because sometimes, what happened just a few months ago feels like ages, and because sometimes, I'm afraid I'll forget...
the eeeearly sunday morning train ride out of the city, to a suburban town and a field full of tiny lacrosse players. how fenway park and lansdowne street were deserted when left the station at 6:00 AM, but alive and vibrant with hordes of red sox fans when I returned at 6:00 PM, just after the game let out.
late afternoon walks to the grocery store, and always picking up chicken fingers from the deli for dinner that night. the time there was a musician playing live music inside the store, and how weird I thought that was. and how I got over my fear of self checkouts.
cape cod—goodness, cape cod. I don't ever want to forget that slow, easy, vibrant weekend. waking up early and navigating through south station to get on a bus full of strangers, only to finally, finally see my parents waiting at the end of our route. driving along the cape and stopping to pull over every time we saw a potential photo op. marveling at the boats and beautiful homes. stopping in harwich for pizza, really hot pizza, and drinking out of cold aluminum cans while picking out famous baseball players from the old Harwich Mariners pictures on the wall. wandering through a magical toy store with the little candy shack in the backyard. sleeping on the hotel room floor on an american flag pool raft that night, and not caring one bit.
fourth of july, when it rained and rained and rained. the night before, I listened to the fireworks out my open window. I shut the window just after they ended and just before the hurricane rolled in and soaked all the poor people who weren't snuggled inside like me. on the actual fourth, usually a day of sunshine and boat rides and charcoal grills, it never stopped raining. and I matched that by never getting out of bed. I watched an entire series on netflix, and then when the storm finally let up, I walked down the empty, soggy street to the 7/11 for ice cream, something i only let myself do on the most special days.
walking down memorial drive on sunday afternoons, when it's closed to car traffic and instead of luxury SUVs, it's just tinies on training-wheeled bikes that you had to watch out for.
that one friday night after the all-star game, when I was exhausted after hours and hours of work but for some reason decided to walk a mile to get pizza in cambridge. and on the long walk back, carrying my little pizza box and thinking about nothing and everything, I realized the summer wasn't endless. that there was a very real point at which it would end and life would go back to "normal."
may was scary, and june was a blur. july was happythankyoumoreplease— that is to say, it was everything all smashed into one. it was juggling a thousand things, almost all of which were good things, and oh, also a trip to london. it was going back to all my favorite places I'd found in boston, and discovering new favorites also.
and then august was home. august and september and october were home, and they were good (so good), but they weren't boston.
the eeeearly sunday morning train ride out of the city, to a suburban town and a field full of tiny lacrosse players. how fenway park and lansdowne street were deserted when left the station at 6:00 AM, but alive and vibrant with hordes of red sox fans when I returned at 6:00 PM, just after the game let out.
late afternoon walks to the grocery store, and always picking up chicken fingers from the deli for dinner that night. the time there was a musician playing live music inside the store, and how weird I thought that was. and how I got over my fear of self checkouts.
cape cod—goodness, cape cod. I don't ever want to forget that slow, easy, vibrant weekend. waking up early and navigating through south station to get on a bus full of strangers, only to finally, finally see my parents waiting at the end of our route. driving along the cape and stopping to pull over every time we saw a potential photo op. marveling at the boats and beautiful homes. stopping in harwich for pizza, really hot pizza, and drinking out of cold aluminum cans while picking out famous baseball players from the old Harwich Mariners pictures on the wall. wandering through a magical toy store with the little candy shack in the backyard. sleeping on the hotel room floor on an american flag pool raft that night, and not caring one bit.
fourth of july, when it rained and rained and rained. the night before, I listened to the fireworks out my open window. I shut the window just after they ended and just before the hurricane rolled in and soaked all the poor people who weren't snuggled inside like me. on the actual fourth, usually a day of sunshine and boat rides and charcoal grills, it never stopped raining. and I matched that by never getting out of bed. I watched an entire series on netflix, and then when the storm finally let up, I walked down the empty, soggy street to the 7/11 for ice cream, something i only let myself do on the most special days.
walking down memorial drive on sunday afternoons, when it's closed to car traffic and instead of luxury SUVs, it's just tinies on training-wheeled bikes that you had to watch out for.
that one friday night after the all-star game, when I was exhausted after hours and hours of work but for some reason decided to walk a mile to get pizza in cambridge. and on the long walk back, carrying my little pizza box and thinking about nothing and everything, I realized the summer wasn't endless. that there was a very real point at which it would end and life would go back to "normal."
may was scary, and june was a blur. july was happythankyoumoreplease— that is to say, it was everything all smashed into one. it was juggling a thousand things, almost all of which were good things, and oh, also a trip to london. it was going back to all my favorite places I'd found in boston, and discovering new favorites also.
and then august was home. august and september and october were home, and they were good (so good), but they weren't boston.