On a recent Sunday, two generous couples who live in my apartment complex hosted a catered barbecue in the garden behind our buildings, inviting all the residents. On the menu–delicious spareribs with all the trimmings, sheet cakes for dessert, and a wide selection of beverages. With a small group of musicians adding to the festivities, it was a lovely event and a good opportunity to meet some of my new neighbors.

Most of the attendees seemed to be, shall we say, “in my age category.”  But lo and behold, a family with two young children arrived and then a maybe-30-something woman whose name I had seen on many packages in the mail room.  

It’s beginning to feel like a community…

We are all familiar with “Your call is important to us…”  And we all have our strategies for coping with the wait.  But the other day, I think I set a length-of-time record. 

I placed a call at 4:30 and was told the usual. While waiting, I did the following: straightened my desk, folded my laundry, and began to prepare dinner.  Then I ate my dinner.  When I started the “wait time” was “more than 30 minutes.” Then, “under 15 minutes” Then “under 5 minutes.”

At 6:45, I was connected. My call lasted about two minutes. 

Sound familiar?

Yesterday was a gorgeous early fall day, and I spent a good part of it visiting an extraordinary exhibit on the grass mall in the center of Commonwealth Avenue’s in Boston’s Back Bay.  On the mall was a herd of one hundred-thirty life-sized elephant sculptures.  Each elephant was constructed by indigenous artisans in India from the leaves of the invasive plant, Lantana camara.

Everyone (but me) was taking photos. I just looked at the elephants and everyone loving them. (People thankfully obeyed the “do not climb on elephant” signs.)

Back Bay, especially with its collection of 19th-century Victorian brownstones, always attracts Boston visitors, but The Great Elephant Migration brought out residents as well.

For those in greater Boston, today is the last day of the exhibit.  Go, if you can. 

Why does summer feel shorter than January?  As if I didn’t know. 

But somehow, while I was on my quick trip to Brazil, summer left New England.  Stepping out of Logan Airport to await the shuttle to the subway station, the air seemed different from just a week earlier.  And when I took a quick trip to the Farmer’s Market just a block or so away in the afternoon, there was a definite chill in the air (not to mention some unexpected rain).

I am gearing up for the New England fall, choosing a class to take, reserving books at the library, ordering tickets, the usual.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose!

Why does summer feel shorter than January?  As if I didn’t know. 

But somehow, while I was on my quick trip to Brazil, summer left New England.  Stepping out of Logan Airport to await the shuttle to the subway station, the air seemed different from just a week earlier.  And when I took a quick trip to the Farmer’s Market just a block or so away in the afternoon, there was a definite chill in the air (not to mention some unexpected rain).

I am gearing up for the New England fall, choosing a class to take, reserving books at the library, ordering tickets, the usual.

Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose!

I have had two wonderful grandsons for quite a while.  One is just out of college, and the other is a sophomore in college.  So, imagine my delight to learn that I was to have a new grandson.

Jacob Peter Silva Kugel was born on August 8^th in San Paulo, Brazil to my older son Seth and his Brazilian wife Dani. As I write, Jacob sleeps in a carriage six feet away.

His dad has lived in Brazil for a long time, and I have visited him there often, including for his wedding to Dani.  But never with as much anticipation as coming to meet Jacob.

Do you remember how delicious newborns smell and feel?  Jacob does only three things, eat, sleep and cry.  But he does them all perfectly.

Just not in the USA.

The stately sycamore trees along the Charles River on Memorial Drive near Harvard Square have been a star of the Cambridge landscape for decades.  I have a (perhaps somewhat faulty) memory that Jackie Kennedy helped save them decades ago when they were almost on the chopping block.  Once, when she visited the Kennedy School, I shook her hand, and I recall that I thanked her for taking up their cause.

Now, decades later, in my new home, a 6^th floor apartment along Memorial Drive, their sweeping branches are the first thing I see through my shades-not-drawn bedroom windows every morning.

Thanks to Mrs. Kennedy.

I don’t own AirPods.  First appearing on the scene about six years ago, I now see the telltale wires coming from ears everywhere. But not mine.

My son Seth, who resides in São Paulo, Brazil, lost one of his AirPods, allegedly eaten by his dog.  I recall his telling me that they had proof that it had been digested—exact details not offered.

Replacing AirPods in Brazil was costly enough that he ordered them from Amazon via his sister-in-law in Maryland, who had them mailed to me because I have a trip to Brazil coming up.

All I have to do is remember to take them.

My husband Peter and I bought our “sea-green,” but really sort of aqua, Toyota Prius in 2016.  It was an unusual color so whenever I saw its identical twin going in the other direction, I wanted to honk in recognition of the driver’s good taste.

But living and working in Cambridge, I didn’t drive it every day, which may be why it still looks pretty darn good. Using it even less now-a-days, I decided to offer it to my grandson Grady who is a sophomore in college, and, unsurprisingly, he decided to accept it.

He and his father flew to Boston to pick it up the other day.  Before turning it over, I had to remove a bunch of used masks from Covid, two umbrellas and some CD’s which have sat un-played in a pocket in the door for years.  I didn’t even try to remove the one noticeable dent on the driver’s side door which, in my view, is a mark of character.

I’ve never been car-less in Cambridge, but I’ll not miss the parking space search or the digging out in the snow. And there is always Uber and Lyft.  Still, it’s a bit of a loss…

I have observed groups of people waving their arms in unison doing something called Tai Chi for years. It looked a bit strange to me, but who knows?

Hoping to meet some neighbors in my apartment complex, I joined the Tai Chi group for its once-a-month meeting. It took place inside in the laundry room rather than in our garden because of the extreme heat. 

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but when it was over, I asked myself, “Exactly what was that all about?”

Stay tuned.  I’m going to give it a shot.