Visiting Boston?

If you're visiting Boston anytime soon, do all of the stuff the tour guides suggest. Walk the Freedom Trail and take the Duck Tour. Visit the Museum of Fine Arts. And then check out the ideas in this great site for off-the-track stuff to do in Boston, compiled by Adam Gaffin.

Christmas

Christmas is over. Every year, there are moments, or conversations, or feelings that add to my memory and from then on define Christmas. This year there are three moments to add to my Christmas picture book.

The first is about Margaret. I've been married to this woman for over thirty-five years, but she still finds ways to surprise me. She's not and never has been shy, but I just love the way she was belting out Karaoke at a party with fifty people she had never met.

The second is about Maggie. Our daughter was the host this year, and it was just fun to be at her house, living to her rhythms, and seeing Christmas a little through her eyes, eyes that look more gently on others than I had known. So I learn more about her too.

And the third involves my son. His girlfriend had mentioned she'd like a red radio flyer wagon for Christmas, to lug stuff around her Brooklyn neighborhood. So he dug his childhood one out of storage, cleaned it up, repainted it, and wrapped it up for her. Then, at Christmas Mass, before he had given it to her, the priest delivered a sermon that involved a story of a Baby Jesus stature, thought to be stolen from a church. The parish priest later found the statue, being pulled down the street in a red wagon by a small boy. The priest accused the boy of stealing the Baby Jesus, but the little boy explained that he had asked Jesus for a red wagon for Christmas, and had promised, that if he got one, he'd take Jesus for the first ride. You couldn't have paid for better homily if you had a little red wagon wrapped up under the tree.

Christmas has changed so much. It's stating the obvious to list the ways. So, it's been good to think about family this week. It seems sort of old-fashioned. In a good way.

Boston Pedestrians

I live in Boston, near the Big Dig. Driving around here is crazy, because streets move overnight. A street that was in one place when you go to bed has moved by morning, or is sometimes just gone. Patches of dirt one afternoon are paved three lanes by the next morning.

So you'd think people would be a little careful on the road. Boston drivers are famous for being, well, not careful. But the pedestrians! It's like a video game out there. They dart from the sidewalks midblock, between parked cars, between cars stopped at lights, under green lights, red lights, yellow lights and broken lights. The best move, though, comes at rush hour. Dozens wait together on the corner, eyes darting from car to car, until one senses a driver with a touch of timid. Even though the light is green, he breaks for the street. The group lurches ahead in front of the hapless driver foolhardy enough to tap a brake. Horns blare, walkers take the road, drivers sit, stumped. By the time the crowd has crossed to the other side, the light above turns red. Drivers stare at the empty crosswalk.

First thoughts, second thoughts

This is my first post. It takes me a while to catch on, but I'm beginning to understand how blogs work -- a little. I'm also having second thoughts about doing this at all.

But, I've been telling myself for years to get back to writing and this may be a way to do that.

So -- I watched Geoge Bush's speech to the nation tonight, calling for patience in the war in Iraq. Patience in what way? Patience in the way we wait to get better when we're sick? That's different from the kind of patience it takes to wait for a teenager who's an hour late for curfew. Patience like that when the airline captain announce a "slight delay while we finish up some paperwork?" That's not at all like the patience we need while waiting for an unintended offense to be forgiven.

Have we got Iraqcitis, and we'll get better if we just wait? Should we have been out of there a year ago, but now have to hang tough until the conditions are right? Are we mopping up details, and we'll be done soon? Have we done something wrong and need to wait for time to heal the wounds?

I want my doctor to tell me the truth about how sick I am. I wanted my teenager to tell me where she'd been and why she'd been late. I want the airline captain to say "We're gonna be here until the plane's ready to go. That could take two hours, but we've pushed off the jetway, so we're all just in for it the duration now." I want to know what specific conditions in Iraq will be the signal that we can call an end to this war.