far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Sunday, April 30, 2006

[continued from previous entry]

Northeast Canada slid by, then Maine, the Boston area finally drifting into view, spreading itself out down below, land still mostly brown extending away in all directions, following the Earth's gentle curve. The plane passed the city, flying low enough to provide a crystal-clear panoramic view of harbor and Boston/Cambridge, making a long, lazy turn over the south shore, coming back in across highways and harbor, touching down just after noon in an urban area awash in sunlight and mild temperatures.


The Southeast Expressway, stretching north to Boston




A heaving mass of humans waited to be processed in customs (heavy on groups of chattering teenagers, sandals and backpacks abounding) with only five or so agents on duty. Result: a long wait. Long enough that by the time I made it to baggage claim, the luggage from our flight had been removed from the carousel and lined up in neat rows to make way for mountains of luggage from other flights.

Outside: springtime, or at least Boston's April version of springtime. Bright sunshine, mild temperatures leavened by a cold breeze. Nice weather to wait for a bus. Which I did. Waited and waited and waited until mine showed, waves of other travelers appearing, pouring into other buses, heading off to points scattered around New England.

The day before, I'd left a voice message with the local cabbie who'd taken me to the bus station a month earlier, let him know when I'd be arriving, said I'd call during the bus ride from Boston to confirm on-time arrival (or not). All connections fell into place, I left a message on the cabbie's voicemail during the drive north, had an uneasy feeling a while later that I should try him again, did so, left a second message. Pulled into Montpelier at 6:25 to find a spring evening underway, the temperature up near 70. No taxi in sight.

Despite Montpelier being the state capětal, its bus station is a simple podunk-style trailer hidden away from the main drags behind buildings, parking lots, railroad track. The bus pulled out, leaving me and an impassive 20-something woman, her hiding a shiner behind oversized sunglasses, teetering on ultra-high-heeled shoes. Between us: a utility pole, a brokendown bench, a pay phone where she stood making calls, talking quietly into the receiver. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. No taxi. At the fifteen-minute mark I dragged out my cellphone, called the cabbie.

Long story short: he hadn't picked up the afternoon's voicemail, seemed to be at home when I called, apparently playing hookey. Couldn't blame him, really, given the day (tailor-made for playing hookey). I set off for my car on foot, festooned with far too much luggage, dragging the body bag. Put out a thumb on State Street for a while, all passing drivers ignored me. Trudged on, stopped at the gym, begged the woman behind the desk to let me leave my stuff there while I went for my car, she graciously acquiesced.

The rest of the hike provided the first experience of full-bore spring since those 48 short hours in Sevilla, three weeks earlier. Kids played in the soft evening air, a boombox on a front porch broadcast a tune, the occasional car passed. Apart from that, quiet reigned. A warm evening in a small New England town, the season's first true shot of springtime. And me, back from a month away, the bucolic scene around me feeling slightly unreal.

Retrieved car, thanked she who'd generously allowed me to leave it in her driveway for a month, returned to gym, retrieved bags, hit the highway. Pulled into my driveway around eight, songbirds making evening music, the smell of new growth in the air. Though I noticed with massive relief that the new growth did not yet include the ocean of grass around the house, meaning mowing would not commence for a while.

[to be continued. maybe.]


Espańa, te echo de menos.

rws 2:32 PM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
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April 2003
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November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
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March 2004
April 2004
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November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
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December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
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June 2006
July 2006
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November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
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September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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