America is pretty sweet with its paved roads and (mostly) abiding motorists.
I think I might have to move back here one day.
Till then, I’m definitely enjoying being home and doing home-type stuff.
Like delivering tin can art to my good friends in this ground-masking white stuff that I haven’t seen in a year (and look, I get to wear heels!)
I get to attend Christmas parties that yield lots of cool loot…
…and forget the loot- what about the amazing friends that I get to see?
These are friends who agree to go running with you, just for old time’s sake on ice-covered sidewalks. I won’t tell you about the door that opened in my face- splat!- along Wilson Boulevard as we were making our way up the hill. “It’s like you never left Dakar!” observed T.
Just so you know, running in the evening is really only an excuse to go to happy hour afterwards and eat some fantastic eats for supper…
They call this one the B.I.G. Poppa (au poivre burger, aged Danish bleu cheese, Cognac & Sherry sauteed mushrooms, grilled red onions). The four miles we ran didn’t do a thing to offset this culinary creation. And I don’t care. Well I did at 0530 the next day for my workout…
But the burger was tasty, and worth it! I came a long way for this thing, damnit…
No for real, I did! And I even put a pin to mark my point of origin just here (notice how I’m not calling it home).
For someone who avoided Washington, DC like the plague for the first half of her naval career, I was incredibly grateful to return for a few days. I know a lot of really good people here, and it’s definitely a place where I can simply exist without dérangement. I can shop with a credit card, soak in the history, watch what I want to watch, eat where I want to eat, and walk around town by myself without anyone caring that I am a white person in plain sight. Really.
So that’s my D.C. flash in the pan, and all of a sudden I find myself in Boston as of this morning.
Ahh Boston, you never disappoint. My homecoming started off with my sister helping me drag my luggage through Park Street T Station as we made our way towards the Green Line (thanks, Rory!). Directly after finishing a conversation with a man on crutches from New Hampshire about how Bostonians are impolite and have no sense of Christmas spirit, we practically bowled the dude over as we sighted the elusive Lechmere train pulling into the station. Merry F’n Christmas- get out of our way!
And we made the train.
Nothing better than a Red Sox Maki Roll to replenish my journey northwards. This thing tastes like magic. DIning on sushi, green tea and watching the snow fall outside, I should say that you all need to be very jealous.
On tap tonight is supper in the North End, followed by a Celtics Game. This trip earns Megan’s genuine smile.
I am incredibly thankful to be at home and once again surrounded by so much familiarity for a decent stretch of time. And just like every Christmas when the family used to drive from Cape Cod to Maine on the southeastern expressway, Corita’s work could be seen out the port-side window of my transportation as we came in for our landing. (Dad knows what runway this one is).
Greatest city in the world. It’s good to be home.