Caffe Vittoria

One doesn't go to Caffe Vittoria to work. One goes for pleasure. One goes for the cappuccino and the conversation and perhaps the pastries as well. There are no laptops propped on tables or coffee drinkers with headphones stuck in their ears. There is no pretension here and no championing of elitism, as so often felt in other cafes.  Caffe Vittoria has already won the race against time, having established themselves in 1929 and still just as popular. You can linger in your seat for as long as you like, and when you are done sipping your cappuccino you can stare at the walls, covered like a gallery with the institution's most precious memories. Caffe Vittoria tries to be nothing but what it has been for 85 years, and what it has been is authentic, satisfying and successful. 

The Public Library of Brookline

The Public Library of Brookline is a magnificent building inside and out. Tourists and locals alike flock to the Boston Public Library (and for good reason), but I prefer this lesser known gem, which has an impressive history of its own. Though the library itself was established in 1857, the present building dates from 1910 and is probably most well known for it's lovely, oak-paneled reference room. I find myself here on most winter weekends, embracing the cold on my walk there and then distracting myself from it by the books that await me. It has been an eventful winter in Boston, dominated by frigid temperatures and snow that temper my yearning to explore elsewhere, even beyond my own neighborhood. 

So instead, I hibernate within the walls of this library or my apartment,  exploring new worlds within the books I hold in my dry, dry hands. 

A Lady Escapes: A Downeast Holiday

For the Christmas holiday, I journeyed north to downeast Maine. The photographs above have already become reminiscences of that time, now that we are closer to February and December has quickly turned into a memory. But I have been remiss in sharing the details of what was a wonderful time with my mother in the small, coastal town where she lives, tucked away in the woods by Flat bay. For four days in a row we lost power due to an unrelenting ice storm, but our wood stove kept us warm and my mother's resourcefulness kept us contented. When the sun set at 3:30PM, giving our world over to darkness, we lit our tapered candles and took turns reading from Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter, which seemed an appropriate amusement for us given the circumstances.  During daytime the color of gray ruled the skies and the sound of snapping trees filled the woods. I played with our dog Jethro on the ice that covered the land on our tidal bay, waiting for the day when the sky would turn blue. 

And it did, exactly when it should have-on the morning of Christmas day.