hey jud

Winter parking presents different challenges from the rest of the year. The presence of snow tends to make for inefficient use of space, with many spots that would normally be large enough for two cars taken up by a single auto plus a couple of snow piles. Backing into such a spot is simple. Who cares if you run into the snow banks a bit. This situation naturally led to some concern on my part about keeping up the skills necessary to qualify for the PQ designation (that would be Parking Queen) bestowed on me by my husband. Not to worry though. When we arrived home late last night we circled our block, checked the main street below, took a turn around the Monument and finally relegated ourselves to the 'back forty', parking about five-blocks from our house. Even there poor space utilization made the situation tense, with just a single, tiny space open. In the dark I blithely backed in, and with a minor bumper touch of the car behind me just to be sure I was using all available space, I parked. This morning when I reached the car and saw the space in broad daylight, I actually wondered if I'd be able to get out again. Of course I did, and am now left with the reassurance that my skills have not waned. The PQ still reigns.

One morning on the way to work, this is what the Zakim Bunker Hill Bridge looked like. The picture, taken through the front windshield, is Peter's. I was the driver waiting at the light.

A new scene on our street, ripe for playing the trash or treasure game. Is it just another frozen screen or is the neighborhood going wireless?

Over the past month I've gotten a lot of pleasure from reading my Christmas gift books. Because I'm the kind of reader who dives into a book and won't emerge until I've finished the last page, I try to keep my reading under control by reserving it for otherwise blank spots of time, like a coast to coast plane ride or a lost afternoon following a crumby morning. Since these books were all gifts however, I feel it's my duty not to delay the pleasure of reading them, and if they take time away from important responsibilities, such as removing red wine stains from the carpet, so be it.

Anyway, that's how I ended up reading midday, without guilt, 'I Want That! How We All Became Shoppers' by Thomas Hine. A gift from my husband, his enscription on the first page - 'Judy, a book that you should have written' - duly captured my love of the topic. Beyond the fascinating facts and interesting theories about people's love/hate relationships with shopping, my favorite thing about the book was identifying my shopping style. Now besides calling myself a flaneur, I can take pride in being known as a palpeuse, or "caresser". Of course I like the French word best, where I fit perfectly its definition of 'a new kind of woman, who moves through the store, touching everything and buying little or nothing', though some might take exception to the truth of those last four words.

I must confess I've been on a binge since before Christmas, and the sad thing is, I'm still on it. I just can't stop myself and it happens four, sometimes five, maybe even six times a day. So sweet, so easy. As I write this post, I'm succumbing again, raising the orange netting and sliding my hand underneath to grab yet another. When will it all end I ask myself? And then sadly I discover my answer. The end is near, but will there be a future for me? Surely no one is better qualified.