I’m referring to those long months of Covid confinement and panic. Was our fate a ventilator made in Detroit or, worse, a body bag in a refrigerator truck? Would we ever see our loved ones again not to mention taking a trip, on a plane, or the horror of it, a ship?
It’s as if a dam broke loose and the inflationary tentacles of demand for normalcy has reached deep into the pockets of liberated consumers. This year we too have followed the flock having been on a Jazz Cruise in January, a trip to our beloved NYC, my returning home and Ann going to Milan for 2 weeks, and then visiting our son and daughter in law on our old boat in CT in June. We just returned from our long delayed trip to Boston to see our older son Chris and his significant other Megan. While in Boston we hooked up with my best friend from college, Bruce, and his wife, Bonnie. A lot was packed into just four nights and three days.
So this was our third round trip domestic flight in the last few months. As with the others, not a vacant seat, this one to and from Boston packed to the hilt on an extended Boeing 737-900.
Landing at Logan during rush hour on a weekday presented issues, the Delta arrival gate football field lengths away from baggage claim and then cabs another football field away, with few available. Our luck, the Sumner Tunnel/Route 1A South was closed for restoration so the less than two mile journey to the Omni Seaport Hotel moved at a snail’s pace. But, compared to the real horror stories you hear about travel today, all was taken in stride.
The Omni is a relatively new hotel. The entire Seaport section of Boston seems to be under construction. It is a happening place. It was a convenient spot to have a lovely dinner with Chris and Megan our second night there; spending quality time with them, the main reason for our short trip.
The following day I was up and out early to walk the Seaport, mostly deserted but the sky and air brought back our New England days and our boating life. It was the very noticeable change not only in temperature as well as the low humidity that commanded my attention. Leaning against the railing of the wharf to which ferries to Provincetown were docked and loading, there was a nearly irresistible urge to buy a one way ticket and disappear onto the Cape.
After doing so much boating to places like Block Island, Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard and Cuttyhunk during our once-upon days, I always wanted to live, permanently, on an island. But the Cape would do as well. So much for unrealistic reveries.
Later, we had a leisurely lunch with my best friend from college, Bruce, and his wife Bonnie. We are all simpatico, looking at our long lives with gratitude and now apprehension about the future for our “kids.” They have two daughters; we have two sons. Neither of us have grandchildren.
We had looked forward to Saturday with anticipation as we were about to spend the day with Chris and Megan at their home, closer to Worcester than Boston, but as it was a weekend, Chris volunteered to pick us up and return us. We could have caught a train for most of the trip, but it ran only every two hours and no one wanted to be on a schedule.
That drive, much of it on the Mass. Turnpike, brought me back to the days when I used to go to an office we had in Portsmouth, NH, usually staying over a night or two, but once I remember leaving before dawn in CT and returning around Midnight the same day, a round trip of some 400 miles. It was easy to be young.
Ann had visited a dog boutique store in Boston as we were about to meet our “grand-dog,” Lily, who Chris and Megan recently adopted, a rescue dog: toys, chewable bones, and a collar monogrammed bandana which she had previously ordered. She’s already spoiled enough by the love of Chris and Megan, a mature puppy with more pup than maturity. Lovable, indeed. As we haven’t had a dog in our lives since our beloved Treat passed about 20 years ago, we could hardly keep our hands off of her.
Megan had prepared a mid afternoon feast, all home-made, with yummy appetizers of hummus and tzatziki and pita bread, then chicken souvlaki, spanakopita, and a Greek salad.
We met Megan’s father, John, and his husband, Victor, who live nearby. John made a delicious lemon meringue dessert to round out a perfect meal. It was a pleasant afternoon, getting to know one another, sipping wine, and enjoying a fabulous luncheon.
We sat outside and although it was a higher humidity late afternoon, there was also a light breeze, shade, and if I closed my eyes it had the sound and redolence of when we lived in Weston, CT so many years ago. Being at their home we felt transported, until it was time to return to our hotel, and to pack for an early morning flight. As this was on a Sunday, the trip which had taken us nearly an hour from Logan was a mere five minutes to return.
I love the location of the Seaport in relation to Logan and that area itself. We’ll be back! At least that’s the hope.
