The woman I talked to about substitute teaching in Somerville seemed to find me acceptable. I would even say we hit it off. I felt at home in Somerville, land of my forebears. My mother was born and raised in Medford, the next town over. My parents met here, at Tufts. It seems familiar, big old clapboard houses on steep hillside streets. The feel of the air, not far from the ocean, the gray clouds and the rain coming on. Anyway, I got where I was supposed to go, made a good impression, enjoyed myself, navigated the transit system, bought groceries and carried them home. I am to let her know my availability for next week. They will run my background check today. I have two weeks to get fingerprinted.
I think it is the wealth of choices that makes city living so appealing. Shall I go to the cheapest grocery store, crowded with a variety of people, or shall I try the butcher shop and see if the meat is that much better? Will I work hard and make lots of money and buy a big house? Or shall I be part of the fringe counter-culture, starting a small business and walking lightly on the land?
The morning is my time, has been since I was in college. Other people might sleep in and groan and moan about getting up. I thrive in the early light of day, waiting impatiently for enough natural light to heat water for tea (in the microwave here). I put some bread in the toaster oven (on top of the refrigerator, in the small but not-bad-for-an-apartment kitchen), get out the yogurt and strawberries. Nobody else is moving yet, not even a peep from the dog.
I'm casually reading e-mail and eating breakfast when someone (T) comes out and goes into the bathroom to shower. The plan was that I would start Molli's coffee for her if she would set it up the night before, but that has only happened once. I put the filter in the machine, but don't dare try to measure the right amount of grounds for her. I peek into the bedroom. She is awake and I say hi. We talk some about the day until T comes back to get dressed.
Molli rushes in the bathroom. T comes and gets her breakfast. She is clearly ready to go before Molli appears. A second bathroom would be a big plus here. I put on my boots. We get the leash and go out the door. I turn the key, saying, "you have everything?" they both say yes. Down the two flights of stairs (we rarely use the elevator, but it's nice to have the option) and out into the cool gray dampness. Osa is excited, pulling on the leash and sniffing places. By the time we get to the corner, Molli says, "I have to go back for my purse." We say goodbye to T and she goes on to the school, right across the street. Osa watches her go. I give Molli the keys and she goes back to get her purse. Osa and I casually saunter in the direction Molli will go.
She is enjoying her new job in the public defender's office. Yesterday she told me, "I forgot how exciting it is." Lots happening quickly, lots of variety, in criminal court. People being arraigned, denied bail, tried. It is sad, but pretty much any kind of law she will practice will be sad. Mergers and acquisitions is not sad, but it would definitely bore her.
Osa and I walk with Molli down to Beacon Street, where we turn left while she goes straight. We angle back to Kirkland and make a big circle, ending up at the apartment, tired but energized. Osa curls up in her corner of the couch. I sit for a minute before showering. I am happy to pull on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Perhaps it is not quite that cold, but I enjoy the anticipation.
I have most of the day to myself, with no real obligations. I will visit the farmers' market near Harvard, which opens at 12. I will make tomato sauce for pizza. When T comes home at 2:30, we will make pizza dough and let it rise, to be covered with toppings and baked when Molli gets home. We have made it through the first week and it's looking good.
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