Today, winter came back with a vengeance. As I shivered at the T-stop this morning, I felt inexplicably delighted by the cold. I suspect that I am a person who has trouble letting go of seasons. I want to be in the throes of the weather, whatever it might be, not teased and tantalized by intimations of the next season. I like winter in Boston, too. I like looking out the window and seeing snow on the train tracks and snow on the tops of the trees and snow on the roofs of the houses on the opposite hillside. I like rushing through the cold wind along with the rest of the commuters, stepping into the warmth of a cafe or bookstore, and feeling my neck get prickly with heat under my scarf. As I remember from my short stay in Minnesota, the drama of piling on all those layers, only to peel them off quickly once inside, is very satisfying.

In other news: 2 out of 3 colleges do not want me to attend their graduate programs. This is extremely disheartening, though perhaps not as devastating as it seemed at first. The second rejection is still very fresh, but I have successfully numbed myself to it, only succumbing to a few flare-ups during the day. When I begin to consider the implications, I feel such a strong surge of panic that I am loathe to continue considering. I will need to think about other possibilities at some point, but right now I can't think what those might be. I feel fairly ashamed about not getting into these schools - I don't want everyone to know - and I recognize that I really do consider them to be arbiters of intelligence and merit, despite all my speeches and rants to the contrary. I have fallen short and it feels just as startling and painful as a literal fall.

For years, my parents have been telling me about a performance by Cyndi Lauper at a Joni Mitchell tribute concert that they saw on TV. They were blown away by the performance and it had become legendary in my mind, though I'd never seen it. The other day, I finally had the presence of mind to look it up on YouTube. It was easy to find and, boy, did it deliver. The performance is astonishing, almost wrenching in its intensity and beauty. She really mined that song for all it was worth. I got shivers and felt tears spring to my eyes several times. Check it out.

This was a good day. I slept late, breakfasted, read, then clothed myself and set out on an adventure. My adventures mainly consist of lots and lots of walking, followed by coffee and more walking. Today's was no exception. I decided to walk down to Brookline Village, returning High School Musical 2 (yes, I'm wincing as I write that) to the Redbox at Stop 'n' Shop on the way. Once I reached Brookline Village, it seemed advisable to keep going to Kenmore Square (which I've only just realized is NOT Kendall Square). It was sunny, in a pale, wintry way, and it felt good to be moving. The more I walk around, the more I actually begin to piece together the layout of the city - mainly the way in which places I've visited by train/bus/car are connected to each other. Most often, it turns out that a place to which I had journeyed by 2 or 3 trains turns out to be right next to a place that is within walking distance from my house. Also, walking allows me to stay in contact with the parts of the city that are not so shiny or groomed for consumption. After a few blocks of dingy warehouses, I walked through a lovely little park which happens to be the one I had glimpsed many times when driving M to school and H to the doctor. I figured out that if I walked some ways in the other direction, through that park, I would end up near the MFA and the Gardner Museum. Today, however, I stuck to the plan and walked down Brookline Ave to Kenmore. I considered several Starbucks, umpteen Dunkin Donuts, and a few independent coffee shops, but kept going. I stopped in the Barnes and Noble, eschewing their cafe for a quick look at a guidebook, then set off for the Trident Bookstore and Cafe on Newbury. There, I had an incredibly small but well-appointed cobb salad and 2 cups of really good coffee. The place was hopping, but the waitress seemed content to let me stay there all day, drinking free refills, reading my romance novel, and starting a new crossword puzzle. I, however, was not comfortable taking up space that seemed needed for others, so I paid and wandered over to the bookstore side to check it out. They have a good selection, but it is way too crowded on a Saturday to make for enjoyable browsing. I found a small selection of used CDs and ended up buying 3: Loretta Lynn's Van Lear Rose, Tift Merritt's Tambourine, and a Blue Note jazz compilation. Buying CDs feels so strange these days, as if I were insisting on cooking in a cast iron cauldron over a fire while the newfangled range sits unused. Especially since I will be downloading these CDs and putting them on my nano anyway. When I left the store, it was beginning to snow, so I bundled up, feeling like a seasoned New Englander for bringing all my winter paraphernalia. The air was cold and crisp and the snow fell so gently; my spirits were buoyed and I decided to keep walking. Half a block away, I followed temptation and turned down an alley. This alley contained the back lots and parking for rows of condos and brownstones. It was so quiet and peaceful to be just off the street this way. I put my headphones on and queued up Ryan Adams' "Come Pick Me Up". The snow fell softly in between the tall corridors of buildings. The song provoked its familiar combination of longing, aching, and happiness. The alley stretched on for blocks, hemming me into my own little slice of the city, as the music soared and my feet strode along. It was a wonderful series of moments.