In case you haven’t heard, a major winter storm is coming—the likes of which we haven’t seen around here since 2022.
It’s currently 1 degree Fahrenheit and the grocery stores will be packed today with everyone trying to stock up before the snow starts tomorrow around noon. (At this point, I’m still planning to go to church tomorrow morning.) People in non-snow climates: the idea of being stuck inside with your loved ones for 24-48 hours tends to make people buy eggs, milk, bread and firewood like they’re going out of style.
A shared memory for GenXers from Massachusetts is the Bizzard of ‘78, when they cancelled school for like a whole week. It was awesome. People remember jumping off their roofs into huge snowbanks, bumper skiing (when you hold onto your friend’s bumper and they pull you down the snow covered street), and building giant holes and igloos which could’ve collapsed and suffocated their occupants at any moment. There were surprisingly few snow accidents, although one friend’s brother was very seriously injured by a plow that didn’t see him playing in a snow bank. Stay OUT OF THE WAY of the plows, people!
My doll and me tasting the snow in February 1969
The famous Blizzard of 1978 brought us like 4 feet of snow and no school for days on end.
In 1978, 7th graders were far too cool for snow pants, so we just wore jeans to play in the snow.
My son on a huge snowbank in APRIL 2005 – the “April Fools Day” storm
My kids shoveling out a car after Winter Storm Nemo (aka the Blizzard of 2013)
And the stairs
My son “swimming” in the snow in January 2015. He was determined to make it out to his basketball hoop after Hurricane Juno.
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.
I wanted to make things easy on myself yesterday as I am doing all the cooking, while my husband recovers from total knee replacement surgery. (His leg still aches too much to eat out in a restaurant.) I had the idea of making chicken parmigiana with store-cooked chicken cutlets, but the price for TWO of them was $16.99, so I decided to make them myself.
Believe it or not, it was my first time making chicken parm. I looked at NYT Cooking’s version of the recipe, but then decided to go with something simpler that Google turned up:
I like how there’s a baked version of the recipe (if you don’t want to fry the cutlets in oil first), but for my first time making it, I decided to fry the cutlets.
I didn’t have sliced mozzarella, so I used about 8 ounces of grated mozzarella and it was yummy. I also didn’t have basil, so I topped with a bit of fresh parsley leftover from my Slow Cooker Garlic Butter Chicken.
My husband was very appreciative (as always) of my efforts and I liked it too. I used store bought marinara sauce (Rao’s), so it was really pretty easy.
I recommend buying high-quality organic chicken breasts (like Bell & Evans) and slicing them into cutlets yourself before pounding.
Buy the good chicken breasts for best results Served on leftover pasta with a salad
Today’s realization from The Great Photo Digitization Project of 2025 (inspired by the tragic California wildfires) is that I was an extremely well-dressed child. (My own kids were nowhere near as well-dressed as my sister and I were.)
And this was before the era of “fast fashion,” so my mother made many of our dresses and outfits.
We always had matching accessories too. Note the headband in this shot:
With my baby cousin Steven and Aunt Betsy, 1971
In my old photo albums, one accessory is featured more than all the others and that is color-coordinated kneesocks. I remember having a drawer full of them. Thinking back, they were pretty cool because they came in so many different colors and were way more comfortable than tights.
Knee socks and a matching purse for the first day of first gradeNovember 1972Note the “milk box” near the front door (I am old)Heading off to Town Day 1973
Facilitated by my mother and a Marshall’s opening up in my town in the late 70s (“Brand Names for Less”), I ended up being a major clothes horse right through high school. I embraced the Reagan era “preppy look” and had dozens of sweaters in every color of the rainbow. My closet looked like a Benetton store.
My high school preppy look
It wasn’t until I tried to fit all my clothes into a tiny freshman dorm closet that I realized how ridiculously many I had.
I like to lay on the beach with a good book. It’s usually a hassle to get to the beach in New England (driving, parking, etc), but once I’m there, I find it relaxing.
We had a discussion about “summer reads” in my book group. I was reluctant to read anything too traumatic or depressing in August. Other people made no distinction between summer reading and regular reading.
Here’s the book I read at the beach in August. It certainly looked the part. Very beachy!
REVIEW: It liked it. It was a little darker than the cover would have you think. It was a good complement to the “Summer of Barbie.” The main character is a woman (a scientist) severely hampered by the boxes American society forced women into in the 1950s and 60s. There is one central tragedy, but it has a key “summer read” element: a happy ending.
For about six months in 2019 and 2020 (pre-pandemic), I was able to swim laps in Boston’s fanciest new building – One Dalton Street. It’s both a Four Seasons Hotel and a very expensive condo building, all in one deluxe skyscraper.
At that time, the condos were still under construction, but the hotel was open, so management kindly let people who lived or worked in the neighborhood use the fitness center. They didn’t advertise this — I just happened to ask, so I typically had the whole pool to myself. The occasional hotel guest would come and go.
The light-filled pool area has a gentle arc and sweeping view of Boston’s Back Bay neighborhood and Christian Science Plaza. The locker rooms have complimentary everything – from cucumber water, to fluffy white robes and the thickest emery boards I’ve ever seen. It’s a true urban oasis. After swimming, showering and pampering there, I would drive home in a relaxed state.
I knew it wouldn’t last, so I tried to enjoy it. But I never thought a virus would be the thing that ended it!
Anyway, in my fantasy City of the Future, everyone would have access to an oasis like this.
Since 1995, when my first child was born, being a mother is what motivated me. Raising kids is such a heavy lift! From making food to making money, you’re constantly working on their behalf for 23ish years, if you send them to college. My second child was born six years later, so I’m just wrapping up this phase now. (He’s a senior in college.)
If you succeed at parenting, your kids grow into happy, independent adults, which is great. Pat yourself on the back, you did a good job! (Of course you still worry about them, but it’s not the same. They’re adults now.)
But THEN what motivates you? I’m not sure. It’s a good question.
My husband has taken up powerlifting and is very serious about it. I’ve made what feels like a cliche move for a woman my age and booked a trip to Paris. I’m currently studying French on the Mango app available through my public library. I’ll let you know how that goes.
Let’s face it, seeing movies is different these days. The fact that you can wait for films to be available on streaming means that you’ll be seeing many great productions on your TV, where they’ll be up against a myriad of amazing series and documentaries. I think it’s hard for a film you saw on your TV to be truly memorable (over decades).
All of the films on my list are ones I remember seeing on the big screen (sometimes more than once) and loving.
I was born in 1965, the first year of Generation X, and I think my list reflects that. Plus, I do love a musical! (If Hamilton had been a movie instead of a play first, it would’ve been on my list for sure.)
1. Sound of Music (1965)
2. Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971)
3. Star Wars (1977)
4. Grease (1978)
5. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986)
6. Schindler’s List (1993)
7. Good Will Hunting (1997)
8. Bridesmaids (2011)
9. Black Panther (2018)
10. Barbie (2023)
Seeing the original Star Wars in the summer of 1977 in Nantucket’s historic Dreamland Theater was the most memorable movie-going experience of my life. I was 12. I’ll never forget how the audience cheered. Also, the score by John Williams was such an important part of the film. Goosebumps. I bought the sheet music for the main theme and learned to play it on the piano.
Final note: In my opinion, Meryl Streep is our best living American actress. Sophie’s Choice, Out of Africa, Kramer vs Kramer, Mamma Mia and all her other films would be my second top ten (or top twenty) all on their own.
I think I like to write mostly because it’s therapeutic. Getting some thoughts out of my head and onto “paper” helps me let them go and move on. I originally started this blog when I turned 50. Here’s a post I did then called “Why Blog?” Reading it now (8 years later), it still seems about right.
Also, I’ve always been a reader. I love fiction and memoirs. It seems that many people who really like to read also enjoy writing. The difference between me and a real writer is the discipline and dedication to craft. I’ve found some real writers here on WordPress using the “Discover” button on Jetpack. I loved this post by Jodi Lee Reifer. I’m not ready to tackle an essay like this about my own sister, but Jodi’s thoughts (so beautifully expressed) truly resonated.
The first entry: an account of my New Year’s Day, 1974
Have you noticed how you get asked: “Do you feel safe at home?” at every medical appointment these days? It’s like a law or something. Without a second thought, I always answer yes. I never worry about being hurt by someone in my home.
Sadly, millions of people, especially women and children, cannot truthfully answer yes to that question. In my town, a beautful, promising high school senior was murdered by her father in 2010, when my daughter was a freshman at the same school. It was surreal, almost unfathomable.
It’s easy to take safety for granted, but it’s not a given. Men especially should think about that every time they want to complain about things like “safe spaces” or “trigger warnings.” The reality is that many, many people don’t feel safe in their own homes or relationships and can’t easily get out. If there’s a gun in the home, that makes everything worse. If you haven’t seen it, the series Maid on Netflix is great.
One last thing, I had a male colleague give me a hard time because I complained about female staff members being expected to walk to a remote parking lot (under an expressway in Boston) after an event that we were all required to attend. He just coudn’t understand how I could bring up PARKING, when he was dealing with so many important and stressful details! Maybe if he’d ever felt afraid enough to lace his keys between his fingers on a dark or deserted street, he’d have understood a bit better.
Apparently this way is better and safer for your hand
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