The Boston Blog

We had a wonderful weekend, though it was quite active. Sunday night, we both mused how fast the time flies here. Pace of life? Such is the city, I suppose. A little more R&R on the weekends would be fine by us, though.

Friday evening we met new friends out at The Publick House. We walked to Copley from our house and waited – the longest wait since moving here – for the “C” train to come on the green line. Then, in a matter of minutes, we were in Brookline (Washington Square, to be exact), an undiscovered area. It was a very short walk from the T stop to the front doors of what’s suppose to be the best beer bar in all of Boston. Especially if you like Belgian Ales. John does more so than I do; however, I was excited to see what American crafts they offered. As it turns out, they mainly specialize in hard-to-get beers and Belgian ales. They do offer a few select American craft beers. Not enough for my liking, but John was very pleased. He even bought this outrageous Poorter for us to try.

The one very cool thing about this place is that they are meticulous about their beers. They pour each and every one in the correct glass. And they’ll pour it right in front of you when they bring it to your table. That rocks.

The night was fun. Chatter touched on everything from travel and Boston eateries to video games and tats. It was great to get out to The Publick House with other beer supporters and get a little bit more acquainted with Boston, albeit through another person’s experience. Hey, learning is learning. And like a sponge, I soaked it all up.

And it’s true what they say about Boston. You definitely go out earlier here. That could be in part because the T stops running around midnight. Or it could be due to the popularity of the places; so, it favors you if you go early enough to beat the rush – or attempt to beat it. Either way, we were at the bar around 7:30 and home by 10. We were beat. But, we were both excited to watch the Pitt vs. Villanova game. Our disdain for Pitt runs deep; so, we were both truly happy to see Villanova pull off an amazing defeat in the final seconds!

Saturday, John had a Miller High-Life day. With a start, he fixated on his to-do list (he actually wrote one out; too cute) and tackled every aspect of it. The only falter? Not enough mulch. But, like Extreme Home Makeover, our outside patio area went from looking like the crinkled face of Janice Dickinson to a nearly wrinkle-free place of promise. Save for a few topsy-turvy bricks, our outdoor patio is a gem. We talked about planting flowers and herbs. The latter for cooking, of course. John labored through the day to clear away the murk and mud. He washed off the bricks. Even swept clumps off dirt away. And then, like a true man of the house, he finished it off by laying mulch on top of nearly every square inch of our little earth. After a quick shower, he popped open one can of Miller High-Life. It was a running joke between us. You see, the last time we saw the American Ale commercial on TV, John said he’d try one, if he could get his hands on just one. When we went to our corner liquor store, I managed – don’t ask me how – to find one, yes one, bottle of the American Ale from Budweiser. With that, he picked up the Miller High-Life, exclaiming he had wanted to try this too. That’s when we both agree; after his hard day of working in the yard, he deserved a Miller manly man’s moment.

The verdict? American Ale is drinkable, though not a first choice. The Miller High-Life almost got poured down the sink, until I reasoned it was better than Coors. He said it was, yes, but couldn’t compete with PBR. So, there you have it. Take it from us; you’re better off without either.

And then the rain came. On Sunday, it rained nearly all day, though it came in unpredictable waves of spit. We got hit on our walk to the grocery store, where, no surprise here, we finally finagled a system that works for both John and myself. He’s a roamer. He’ll abandon his cart in search of what he needs. This unnerves me. Nor was I able to roam while he had the cart, because oftentimes, I’d end up losing both – the cart and the boy. This made me anxious. I’d be stuck with an armful of yogurt with sign of our cart or the man who tucked it away in some obscure corner. So, this time, we faced the shopping experience with a new plan: I’d drive the cart and he’s roam for food. I had little missions, too, like getting the cheese and coffee. This bodes well, for I like to select what I get. Yes, this means while John was out roaming for things on our list, I was in front of the shelves of coffee, mulling over my choices. By the time John got back with most of our list, I had narrowed down our coffee to three. He made the final choice, of course. Not because I couldn’t manage that but because I’m very indecisive at times. I want the best and the best is hard to get when you’re faced with a quandary: new New England coffee brands versus the tried-and-true Starbucks. The latter, if you’re wondering, won out.

After the store, we hitched a cab and found ourselves back home to unpack the food and catch the final half of the OU vs. UNC game. I was going for the lesser of the two evils (UNC), though, if possible, I really wanted both to lose. John, meantime, was cooking. It was his turn, we agreed, and he decided we’d enjoy a lovely French bistro-style dinner. After downloading the All Recipes iPhone app, John had a recipe for us. He made chicken cordon bleu, with a side of green beans and steamed tomatoes. It was excellent! With a little bit of a wine and French movie after, the night was perfect.

Of course, the night didn’t end at the credits of the French film. I went downstairs to tuck myself into bed, with the latest book I checked out from the library. John, on the other hand, planted himself on the couch to join forces and kill more zombies. I tell you, that man loves that game. It’s adorable.

This morning, as he sat up in bed, pep-talking himself to rise and shine, I ran my index finger from the top of his spine to the bottom. And I thought, I really love this man – all bones and flesh; all heart and brain.

I sent him out into the world on this damp, drizzle-specked day with a tenderly firm, “Go get ‘em!” And off he went, my John. Off to work. And here I am, gazing out the kitchen window, seeing the splattered redbrick sidewalk. It’s Monday, a new day, the first of many.

(Please note: The photos in this post were not taken by yours truly, though I do hope to get more original photos up to share with you. Be patient, please!)