Me And My Chilean Cardigan Down By The Schoolyard

Another tough departure from my wardrobe happened two weeks ago: I gave away my light blue, zip-up cardigan with the thin navy blue stripe across the upper ribcage. I bought it nearly nine years ago in a Santiago department store, either Fallabella or Almacenes Paris, and wore it very often for a long time. In fact, I wore it so frequently that at my first reporting job, when my co-workers created a fake front page to say farewell, the cardigan made several appearances. I mistakenly put it in the washing machine once, which stretched it out, and with time, the sweater became so stretched that its waistline became amorphous and mushy. Then, the zipper completely broke so it was essentially an undefined piece of wool that still hung around my arms and shoulders well but flailed everywhere below that. Despite its poor condition, I brought it to Boomerang's rather than put it in the trash. I couldn't bear to do it myself. Like those great brown Reeboks that I bought in Santiago, the cardigan's small details were strong enough that I haven't found a similar sweater here. I had to hang on to it as long as I could.

Above is a photo of the sweater.

Sometimes It Seems Like I Live In Vermont

For example, three Saturdays ago, when a light snow fell through the early afternoon, dusting the late-fall vegetables for sale at the neighborhood farmers' market. The pears, apples, squashes and broccoli all had bits of wet crystals on them and the sky was a pleasantly husky gray. As everyone on Centre Street ran errands -- as usual, I was only one of a handful of people without a stroller or a dog -- the embrace of early winter reminded me of how I imagine people in Burlington manage Saturdays in January. Or for example, when walking east on Green Street in fall or winter mornings, toward the eponymous subway station, and the sun shines sharply through trees, to the point that I have to squint or cross the street into the shade. In the distance beyond the subway, the street climbs a hill on its way to Franklin Park; a church steeple and brick buildings reflect the glare. It makes me think I live in Waterbury, or another of Vermont's large towns (relatively speaking), where the central square is a collection of late-19th century buildings and the sun always falls attractively on them. Then I hop on the subway with about 75 other people and another 600 or so who join at the subsequent stops. That the city simultaneously feels so distant and present, so rural and urban, so intimate and unfamiliar, is wonderful.

Above are photos of Jamaica Pond and the farmers' market.

Onwards and Upwards

One of the Oklahoma City Thunder's five losses so far this year came against the Celtics on Thanksgiving weekend. The Thunder had flashes of excitement and fluidity, but couldn't quite put enough together for a victory. There was a bit of a stutter to the game that stopped everything from coalescing. I closed the TV wondering if they could be the same without James Harden, their star guard who was traded to the Houston Rockets because the Thunder's management decided his impending new contract would've been too expensive to afford. So much for that: The Thunder have the NBA's best record now, at 21-5. That their winning so often without Harden doesn't demonstrate that he was irrelevant to their excellence. Harden is carrying an otherwise unimpressive Rockets team to a .500 record, and the Thunder probably could've traded guard Russell Westbrook, their other secondary star, and not missed a step this year.

If any team could justify the importance of professional sports in urban policy and planning, the Thunder are probably it. With their rise has come a pop in stories about Oklahoma City's resurgence, most noticeably in the Times' Sunday magazine last month. Downtown housing, redeveloped mills, re-designed streets, and a talented basketball team that's popular nationwide and raises the city's profile. Basketball is the most urban of the top-four professional U.S. sports, so perhaps this correlation makes sense. (Or maybe the improvements in Oklahoma City have to do with a cast of thousands who shape its policy, development, culture, lifestyle, and neighborhoods.) The city takes pride in its team and the team takes pride in its city, and it's hard not to be charmed.

The Thunder's current roster is at a stage similar to where Beach House or Grizzly Bear sit these days -- at the peak of their powers, with even more potential and growth laid out in front of them. But they're no longer a secret to share among your cool friends. The word about their talent is out everywhere, so the fan base is much larger. And as hard it is not to be able to keep them to yourself any longer, you're still so happy for all that they've done. The difference between the Thunder and Beach House is that while the Thunder will compete for the championship for probably the next five years (if not more), Beach House probably only have one or two more great albums left before they become repetitive. That's because basketball seasons are played every year while one record is released every two or three years, and because art is hard, maybe even harder than professional sports.

Above is a photo of Kevin Durant, the Thunder's star and the league's sweetest player.