Maria Takes Charge

It's my birthday. I celebrated with a solo lunch at W. A. Frost's with book, soup, a nice glass of Austrian wine the bartender picked out for me, and a glorious 50-degree-day walk back down celebrated Selby Ave. I love Frost's. One night my husband and I stopped by for a drink. The bar was packed. A man in a camel-hair coat, nice shoes, and a strawberry-blonde combover approached us with two tickets in hand. "I've been stood up and looked all over the bar for the most romantic couple I could find--and you're it. Would you like two very nice seats to the chamber orchestra at 7?" It was a good sign for us--troubled newlyweds we were--and we took in our first concert at the Ordway Theater that night.

I look around and feel confident that there isn't anything I can't do. The man polishing the copper cornices on this old brick-and-sandstone building: I can do that. The woman who sells her mosaic trinkets down at the Paper Patisserie: I can do that. The radio host opening his own bookshop across the street: I can do that. I could milk goats in Vermont. I could teach English in Italy. I could start up my own writing. I could love this life.