Stomping grounds.

Yesterday was just about as beautiful a day as you can get here in the dead of winter in New England. The sun was blindingly bright (still bouncing off last weekend’s snow), the temperature was above 30, and the wind kept itself under control.

And for my first day off on my new part-time schedule, I spent yesterday wandering around some familiar territory. That grand old city, my first geographical love, Boston.

You know, moving out of the city isn’t always easy and that’s certainly been true for us. But unless you have, a. unlimited funds, or b. a preference for teeny tiny living spaces, it usually becomes inevitable at some point in the life of every city dweller. Moving to a water town like Beverly, Mass. in the winter is a bit like moving to Aspen in July (I’m assuming Aspen is pretty dead in July? Actually I have no idea.) And I thought it wouldn’t bother me so much and it doesn’t. Not so much. Not all the time. Just sometimes. Like yesterday.

I started literally right where I left off, in Brookline at my familiar old salon for a waxing. I’m sure I could find some fabulous new place up here to get that sort of thing done but when it comes to personal grooming, I tend to find someone I like and stick with them until they move across state lines, change careers, or die. I probably get it from my mom. She went to the same manicurist for about ten years, following her from nail salon to nail salon, all over the place, until she up and moved somewhere far away and non-desrcript. Ohio perhaps. I’m really not sure.

Anyways, I’m way past a first name basis with my lady (Alba at Mirage on Beacon – highly recommended). We’ve graduated to hugging, both hello AND goodbye I might add. Fifteen minutes with her and her sweet motherly ways and gorgeous Columbian accent (“Okay, wha ju wan to do today, honey?”) and I’m right at home.

From there I traipsed back across the city (traipsing across the city doesn’t seem like such a hassle when you don’t live there anymore) to the North End. Ah, the North End. Does it get more lovely than the North End? Maybe. Like if you’re actually IN Italy. But on a day like yesterday it was gorgeous, perfect.

I had been searching for weeks for a high quality, one piece tube pan for making cakes. Andreas gave me a wonderful cake book for Christmas which I’ll surely be writing more about later, but suffice to say, I needed a good tube pan and I couldn’t find one anywhere. Not at any of the big box stores or schmancypants kitchen-y stores that we have out here in the ‘burbs. So I Yelped “baking supply store” and that’s how I came to find the Eastern Baking Supply, Co. and hooboy, Jack. Pot.

I am now the proud owner of a NordicWare, 16-cup tube pan, thankyouverymuch. I left Eastern Baking happy but hungry, so I veered into the heart of the North End for some grub. Now you may get lost in the North End, you may get a parking ticket (actually you probably will if you’re not a resident, which is precisely why I didn’t drive into the city), but you will not go hungry. I found a low key little cafe, ordered a mozzarella and tomato sandwich on crusty, crunchy French bread and happily munched by the window as I read aforementioned cake book.

Then a stop at Mike’s Pastry (I know, Modern is supposedly better, I think it’s a toss up) where it was the emptiest I had ever seen it. Seriously, if you’re ever looking for a good time to go to Mike’s, about 2:30 on a Thursday is ideal. I could actually peruse all the displays and give the other desserts a chance to plead their case before ordering exactly what I came for anyways (do I even have to say it?), the cannolis, of course. Plus one small coffee, to go.

I drank that coffee as I navigated those familiar old streets, through Quincy Market, up Congress Street, over to Franklin Street, where I used to work. It’s been less than a month since I left but just being back in my old work neighborhood engulfed me in nostalgia. What funny feeling that is, nostalgia. A funny word too.

Anyways, I was just stopping by to say hello and to meet my replacement (who seems terribly sweet, by the way) and catch up for a bit with my boss. It was nice being back. Nice knowing I can come back, just like that, pop in for a glass of water and a quick catch up. That kind of friendliness and ease is just what I was hoping for when I left that job. Plus it was great just to see my old boss. We’re quite close, as I’ve mentioned.

And that was that. Then I came home. Journeyed by subway and car. Fought traffic and some terribly slow drivers. Pushed on. Back up to Beverly. To my new life. Thinking all the way of how much I missed my old lover, the city. But how nice it is that we could have such lovely rendezvous any time we like.

Back home. Car in park. Key in hand. Boot on stair. Hand on door. And all I really felt? Was happy.