assistant Conductor Anna Handler would be making her Symphony Hall debut. OK, well at least we were seeing someone’s debut!
The first piece was “The Imagined Forest” by 31-year old British composer Grace-Evangeline Mason. It was atmospheric and beautiful.
Something about seeing these two young women—the conductor and the composer—take their bows together felt like Progress. I’ve seen plenty of women take their bows as soloists, but not as conductors and composers—the artistic leaders—at the very highest level of classical music.
There was no mention of it being a historic first or anything like that, but you could feel that the audience was 100 percent supportive. Partial standing ovation (unusual for the first piece in a concert). Many cheers.
Brava, ladies. Well done. Respect.
29-year old Anna Handler commanded the podium in a focused, confident way as she stepped in for an ailing guest conductor of one of the world’s finest symphony orchestras
This is the pic that came up today when I searched the ginormous folder on my computer for a “door.”
There was no geographic info in the file name or photo data. All I know is that it was taken with my old Canon PowerShot camera in June 2011 and that the two kids on the balcony are mine.
I had no recollection of this moment, but Google Lens figured out the location (amazing). It’s downtown Winchester, Massachusetts (my husband’s hometown). My father-in-law was alive and still living there at the time, so it makes sense.
It’s an area now called “Winchester Terrace.” AI found this photo on Apartments.com that shows the exact spot:
At the top of the staircase on the right is the spot I posed my kids in 2011.
This discovery sparked a memory of my very dear father-in-law—“Nonno” to my kids.
He was most the wonderful man who enjoyed life’s small moments like no other. Martini time, a beautiful operatic aria, an excellent meal, a grandchild’s kiss (he called it a “buzz”), a friendly joke with a stranger (especially waitresses!), and random bits of foreign languages sprinkled into any conversation. He always made me feel like the most amazing, interesting, gorgeous woman who ever lived. A true charmer. He lived well into his 90s.
I read this article about a woman’s harrowing coming-of-age in Franco’s Spain and it triggered memories of a trip to Madrid I took with my parents in 1984 or 85—less than a decade after the end of the authoritarian Franco regime, which had lasted 36 years.
I cannot find a SINGLE photo from that trip, but I know it really happened. (Someday, if I find photos in my parents’ house, I will add them to this post.)
Here’s what I remember:
My father was in the process of selling his small company to a British company and had to go to London on business, so he took my mother and me with him. This was my first trip to Europe, so they wanted to visit one other city while we were over there and they randomly chose post-Franco Madrid. (For some reason, my sister did not come. She stayed home with the family dog who fell into the foundation of an unbuilt house and died while we were away.)
Of London, I remember only some heinously spicy Indian food, other bad food, and cream being poured on everything.
Here’s my very hazy memory of Madrid.
It was dark and dirty. We ate extremely late in the evening in smoke-filled restaurants. My parents spoke no Spanish, but still rented a car and drove up a one-way street the wrong way. A cop pulled us over and somehow it was communicated that he would take cash in lieu of giving my father a ticket.
We went to The Prado Museum and I looked at lots of dark paintings.
“David With The Head of Goliath” by Caravaggio (c1600) has been in The Prado forever. I feel like I remember seeing it there. So gruesome.
We visited Toledo, which is outside of Madrid, and I got a piece of their signature jewelry, which is also dark. They make it with black steel. I no longer have the piece, but it looked something like this.
And that’s it. That’s all I remember. The lack of photos doesn’t help.
Back to the BBC article about that poor young woman whose parents turned her over to the authorities and suffered the cruelest treatment imaginable during the Franco regime. I can’t imagine how she (or her daughter) carried on any type of relationship with her ultra conservative Catholic parents after that. The gall of that 90-year old grandfather saying “we suffered a lot too” is outrageous. I noticed the word “forgiveness” is not used.
Thursday will mark 50 years since Franco’s death. Spain has since seen a revolution in women’s rights – but survivors of the Patronato are still waiting for answers and are now demanding an inquiry.
It’s fun for me to search the giant folder of pictures on my computer for “door” and see what comes up. It really jogs the old memory.
This pic came up today.
I knew it was from a slide I took in 1987 on a college trip to Helsinki, Budapest and the Soviet Union, but I didn’t know exactly where.
Guess what? ChatGPT identified it immediately as the Dormition (Assumption) Cathedral in the Kremlin, Moscow, Russia.
The distinctive arched doorway with ornate frescoes above it. The icon of the Virgin and Child surrounded by angels and saints. The Romanesque-style columns and arches framing the door.
This specific doorway is the main western portal of the Dormition Cathedral (built by Aristotele Fioravanti in the 1470s), one of the most important churches in Russia and the site of coronations of Russian tsars.
And I do believe ChatGPT is correct because I found this picture in my files as well:
That’s the Kremlin with the Dormition Cathedral—the second cluster of gold domes from the left. The Moscow River (in the foreground) was frozen solid.
I believe this is also inside the walls of the Kremlin. I think it’s Spasskaya Tower, which overlooks Red Square.
There are two possible reasons I do not have more pictures of the Kremlin. Either it was too darn cold and my camera battery froze or our “Intourist” (Communist Party) tour guide wouldn’t let us take photos.
I have a feeling my camera battery froze because I’m not a total rule follower. (I have been known to sneak a photo in forbidden areas.) However, we were warned so severely to not break any rules while in Russia, I may have been “scared straight” as they say.
Here’s a photo of our Intourist Guide Elena receiving some parting gifts from our Russian History professor on the tour bus. Too bad I only got the back of her head.
See, this is why you take pictures people. I had forgotten all of this. I have been to the Kremlin!
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