I just woke up from another incredible nap. I spent the better part of the day in the garden (got a little sunburn going on, in fact), rode home on a newly paved bike path to find a new New Yorker in the mailbox, raced upstairs and threw off my clothes... and you know the rest. Is there anything better than siesta?

And the rest of my day, aside from a kind of lackluster burrito from El Pelon (I'm a fan of El Pelon, but their burritos seem to have shrunk, and mine was really quick to come up even though it was crowded, which means they probably just had a do-over back there they wanted to get rid of, or something — seriously, I know I asked for sour cream) was pretty kick-ass, too.

It started off slow. Just the way I like it. I had a coffee and read the next-to-last chapter of my latest Goodwill Book Club selection, Elaine Pagels' fascinating discussion of "the Secret Gospel of Thomas," Beyond Belief. Pagels, as you probably know, made her name introducing the Nag Hammâdi codices found in Egypt in 1945 to a general audience in her book The Gnostic Gospels.

It sounds kinda new agey, I know, but it was actually one of those rarest of scholarly books for a lay audience: an engaging read from a curious and astute reader. Her prose is straightforward and free of pretension, and the questions she poses, about the questions religion does, are refreshing in their open-mindedness. Beyond Belief is more personal, but it's still her genuine curiosity and ability to follow it where it leads that makes it an engaging read.

The premise is that Christ took Thomas aside and told him all the good stuff. Stuff like: "If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you." And: "Substitute 2 egg whites for one whole egg or three whites for two whole eggs." And: "Sure, black is the old stand-by, but it's not the only slenderizing color; others include: dark brown, navy, burgundy and deep violet." And: "Basically, I'm Buddha with a mean tan and rock star hair."

The other disciples saw them over in the corner whispering and tittering and carrying on, picking each other's nits, braiding each other's hair, teaching each other hot new yo-yo moves, and understandably, they got jealous, and John in particular decided to get even. He's the one we can thank for the catchy cognomen "Doubting Thomas".

I dropped into the Goodwill after my coffee, and found a pair of corduroys I have been looking for for, like, half a year. Visualizing to manifest is no cakewalk, people, lemme tell you. I also scored a complete Tarot deck (I counted twice) designed by Aleister Crowley. Got all my bases covered.

I then took off for the Fens on my newly paved bike path. The Boston side of the Dudley White bike path was closed all winter, and I had my doubts I would live to see it open again. And I was sure that whatever they were doing to it was not for the benefit of those who use it. I figured they were adding potholes or something. Boston has a pretty ambitious pothole program. It takes serious commitment to hold onto that Pothole Capital of The World designation.

But, no. It's all newly paved, from Western Ave. to the BU Bridge. As it was before, I had to take the Cambridge side all the way to Mass Ave. I prefer the Boston side, though. It's more of a park once you get past the BU Bridge, and there's that little playground — I mean, the outdoor workout area with all the monkey bars and whatnot that those crazy college kids actually use. Don't they have gyms at BU? Mind you, I'm not complaining. That little stretch of bike path was made with half-naked coeds in mind.

Which is only one of the thousands of reasons not to take the T this time of year. The only people you'll see half-naked on the T are crack-heads and drunks waving their dicks around threatening to whiz on you if you don't let 'em lie down.

Along the venerable Dudley White, on the other hand, it's healthy and wholesome half-nakedness. The way half-nakedness was meant to be. I perved this lovely lad on one of the floating docks where the youth go to sunbathe...


I was minding my own business when he jogged over from the other side of Storrow Drive in some pretty skimpy running shorts (happy to see that kids are still wearing those) and set up shop there on the dock. And then it just got better. He pulled his shorts down as far as they would go without totally exposing himself, and rolled them up to expose as much thigh as possible, too.

And if you think it's desperate of me to have climbed that tree and risked my life dangling over the Charles with my telephoto lens to take this snapshot, all I can say is, don't go around half-naked if you don't want people to perve you. This way everybody wins.

It was off to the garden from there...


I've got a lot of work to do yet. I'm just getting started. But I did manage to clear away a good deal of debris left over from fall...


And check out how much my peony has grown since, like, last Friday:


Unstoppable.

Speaking of which, reports of the death of our pink magnolia may have been slightly exaggerated (but only just slightly). It's still struggling, but it's hanging in there...


Once I'd done what I could do, and had managed to get my little patio under my lilac squared away...


I figured I'd earned my nap. But I think I'm gonna have to invest in a hammock.  Nothing like summer siestas in the garden.