12:36 TO BOSTON

About noon today, we set out to find the Beverly stop and conquer the train.  The plan was to catch the 12:36, ride to North Station; take the Orange line to State Street and then Blue to the Aquarium.  We agreed ahead of time that we would define success as getting on to begin with and getting back home.  Any other achievements would be considered fortuitous, but not necessary to the final celebration.  Our first break was to find an even closer stop at Montserrat, barely 5 minutes from the house.  We got ticketing info from other passengers, climbed the icy platform and boarded the train. 

üObjective number one successfully completed

At North Station, we exited the terminal and entered the building next door for the underground, color-coded portion of the trip, an icy, windy 35 steps.  At this point, I began rearranging my wardrobe.  The understated, faux-cashmere scarf that I had insouciantly draped across my shoulders hiked up over my head, giving me the look of an elderly immigrant who probably has a great recipe for cabbage soup.  I need longer sleeves, warmer gloves and a serious hat.

Good signage and Hubby’s advanced research brought us directly to the Aquarium – no sweat, so we braved the elements again and walked a short block to Legal Seafood for lunch.  After enjoying incredible food, and a visit with a 15.8 lb lobster (112 years old, $274 cooked any way you want it) we set out on the return trip, feeling like kings of the world.  When we arrived at North Station, we discovered that the commuter trains do not run as frequently on Sunday, so we had to hunker down for a two hour wait.  So much for advanced research…Ugh!

*****And then it happened*****

North Station is tucked beneath a sports venue called the “Garden”; evidently the home of the Bruins and Celtics, if the giant posters are to be believed.  Cavernous and spare, the station is the utilitarian hub for northbound commuter traffic, but about 45 minutes before our train was scheduled, the escalators came alive with Princesses.  The rainbow of acetate gowns and showers of glitter didn’t initially signal anything momentous, but then we saw the crowns – with mouse ears.  Yep – Disney…on Ice.  North Station fairly seethed with little girls.  We saw Belle and Cinderella, Jasmine and Ariel all dressed to the nines, in WINTER finery.  Snow White wore Ugg boots and Pippi’s longstockings under her frock; Tinkerbell accessorized with ladybug Wellies and fuzzy mittens.  Sleeping Beauty’s curls were tucked under some type of Peruvian knit bonnet with yarn braids tumbling over her shoulders.  Of course, not all of the Princesses were in commercial garb.  Many were free-styling: tutus and Christmas dresses and all descriptions of flounces and ruffles, satin and tulle.  I was in awe.  Heck, the sheer number of magic wands with flashing stars ensured that the place was enchanted!!

Eventually, our train was called, and we boarded with our royal coachmates for a pretty uneventful ride back to Montserrat.  We arrived to find the landscape wrapped elegantly in the snow you have been seeing on the news.  We stomped through the 4 – 5 inches that had accumulated in our six hours away to find the Yukon, buried.  Driving home, we followed tracks in the snow to identify the roads, but arrived safe and relatively dry.  Jeans and sox in the dryer; coats and scarves hanging on hooks by the back door; middle-aged bodies cuddled up in flannel jammies and warm slippers. 

üObjective number two successfully completed

Home for the Holidays

Thankfully, I am no longer homeless. 

It’s hard to imagine that a month ago I lived on a tiny island in the West Indies.  The Tradewinds were just retuning for the winter season and the sweltering days had begun to cool enough to be almost pleasant.  Then we moved.  Last week in Danvers, the temperature rose to a balmy 42°.  This is about half the temperature in Antigua, and it’s a huge improvement over the sub-freezing weather we have been enjoying since we arrived! 

Our new apartment is “adorable”.  That means small.  Our wish list includes a lot of organizers.  It felt like Christmas, as I opened boxes packed with treasures that have been stowed for nearly two years.  Each time I cut the tape and peeled back cardboard flaps, my heart leapt:  A jewelry box, a favorite blouse, the attachments for the vacuum cleaner…each a warranted a squeal of delight as they revealed themselves.

Today is Christmas, and remarkably, it is okay.  We miss our kids, and the tree was looking a little bit naked without all the family presents, but we are making do.  Last night, we assembled the new decorations, lit the candles and stashed anything visually unsuitable into a decorated box and hid it under the tree.  I awoke this morning (on the hide-a-bed in the living room) to a twinkling tree and warm pajamas – which Don had put in the dryer at 4am.  Now he is making French toast for breakfast.

And I feel so spoiled.

This isn’t the Christmas I wanted – filled with kids and commotion – but this is a truly blessèd Christmas.  I am curled up on my couch, listening to CD’s gleaned from the used book store, while the smells of a delicious breakfast drift in from the pass-through to the kitchen.  Once we have eaten, we will peruse the travel books that I gave Don, and map out exploratory trips to New Hampshire, Boston and Maine (There is a Cabelas store there!)  I am wearing the Swarovski crystals he found for me – with a bracelet Christina sent. I’ll spend the afternoon hemming his new jammies and writing on the computer while he watches football and roasts prime rib and new potatoes.  We miss you all, but we are safe, warm and content.

                         Merry Christmas!!

PS – A neighbor just stopped by to introduce herself and bring cookies!  What a lovely gesture!

WHAT'S SO FUNNY?

Hello again – I’m back online after our cross country migration.  More about that later!!

I wish I liked movies.  Our friends gather frequently at the theater and I’d love to go along – except for the part where we sit in the dark, watching people slaughter one another or writhe in naked ecstasy.  I am “high strung” so all those amazing special effects leave me agitated.  And most of the people who are exchanging torrid looks and stroking …nevermind…I just do not want to share the love. 

So I don’t see a lot of movies; well… except for Boomer Humor.  Nothing  entertains like a bunch of geezers seasoned actors in a comedy.  Loved “Bucket  List”.  Howled at “It’s Complicated”.  Give me a clever line and I’m yours forever.  Nicholson had me at “Somewhere, some lucky son-of-a-bitch is having a heart attack.”  Articulate, wry, not overstated and (thank you!) not banal.

Which brings us to stand-up comedy, which is ideal for my short attention span.  In a movie, I’m committed to believing the nonsense for hours and, even worse, caring in order to appreciate the humor. Whereas a comic routine allows me to hear, react and move on…I’m not stuck forever in a fraternity house of horrors.  Even better, good comedians play with their audiences – adapting and interacting so each performance is a conversation – a really funny conversation. 

One of my favorite theater experiences is “Late Night Catechism”.  Tears ran down my face!  The sharp, intelligent humor caught me completely off-guard.  And it was real.  I know, I know – she’s not really a nun…but the premise is simple: an evening catechism class for adults.  No aliens, no billionaires, no collection of beautifully painted mannequins pretending to be waitresses and soccer moms.  No special effects and no canned laughter.  Just a really funny idea and a great performance.  I not only sat still for the whole thing…I went twice! 

I know this is beginning to sound like I’m fixated on receding hairlines and double chins – but that’s not true.  I just want entertainment for grown-ups.  Why should I shell out a bunch of $$$ for amusements that were written to appeal to sixth graders?  Or, even worse, jokes so predictable that you see them coming for as soon as the first line is spoken.   

Or maybe it is just me.