leaving Boston

It’s late Sunday and I am at the Boston airport waiting for my flight. There may be a chance that it’s overbooked and I have already put myself on the list of those willing to give up a seat. I hate the idea of a prolonged departure and I hate even more the thought of catching a before-sunrise flight the next day, but a coupon with dollars toward the next flight would be helpful; I have to put in many many hours at the shop before I see that amount of money in the bank.

Still, I don’t want to be called.

I settle in to do my work, not knowing where I’ll be that night.


It’s an untidy ending to a wonderful day. Very early, the sun pushes the clouds away as we set out for the long walk to Sofra (a Middle-Eastern bakery, where we are meeting my girl’s friend for breakfast). That walk could go on for hours and one would not tire of it. Not on that spring day, not with the delicate colors of the season visible now in every small bit of yard space.






The Turkish breakfast is delicious, the baked goods – sweetly delightful. Such a good beginning to a day!










And then the clock seems to leap forward, leaving too few hours to revel in the gorgeousness of the day.






I gather my pack and we take the T toward Boston's North End – a place I remember fondly, as it had been one of my first encounters with Boston. I had barely finished college and my friend had moved to this part of town (I like it here – she had said then – the people in the neighborhood look out for you). She made dinner for me (chicken breasts with canned peaches – what can I say, the year was 1974) and we looked out at the fire escape and I felt like adulthood had suddenly descended upon me.

Now, as I walk the same streets of the once (and maybe still now) Italian community...





... I think how my youngest is older than I was then.



We stop for a very, very early supper – it has to be, I have a flight to catch and she has work to do – at the Neptune Oyster Bar. Do you know it? The oysters are carefully described, both in terms of source and also flavor. We order a half dozen local ones and then wait for the big treat – my beloved Boston meal of a warm, buttery lobster roll.





After, we have just a few minutes, just enough time to walk to the Modern Pastry store...





...where I can pick up some cookies for her...





...and then, too quickly, we head back on the T and I stay on for one stop before changing for the airport, and she continues on toward Cambridge, and the next time I see her, she’ll be a law school grad, just like her sister before her, and just like their mother before.


At the airport, they announce the boarding of my flight. No, we wont need your seat, not this time.


The skies a clear, all the way from Boston, through Detroit, to Madison.