Obsessions

Mrs. Eufalia Lindsay told me the following story.  She and her son have been undergoing counseling for a reason I am not privileged to know because it isn't really relevant.  Mrs. Lindsay attended group therapy sessions at a large area hospital until she decided to quit last week.  Two other area mothers were also undergoing this therapy and Mrs. Lindsay reports they've discontinued treatment as well.

The psychiatrist sat in the middle and addressed each of the mothers and their children, "You all have obsessive desires and you have subliminally grafted your personality disorders onto your children." he said.

The psychiatrist first addressed Patient A and her daughter: "You have a fixation of food," he told the chubby lady from Lower Mills, "This is why you named your daughter Candy."  The girl looked up at her mother and asked, "Is that true?"  The mother said, "No."

The psychiatrist turned to Patient B and her daughter: "You are fixated with money.  You called your daughter Penny because you can't think of anything but money."  This family lives on Jones Hill and the mother walks every day from Jerome Street to the Upham's Corner rail station passing Sovereign Bank, Bank of America and Citizens Bank.  Penny looked down at her feet.  "You do say we can't afford things, Mommy," she said.  Her mother glowered at the psychiatrist and said to her daughter, "We can't afford a pony but we're not hurting."

Mrs. Lindsay had heard enough.  Before a snap, quack diagnosis could be applied to her, she took her son's hand.  "Come now, Dick.  It's time for us to head home," she said.

Mrs. Lindsay and her family live on the street that runs parallel to Shawmut Station and, like the other mothers, she does have an obsession.  It is an obsession with her surroundings.  It is an obsession with Dorchester.  The Lindsay family gets it mail delivered to their address on Nixon Street.

It's a big Dot

We went to a bakery in Concord sometime this past autumn and, while we were waiting in line for two coffees and a sandwiches, someone already seated at a table said, "It smells like Dorchester in here."

It did smell like Dorchester in that bakery located in the town where the shot heard 'round the world was fired.  It smelled like fresh baked bread and nutritious ingredients.  It smelled like freshly ground, roasted coffee beans.  It smelled like a lot of upright, clean-scrubbed people waiting patiently in line.  It smelled wholesome and civilized.  It did smell like Dorchester, Mass.

I was down in Peabody Square this morning.  There wasn't a bakery nearby, nor many other types of businesses open.  The Tedeschi was doing a brisk business in newspapers, lottery tickets and smokeless tobacco and the fire station was manned, but the psychic wasn't yet awake, the packy hadn't yet unlocked its doors, and the trendy restaurants wouldn't fire up their ovens for another five hours at least.

Flat Black Coffee was open and people walked Dot Ave down to the T station with fragrant coffee cups in hand.  It wasn't the coffee that made the air fragrant with Dot spirit.  It was the people.  It was the homes stacked back to front up Ashmont Hill.  It was the apartments, one on top of another, one after another, and another and another as far as two legs could walk, that gave Peabody Square that Dot vibe.  Dorchester: wide and vast and deep.

It smelled like Dorchester today, in Dorchester.  No chill wind or ill wind can tamp that spirit.  It may not be the busiest hive of activity in the metro Boston nest of neighborhoods, but it's the biggest and it's the sweetest.  Dorchester smells people working together, Honey.  No harsh words were heard around Ashmont Station.  People commiserated about the windchill rather than trying to pick fights.

Better Than Good

When something is better than good, it deserves a different word. Some people say "fantastic," and that may work if you come from Fanchester. Where I live though, if something is better than good, we call it dottastic. We usually append two exclamation points for emphasis like so: Dottastic!!

The word is a fad that is catching on with all the youngsters around Dorchester. I wouldn't say the word has reached the critical mass to be all the rage, but it's making its rounds and gathering force. I was in the McDonald's at Codman Square where a young couple were enjoying a late lunch. The boy said, "My sister took me to Eggleston Square yesterday and that Filet o' Fish was good, but this one is dottastic!!" His date took a bite of hers and flashed an enthusiatic thumbs-up in agreement while still chewing.

At the Tedeschi Market on Neponset Avenue the other morning, I was picking up a Dorchester Reporter and the Herald. The cashier was all of seventeen. After I had given her my $1.25, she gave me a winning smile. "Thank you, sir. You have yourself a dottastic day!!" I assured her I would.

While waiting on the inbound platform at Shawmut Station, I watched a gaggle of pre-teen girls squeal with delight at one of their member's shoes. "Those are so dottastic!!" They kept saying it over and over. The shoes' owner was very pleased by the attention and compliments. She said she had gotten the shoes at AJ Wright.

Proof that the word is entering the mainstream, at least in this part of Boston: There is a handwritten sandwichboard on the sidewalk outside Peabody Tire. It says: "We have the BEST Tires at the Most Dottastic Prices!!"

Will the word catch on outside Boston's biggest neighborhood? It may be a tough sell. Roxtastic sounds pretty nice, too.