Boston Memories

We’re on the outskirts of Boston this week, helping our daughter get settled in her new place. At least I hope we’re helping and not just getting under foot. And I’m reminiscing.

Our family lived in Boston for a year, once upon a time, and I honestly can’t believe how long ago it was--the summer of 1993 to the following summer. We all have great memories of that year.

My husband had a business opportunity in Boston, but he wasn’t at all certain that I’d be on board. After seven years in the military, during which we moved five times, I’d had enough. When we bought our house, I told him this was the last stop for me. But enough years had gone by, and the thought of another move no longer made me panic. And the idea of Boston was exciting.

My biggest memory is of my naivete. My regular life was non-stop busy, as you’d expect of anyone with three active kids, a husband who traveled, and some attempt to have a life of my own. I was looking forward to putting most of my activities on hold--a year-long vacation.

The thing is, I didn’t get to leave “real” life behind. It followed us up to Boston and laughed as I tried to cope. At least in the military, everyone is used to the constant moving that comes with that life, and all your neighbors are ready to help you find your way around. In this case, all the people in the program my husband was participating in were imported from all over the country and just as clueless as I was.

I had to find new places to shop for school clothes and supplies, household goods, basically everything. We weren’t in Boston proper, but one of the small cities right outside of it.  Our neighbors weren’t helpful. I think they’d gotten used to that rental house having an ever-changing parade of families who didn’t stick around. We got the occasional wave or smile, but that was it.

Despite the fact that it was the dark ages and I couldn’t Google anything, I eventually found all I needed to keep life moving fairly smoothly. And there were still scouts and sports and school events. I was busier than ever.

While I was struggling to get everyday life under control, we started exploring. Boston is packed with history, and I do mean packed. I was constantly surprised at how small it was—very walkable and easy to get around. And there was much more not very far away.

Paul Revere’s farm, Louisa May Alcott’s family home, Plymouth Plantation. And whale watching. Our first time out we saw a bit in the distance, but our second try was gold—a mama and her baby calf swam alongside our boat, playing and entertaining us. They seemed to know that they were putting on a show. Unforgettable.

I could go on, as I often do, but I’ll get back to work and ponder how often we can get up here. Don’t tell my daughter!