a short post from Cambridge

A day spent getting places. For instance – to the airport. I could not get a ride, since my occasional traveling companion was in a reclining position at the time I needed to leave home (5:30). Besides, he’s of little value, as he can’t pick me up on the day of the return (Friday). So I had to drive.

My parking of choice is usually a side street close to the airport. Of course they decided to repave it this week. Of course.

So I had to park further, in a space that might or might not be for public use. We’ll see on Friday when I come to locate the car.

You see – it’s this level of trivia that constitutes a travel day.

Interspersed with phone calls from my traveling mother (who is old and who does not travel if she can help it – last time being in 2003, to her other granddaughter’s college graduation), and from various sundry other family members gathering for the big event.


In Boston, I’m staying in a hotel overlooking the river -- quite lovely, actually (closer places were prohibitively expensive; when Harvard does commencement, prices in Cambridge triple). My room has a view that is considerably better than the view from the apartment in New York.





And the bed does not deflate.

When Ed and I travel together, I hear a running stream of grumblings about maid service. (Probably because I make him clean up and pick up before the maid comes in; this is the way I am, I cannot help it.) In this splurge of utter luxury, I intend to enjoy maid service. I intend to leave the room neat for her and I will smile at a freshly tucked in bed each day.

Other notes from today?

We gather for dinner at Hungry Mother’s...





...the daughters, their dad, their grandma and me. Tomorrow their dad’s partner will join us, but today it’s just our small set of five. Beginning the week of proud reflections on how cool it is to have all kids out of school and up and running.

I'm also proud of the fact that my mother made it here on her own and seems to be quite up for the task of navigating a graduation. Were she a blogger type, she'd rant and rave about the travails of crossing the continent. But she does not blog. She does not even have a computer. She does have us to listen. And that's a good thing.