Skip to main content

Boston Beans

I have been to Boston two other times in my life. Both times, if my memory is correct, it was a bit like being a mouse in a maze. A maze directed by an evil scientist that kept changing the blockades and making this mouse change directions. So that by the time I reached the end and that much-sought after cheese, I was no longer hungry.

This time this mouse had GPS! Take that you evil scientist - or diabolical city planners!

It is still a chaotic mess and is not a place I would want to live, but I felt like I could manage the drive with fewer expletives. There were still some heated exchanges between John, the driver, and me the navigator but I imagine far fewer had we not had Garmin Gal leading us along. But GG only came in handy when we had an address and a plan. Not so on our way to see Paul Revere. I'm still not completely sure how we stumbled on North Church and the statue of Paul Revere - and that is indeed what happened. One minute, I was saying, "I have no idea what street we're on and where the . . ." and the next, "Wait, there's a statue and a bunch of people!"  (And lo and behold a parking space too!)

Because Boston is an old city - it's not necessarily the easiest to navigate by car let alone wheelchair or by using a cane. The sidewalks are uneven in most places and many places are not accessible at all. Got me wondering, what did a person that could not walk, do in those historic times? Perhaps, I don't really want to know the answer! But I went where I could and when I could - and especially enjoyed the North Church (still does not have electricity because the fire-codes won't permit it unless major renovations are done to the facility that could interfere with it's historic character!).

I know why the trolley/bus/Duck/boat tours are so popular, though. The drivers are professionals that know how to navigate and narrate at the same time. Now that takes talent!

Paul Revere, he's the one on the horse!
John and Delaney are discussing where he actually rode on that midnight ride. It's not on the GPS.


Comments

It's not a popularity contest, but ...

The "I'll Nevers" of growing older

  Years ago as a freelance writer, I submitted an essay entitled "The I'll Nevers of Parenting". It was a list, mostly, of things I had said prior to having children and the crow I was then eating because of the stupidity of the claims. You know little pearls of 'wisdom' that only someone who hasn't experienced the joys of  parenting could utter, like: I will never yell at my child in public or I will never let my child eat dinner in front of the television or my children will never stay up past 9 pm. I yelled at my children (usually when we were both tired and totally irrational!) in public. One time, as we were in the drop off lane at school with a long line of cars behind us, the boys hoped out of the car but Delaney was insisting on something that for the life of me I cannot recall and I was insisting that she get out of the van. We crept along, van door still open, until I got to the end of the line and yelled at the top of my voice, "Delaney get the...

Ch ... Ch ... Chemo

I was ready. I was prepared. The potential side-effect list was long and one I'd had some familiarity when John went through his treatment.  So I gathered my arsenal. I had my compazine, zofran and antivan. I had my ginger chewables and chicken noodle soup. I was armed and potentially dangerous. So, chemo day with the toxic chemo cocktail starting to do it's job, I envisioned it as either PacMan, eating away at the cancer cells or a Chia Pet, allowing my good cells to thrive. With these visions, (that aren't quite Christmas Eve sugar plums dancing) and tired from the chemo, I went to bed early. Friday, under the watchful eye of my caregiving hubby, I slept most of the day away. Not really hungry but not nauseous either. I spent the majority of the day horizontal on the couch listening to my book on Audible (despite the sleep timer, I probably missed 1/3 of what I 'read'), dozing, answering calls and texts, and snacking.  Perhaps the highlight of the ...

Struggling to not feel like a failure

Okay all of you 'struggling to stand' or 'not wanting to have to use a wheelchair' or others that look upon using a wheelchair as a symbol of failure, you're about to get punched. Punched in the figurative sense. I am about to go on my soap box and my Irish is up which means that I'm fairly peeved (though I've been mulling this over for awhile so I'm not as angry as I once was, which means there will be fewer expletives and a kinder tone). If you've read this blog or know me at all, you know that I did not go easily into using a wheelchair as my primary mode of transport. I too, may have had a little bit of your attitude about the wheelchair being sign of failure or of having given up. My sister, Kerri, helped put it in a different light. She said, and I'm paraphrasing here, "It's actually an energy saver since walking is stressful and you're worried about falling - using a wheelchair will take away a lot of that stress. You will hav...