Melancholy happiness

Today I sat in Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square people-watching, drinking a mammoth iced coffee and feeling melancholy, until I was interrupted by someone I vaguely remember from camp stopping to say hello. That reminded me of the ways Boston is different from other places, and how deeply you know a place where you've spent years there. Despite the melancholy, it's been a good few days: lots of feline face-time with Squid and her new sister Hermione, walks around new J.P. haunts and old Cambridge haunts, a sail on the good ship Vim! and tonight hard-boiled eggs at a hipster/grad student bar and the kind of last-minute hospitality that makes you feel like things are okay after all.

And maybe they are, but it's hard to decide. My great-aunt's late-life husband, Ruskin, died last night of a heart attack. I want to post a terrific picture I have of him in a bright yellow sport coat, taken only three or so weeks ago at the family reunion. He was 93, but spry enough to play badminton. I never knew him well, but I did know him to have extraordinary verve and good nature. As I understand it, he died at a luau, enjoying the food and entertainment, surrounded by his family. I picture him wearing a lei. It seems sad, and absurd, and maybe the perfect way to go.