sovay: (Sydney Carton)
I am still sick and achy and sore-throated and the buses are still running on a schedule whose utility is known only to the dark gods of gentrification, but I had a very useful appointment in the evening and got pizza for dinner from Mortadella Head, recently named one of the Globe's 37 best new restaurants of Boston. I split it with [personal profile] spatch in the mezzanine of the Somerville.

1. I love the stretch of track between Sullivan and Community College. It runs in parallel with and partly underneath I-93, through a post-industrial landscape of concrete pillars, school buses, and cement mixers. I love the rusted truss bridge which Rob believes belongs to the Lowell Line of the MBTA; I love the sidetracked spray-tagged old cars of the Boston & Maine. Tonight there was a scorching apricot sunset in the west with faint clear lines of evening-blue above. It was still lingering at the horizon, smoked down to pink, by the time I got to MGH.

2. I have received word from my mother that the cyclamen which was melodramatically dying in her living room—all stems and blossoms drooping over the sides of the pot with the visual effect of a down-swooping slide whistle—has perked up since I watered it last night and now looks reasonably cared-for and slightly smug.

3. In the first chapter of Patricia C. Wrede's Mairelon the Magician (1991), the protagonist Kim keeps track of time on a job of breaking and entering by mentally singing her way through "Darlin' Jenny," a ballad whose lyrics are never specified in the text but which has at least eight verses and an equivalent number of choruses. From starting to peel the apples to putting the pie in the oven, preparing an apple pie appears to take me the length of George Mackay Brown's "John Barleycorn," "Chicken on a Raft," "Randy Dandy-O," "Rolling Sea," "The Bonny Ship the Diamond," and "Lukey's Boat," plus a couple of verses from the beginning and end of "Captain Kidd." I don't think I left anything out. Occasionally I had to take a moment to shoo away cats.

Tomorrow night I will be at the Greater Boston Community Burns Supper at the Burren in Davis Square, where I hope to have enough voice to sing. If not, at least I'll have haggis.
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