The good life

A cup of coffee in the morning. We splurged and bought some good stuff. The light comes in through the window from over the rooftops of the neighboring houses. The night before we threw an old sleeping bag down for Bob. I threw away his old bed when I moved, the one I got for him when he was a puppy. Before that the warm lamps softened the front room, nice enough to make me almost fall asleep. I talked to my daughter and made some plans for next weekend. She'll ride the train in; I'll pick her up at South Station on my way home from work. I cooked pork ribs and saurkraut for three hours, and the apartment smelled wonderful. We made some more progress on the apartment, putting more away, hanging up some things on the wall. And we finally decided what we wanted to do in the kitchen. It happened like an epiphany. We both want a home, and sometimes we get a little anxious. There's a neighborhood townie bar, and a townie named Midge who cut my hair. She made me look good. A Chinese woman who does my shirts. A neighborhood coffee shop down the hill with comfortable couches.

Little details.

Saturday night we rode the train into Cambridge to see a movie, but didn't feel like standing in the rain and snow for tickets. So we grabbed a burger and a beer and played a couple of games of pool.

It's a nice little life. Some people may laugh, but I don't give a shit; I've never been that complicated. Always been pretty basic. Always wanted things simple. Always liked home cooking over a fancy restaurant. Beer more than champagne. A hamburger or meat loaf over steak. I don't need or want some fancy dessert. A couple of Hersey Kisses from the bag tucked in the refrigerator door will do just fine. Second hand furniture works for me. I'll take a pool table and a skanky tattooed waitress over luxury boxes at Gillette Stadium any day. But not over box seats at Fenway.

I'm worried I've gotten boring.