Where the hell have I been?

I'm still asking myself that question.

I've been away in Florida for a few days, and it's been Memorial Day Weekend...

But before I break it down for y'all, the following quaint scene from Ye Olde Beacon Hille.... this morning, around ten, under a blue, gently cloud-fluffed sky, O and I headed up the hill to spend some time at Myrtle Street Playground, a favorite of ours because it's very much geared towards the under 4 set. As we start into the playground, closing the wrought iron gates behind us, I notice a rail thin, bedraggled old man in an Army jacket on one of the benches. It's oddly incongruous (I know this sounds unfair...) to see the very old in this playground (as it is, also, to see the ugly, the fat, or the poorly dressed), but I was cool with it. He then sparks up a match to light his pipe, and I'm mildly annoyed; there are, after all, small children playing nearby. I turn with the stroller to find another bench, and as I do so, the old man collects his newspaper, sucks on his pipe, and gets up to leave. It wasn't until the gate was latched behind him that the distinct, acrid tang of marijuana smoke wafted over to me. I watched several expensively casual moms wrinkle their noses, but I just smiled. My annoyance was driven away by the thought of a grubby old man smoking his weed in a corn cob pipe on the hallowed playgrounds of Ye Olde Beacon Hill.