Epistles to Mom

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More than twenty-five years ago, when my mother was still living, I had the idea to share our travels in somewhat detailed letters so she could experience what we saw, smelled, felt, tasted and learned. She enjoyed the letters, written as stories -- epistles -- but after her death I felt I had no audience, no recipient, who might relish reading what we had done. The last epistle I wrote, about a trip to Seattle, was in perhaps 2004 and, except for a few friends, went unshared.



It seems a shame to let a good practice fall away, so when Mark asked that I try again, I agreed. My mother will not be reading this, but she is with me always and I think she would be very happy and, I hope, entertained.

The morning was cool and crisp and I had the thought as we left the house that my geraniums would be done for when we return in a week. The thermometer read 29 degrees and I hold out little hope that these warm October days will last much longer.

Our flights were mostly uneventful -- just the way I like them. Uneventful if you don't count the blind landing in Denver's pea soup fog, sprinting from one concourse to another in Washington's Reagan International because we were late leaving Denver, then sitting for a half hour in a corner of the tarmac at RIA waiting for permission from Logan International to leave Reagan. Let me take this time to say how I really do not like flying. Give me a car or a train any day. I hate the security checks, paying $9.00 for a teensy sandwich on board, and having both ears unwilling to pop from the change in pressure.

The treat of the day was finding a great restaurant just a block from our bed and breakfast that serves a locally-sourced green chile cheeseburger. If you're ever in Boston, see how far it is to a great little place called "B Good".

it's exciting to now be in Boston. We will hopefully meet up with Mark's niece tomorrow and see what this historic city has to offer -- government shutdown or not.

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