Lucky me

When I think about what it must be like to be poor, I often think that one of the more miserable aspects of poverty  - yet often overlooked, as it's a 'nice to haves,' not a 'must have' -  is that, when you're poor, you're less likely to be surrounded by lovely things than you are if you're not poor.

I think about this all the time.

I step out of my front door and look out on the Boston Public Garden, one of the loveliest public park in the United States. Lucky me.

Sure, people who don't live in downtown Boston can come in and take in the beauty of the Public Garden. But they can't walk out their front door and see it. 

The Public Garden changes their plantings throughout spring-summer-fall, and in the winter, it's decked out with white lights. But one of my favorite parts of the Public Garden is The Make Way for Ducklings ducks, which change costume seasonally (or whenever a Boston team makes the playoffs), and here they are in holiday garb. 

When I turn the corner to stroll down Charles Street, the main drag in my neighborhood, I find shops that are interesting and well-kept. And for the holidays, shop after shop, they're almost all decked out.

None of these pics do the displays any justice, but you get the point: Festive. Interesting. Attractive

And sometimes pretty in pink.

But as often as not, not.

Some places go for a toned down holiday aesthetic. 

The store pictured below sells Birkenstocks. They also sell boots, so they put their greens in a boot-shape. (This spot has been a boot-Birk store forever, under multiple owners, but it's always been hippy dippy. Back in the day, I bought my sister Trish a pair of Frye boots there when she was heading off to college.)

  

This is Blackstone's, my favorite gift shop. Jennifer and Jim, the owners, are delightful. It's also where I get my knives sharpened.

And this is where I get things framed. Dave, who owns this shop, is an artist and framing genius. 

I am fortunate to have a wonderful little hardware store, Charles Supply, just around the corner. The owner's wife is an artist, and their windows - whatever the season - are witty and imaginative. (Not that you can see the wit and imagination from my lousy pictures. Just take my word for it.)

I could do another walkaround to the local residences. But I'm feeling a bit Insta'd out. (That said, I did capture a couple.)

Years ago, I foolishly tried to learn Irish from tapes. Very little stuck with me, but this proverb did.

Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin 

Which translates into there's no fireside like your own.

This is not my fireside. But it is my front door. Agus,  níl aon doras tosaigh mar do doras tosaigh féin. 

Lucky me, to live where things are merry, bright, interesting, pretty...Lucky me.