The Grimly Pleased

Started out my front door into the hot summer soundtrack of air conditioning units. Say what you will about mini-splits, but they are far quieter than window units and the old standard of central AC. At this hour, the low sun slips through the gaps in the buildings, throwing angled light across the pavement and brick-lined sidewalks.

There’s always construction in the city, especially in the summer, and I passed a pile-up of street signs. While I couldn’t resist a picture, I did resist the almost overwhelming urge to grab one—or a few. The streets were missing their usual runners today—probably the heat. Still, the turkeys were out, strutting through Harvard Square as confidently as the tourists and locals do in the afternoon. Regal creatures, really—until you look past their necks.

A flyer taped to a pole advertised a Conan O’Brien look-alike contest. Another perfectly odd Harvard Square moment. Where I live now was once just scenery from a drive or a walk, and now, as I pass nursing homes and rehab centers not too far from my home, I wonder if those, too, will move from scenery to places I will live one day. Another flyer, for a band calling themselves “The Grimly Pleased,” advertised a show in Somerville. Perhaps that describes me at this moment? Maybe they are short a guitar player.

Toward the end of the walk, I passed crossing guards—the walking kind—guiding kids to school. They seemed to escort each child individually, slowing the flow of traffic for blocks. Completely inefficient. These are the things a fine curmudgeon like myself looks for.