His guitar resting against his back, Martin Sexton strides onto the stage like a gunslinger entering a dusty saloon. Music is the weapon he uses to battle against ignorance and apathy. Martin is a barrel of a man with a warm, open pie-shaped face that peers out from underneath a riot of black hair. He’s… Read More Soothing & Seething
The wood contains a feather pattern. Little whorls shimmy up against one another like two on a dance floor. The undulations are so pronounced that I expect to be able to feel the waves of energy as I run my hand across them. The surface of the board is all glide, perfectly soft and smooth… Read More One Tree, Many Leads
It’s a little Pavlovian, but when the cold sets in and the snow starts to drift, I am compelled to get out the mixing bowls and measuring spoons and bake. There is nothing that sears your pleasure centers faster than filling the house with the heavy scents of cocoa and vanilla and sugar. Baked goods… Read More Butter, Sugar, and Salvation
The Mass Ave. bridge is the longest bridge in Boston. It straddles the Charles River and joins the Back Bay area with the part of Cambridge home to the revered and intimidating nerd factory, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Just walking over the bridge elevates your neurons. Painted numbers appear on the concreted in six-foot… Read More Knit
A week before Christmas I hit a wall. This was zero hour, critical mass time; the frenzied home stretch of baking, wrapping, party planning, party going, and making merry like I was living in a schmaltzy Hallmark holiday television movie. But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have it. I stood in the living room… Read More Christmas With The Lizard King
Churches creep me out. Coming from a Roman Catholic upbringing, this is not a conclusion that I arrived at lightly, because, you know, GUILT. The church, I learned at an early age, is GOD’S HOUSE, which I heard in the same booming, terrifying James Earl Jones voice that I imagined actually did belong to God.… Read More Leaving The Big House Behind
She swiped it. She palmed it right off the counter in one fluid movement, turned on her heel, and shouldered her way out through the door into the fall sunshine. If she weren’t flesh and blood and ponytail and puffy jacket and Uggs you would have sworn she was a ghost, a fiction in the… Read More Who Not What You See….