Category Archives: Back in Boston

One-year anniversary: Newtown, Connecticut

14 Saturday Dec 2013

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Bryan Thomas for the New York Times

Bryan Thomas for the New York Times

There is a pervasive sadness over this day, which has been come to be known as 12/14.

This is a day when, in Newtown, Connecticut, one year ago, 20 young children and 6 of their teachers and administrators were murdered by a deranged young man who had retreated to the four walls of his bedroom, covered his windows with black garbage bags, played violent video games–and despite this, his mother bought him guns and had already written out a check for a new gun for Christmas.

According to a recently released police report, on the morning of 12/14/2012, this young man played a computer game called “School Shooting,” then picked up several real guns, shot his mother to death, and then went to a nearby school and killed twenty children and six teachers and administrators and changed the lives of their families forever.

Whenever there is a school shooting, as there was yesterday in Colorado, people always say, I always thought it couldn’t happen here.  But it does, and parents live with the knowledge that it is not impossible that our own children could be the victims of gun violence in a country where guns are so prevalent and virtually nothing is done to keep guns away from criminals and severely mentally ill people.

It doesn’t have to be like this.  There are very few mass shootings in Europe, and when there are, as at Dunblane, Scotland, and on a Norwegian island and in Oslo, things changed afterwards.  After Dunblane, the British government outlawed handguns throughout the UK.  After the slayings in Norway, where handgun laws are already extremely strict and the nationalized health system makes mental illness more easily treated, the Norwegian government has made it even more difficult to acquire handguns by raising the minimum age.

After Newtown, the opposite has happened on the state level. As reported in the New York Times, new state gun laws have mostly eased restrictions and expanded the rights of gun owners:

“About 1,500 state gun bills have been introduced since the Newtown massacre.
 “178 passed at least one chamber of a state legislature. 109 have become law.

“In the 12 months since the mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn., almost every state has enacted at least one new gun law. Nearly two-thirds of the new laws ease restrictions and expand the rights of gun owners. Most of those bills were approved in states controlled by Republicans.

“39 new laws tighten gun restrictions

“70 new laws loosen gun restrictions”

It would be wonderful not to have any anniversaries like today, but it doesn’t look as if that’s going to happen anytime in the future, as long as guns proliferate and criminals and clearly deranged people have easy access to them.

In memory of President John F. Kennedy, 50 years later

22 Friday Nov 2013

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"A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on"--John F. Kennedy

“A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on”–John F. Kennedy

All along Harvard Street in Brookline, Massachusetts, the home of President John F. Kennedy, there are banners proclaiming some of his thought-provoking words.

"Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind"--John F. Kennedy

“Mankind must put an end to war or war will put an end to mankind”–John F. Kennedy

It is the 50th anniversary of his assassination, one of those moments of the last century, along with Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941;  the assassinations of Dr Martin Luther King on April 4, 1968 and Bobby Kennedy on June 6, 1968;  the Challenger disaster on January 28, 1986;  and in this century the bombings of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the plane crash in a field in Pennsylvania on September 11, 2001, that will, for Americans, “live in infamy,” as President Franklin D. Roosevelt said about Pearl Harbor.

All countries have these dates:  for the UK in the last century they include the horrific battles of World Wars I and II;  the death of King George VI in 1952;  the Hyde Park and Regent’s Park IRA bombings on July 20, 1982: and in this century, the bombing of the three London tube trains and a double-decker bus by terrorists on 7/7/2005.

There are times when the fabric of a nation is torn, and can never be mended;  when there is a distinct “before” and “after,” after which things are never the same.

The murder of JFK was one of these life-changing events.

I was a young child when JFK was president, and I still remember very clearly how bright life seemed when he was alive, and how desperately terrible life became after he was assassinated.

And now it’s the 50th anniversary.

The Boston Globe did a wonderful piece today on the lasting effects of November 22, 1963 including this photograph of people gathering at President Kennedy’s birthplace on Beal Street, Brookline, Mass.

Brookline's Beal Street, courtesy Boston Globe

Brookline’s Beal Street after JFK’s assassination, courtesy Boston Globe

This is what Beal Street looks like today;  only I and a couple other people were out photographing, but reminders of that day were everywhere–in newspapers, on TV, and on social media.

Beal Street where JFK was born

Beal Street, Brookline, Massachusetts, November 22, 2013

Pictured below is the house where JFK was born and lived as a young boy.  According to the Boston Globe, JFK and some of his siblings were born on a twin bed near the window in a room on the second floor, so the doctor could benefit from the light.

JFK's boyhood home on Beal Street

JFK’s boyhood home on Beal Street

The house is now owned by the National Park Service.  JFK’s mother, the formidable Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy, has decorated it as it was when her children were young.  Her recorded voice provides commentary as you go from room to room and marvel at how they fit so many people into that house. Today the American flag is at half-mast and there are flowers on the memorial to JFK.

Memorial to JFK at his boyhood home on Beal Street

Memorial to JFK at his boyhood home on Beal Street

JFK and his family used to worship at St Aidan’s Church, about six blocks away. It has now been turned into condos, but still, the exterior remains, as do the magnificent beech trees (not pictured, but to the right of the church) that were there when JFK was a boy.

St Aidan's Church where JFK worshipped as a boy.

St Aidan’s Church where JFK worshipped as a boy.

This day, 50 years ago, is one that those days that Americans who lived through it will never forget, and that shaped an entire generation. Here are some of the most memorable images from that time:

Walter Cronkite of CBS News announcing the death of President Kennedy.

President Kennedy’s funeral narrated by Walter Cronkite.

President Kennedy’s Inaugural Address: “Ask not what your country can do for you;  ask what you can do for your country.”

President Kennedy, his brother Robert F. Kennedy, and Dr Martin Luther King were shining examples of the very best of America, and it is this we should remember, rather than the fact that they were taken from us far too soon. America has changed a lot in the past 50 years, for both good and bad, but some of the good is due to the work of these three men who tried to create a better, more equal, and compassionate country.

What for you were the national events that made you feel that things would never again be the same?

The suckiness of having to model good behavior to your kids

06 Thursday Jun 2013

Posted by in Back in Boston, How we're coming along, Humor/humour, Parenting

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No, this is not me, but you get the picture.

This is not me, but you get the picture.

OK, this is what it was like here in Boston, Mass, over the last weekend.  It’s been bleeping hot, and because I have English genes I really, really don’t do well in the heat. It’s 93 in the shade, and all anyone in my household is doing is sweating.

We don’t have any AC going on because it’s been a really long, cold spring and the ACs are all tucked away in their little winter home in the laundry room, and those of us who have the time to get them into the windows have dodgy or scrawny backs (i.e., my mother, me, and my 10-year-old), and those of us who have the back strength don’t have the time (The Other Responsible Adult In The House, abbreviated as TORAITH) or the inclination (my two teenagers).  So everyone in my house is sweating and miserable.

On Sunday, after three horrendous days of steamy heat, I had the chance to go see a movie with friends.  This was a highly acclaimed movie that combined two of my favorite things: 1)  it had a literary premise so I could feel virtuous about spending my money, and 2) it was set in New York City, a place I adore.  But more importantly, it was a movie with . . . sigh . . . air conditioning, because going to a movie in the summer in America is really all about the air conditioning.

But before I headed out for the movie, I had to take my 18-year-old daughter to the AT&T store to get her a new iPhone 5, which is part graduation present and part replacing her old iPhone 4 which she recently dropped.

In purchasing the new phone, I had to provide ID, which meant showing my driver’s license to the store employee.  Which is the point at which he told me that it had expired. On my birthday. And before you start Facebooking me to wish me Happy Birthday, I have to tell you that my birthday was in February, so I’ve been driving illegally for four months.

This situation was made far worse because my 18-year-old is on the brink of getting her driver’s license at the same time that her mother has been driving on an expired license.  Not exactly good modeling behavior on my part.

So I slunk home and had TORAITH take over for me at the AT&T store with an up-to-date driver’s license.

I immediately got online and filled in the form for the Registry of Motor Vehicles, hoping that I could get something saying that I could legally drive to the movie an hour-and-a-half hence.  After I answered some questions, the form told me that because I had no felonies, misdemeanors, unpaid parking tickets, or moving violations, and because I was just such a generally wonderful person, I could apply online instead of having to actually go to an RMV office.  All I’d have to do was print out my online preliminary new driver’s license and I’d be on my way to the movie and its air conditioned comfort.

But then, my payment using my credit card didn’t go through.  Then the second card didn’t go through.  By this time, TORAITH had returned home, so I used her credit card.  Then that one didn’t go through though it had worked satisfactorily at the AT&T store just half an hour earlier.

So here I was, with a statement from the RMV saying that I was eligible to get my new driver’s license online, but my payment had been refused on three credit cards that I knew to be completely okay.  So I figured out that the RMV’s payment system must be on the blink.  But I was still okay, wasn’t I?  They said I was eligible, so that must mean legal, right?

I could almost feel the cool air of the movie theatre wafting over me and the hairs on my arms lifting in the cool cool breeze.

And, as the friends I was going to meet asked me:  What are the chances I’d get into an accident driving to and from the movie, when I’d never had an accident in my entire driving experience?

The answer:  none.  Or almost none.  And I had the print-out saying I was eligible to renew online which had to count for something.

“Just go!” chimed in my soon-to-be-licensed driver who’s heard multiple lectures from me about the need for insurance and obeying the rules of the road.  “It’s their mistake that their website won’t take your card.”

Well, yeeeeeeessssssss.  But . . .

So:  should I stay or should I go?

There are so, so many things I’ve given up since having my three kids, and here I’m not just talking about sleep, money, and sanity.  I’m talking about all those things I did to model good behavior to my kids.images

o  PK (pre-kids), the words “f*** a duck” used to roll off my tongue for major and minor pains and disappointments and believe me, it helped whatever pain I was feeling.

No more.  AK–after kids–I became so good at not swearing that I’d managed to convince my two older kids up until they were 8 and 10 that the “F” word was “fart” and the “S” word was “shut up.”

o  When I went out PK, I used to have several drinks over the course of an evening.

Now, I never have more than one beer or glass of wine, and that’s over the course of several days or even a week or else my kids start telling me that I’m an alcoholic.

o  When I needed a good old pity party Pstrawberry-ice-cream-like-ben-and-jerrys-05_2K, I’d run a hot bath and sink into it with a  pint of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate fudge ice cream and People magazine, preferably with (insert a sigh of longing here) Brad Pitt on the cover.

IMG_1857

o  And I never, ever, ate broccoli PK.

Now, AK, those little green “trees” as I’ve learned to call them, frequently pass my lips although I find them as disgusting as I did before having kids.

Yuck! Steamed broccoli!

Yuck! Steamed broccoli!

But in terms of this movie:  I’ve already given up so much.  Can’t I just have this one thing–a really great movie in air-conditioned, ice-cold comfort?

The opening credits were starting in 45 minutes, and I had a 30-minute-drive to get there.  I had to go.

But then my daughter said, “Who cares about their stupid rules, anyway?”

Clearly, this thing of modeling good behavior hasn’t worked out as well as I would have liked. But I can’t give up modeling good behavior now, in front of this about-to-be-newly-minted driver.

I called my friends and told them that I couldn’t go.  Waves of disappointment spread over my hot, sweaty body as I thought of the hours ahead in our steamy house.

This modeling good behavior, although a useful thing, was for the birds.

And I couldn’t even say, “f*** a duck”!

What pleasures of your life have you given up in order to model “good behavior” to your kids?

Boston Marathon memorial: Bucket brigade of flowers

24 Wednesday Apr 2013

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The memorial on Boylston Street.

On Sunday afternoon I went down to the memorial to those killed in the Boston Marathon bombing.

I’ve been feeling completely shattered ever since it happened last Monday afternoon, over a week ago.  It’s exactly the same feeling that I had in 1993 when I looked out of my office window down Fifth Avenue in Midtown Manhattan and saw the smoke rising behind the Pan Am building from the first attack on the World Trade Center, and then eight years later when New York was attacked a second time on 9/11/2001 which I wrote about in “New York, a Love Story.”

Sunday was a lovely spring day here in Boston, sunny, in the 50s, with daffodils, cherry trees, and magnolias in full bloom.  I went down on the T to Arlington Street, one stop past Copley, which was still closed due to the bombing, and walked the several blocks towards the finish line.

Six blocks of Boylston Street were shut off with metal barricades.  At both ends were memorials to the three–now four, with the murder of the MIT policeman–people dead and 260 people injured, some horrifically.

There was a real mix of people at the memorial, probably about half native Bostonians, half foreign tourists, judging by the accents.  All was quiet except for a man who stood at the front of the barricade laughing loudly as he talked on his cell phone. After a few minutes of hoping he would realize how hurtful his behavior was, I finally said to him, “Please don’t laugh.  People have died here.” He muttered “sorry” and slunk away, cell phone in hand.

The memorial was filled with bouquets of flowers of all sorts, three large white crosses for the three victims of the bombing, running shoes, Boston Marathon medals and t-shirts, posters, signs, and American flags.  A man who appeared to be a Vietnam vet was managing the memorial, taking flowers from bystanders and putting them in place.

Taking bouquets at the memorial.

Taking bouquets at the memorial.

At one point he called out, “I need volunteers!”

I raised my hand, and about fifteen other people joined in. I had no idea what he wanted us to do, but doing something–anything–was better than doing nothing at all except feeling this overwhelming sense of sadness.

Men in hazmat suits on Boylston Street near the finish line.

Men in hazmat suits on Boylston Street near the finish line.

The guys in the hazmat suits had told him that they needed to remove the barricades and clear the street for traffic soon, and so he needed our help moving the memorial to a semicircle of pavement about 25 feet to the left.

We started with the flowers.  A line formed of about ten people passing individual bouquets of flowers along like a bucket brigade.  It was beautifully choreographed and very moving, but I’m not my father’s daughter for nothing, and he always liked getting things done the most efficient way possible, so I scooped up bouquet after bouquet of flowers, probably two dozen, in my arms and carried them to the new memorial site, then repeated the process many times over the next hour.

The new memorial took shape, all the flowers at the back, a section for baseball caps, one for t-shirts, another for posters.  The three white crosses for the two women and the little boy who were killed in the bombing were moved, then surrounded by multitudes of stuffed animals.

Remembrances for the two women and young boy, and the MIT police officer.

Remembrances for the two women and young boy, and the MIT police officer.

The MIT policeman didn’t have a cross, but someone had put his initial, “S” for “Sean,” next to the initials “M” for Martin, the 8-year-old boy, “L” for Lingsi, the Chinese graduate student, and “K” for Krystle, the exuberant restaurant worker.

After all the emotion, I was drained.  I thought about walking the two miles home along the route of the Marathon, but instead I wove a circuitous path in the opposite direction to the Public Garden, probably the loveliest spot in Boston with its willows, landscaped vistas, and Swan boats.

The Boston Public Garden

The Boston Public Garden.  A swan boat is going under the bridge.

I walked through Back Bay to the bridge leading to the Esplanade next to the Charles River.  On the other side of the river was Cambridge, where the MIT policeman was murdered and the terrorists lived. I cut back into town at Kenmore Square with its iconic neon CITGO sign (see below) and nearby Fenway Park where the Red Sox play.  There was a game going on, and hordes of people on the street.

Paul Revere's supposed admonition, "The British are coming, the British are coming," is echoed here.
In Kenmore Square I came across an advertisement from the sneaker company New Balance which used the words that Paul Revere supposedly said as he rode on horseback to warn citizens between Boston and Concord: “The British are coming!  The British are coming!”
Boston MBTA bus after the Marathon bombing

Boston MBTA bus after the Marathon bombing.  Copyright Virginia A Smith

Even the buses are carrying the message as Bostonians are fighting back against the assault to our people and our city.

 

 

Boston on lockdown

19 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by in Back in Boston, How we're coming along

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Boston under lockdown

Boston under lockdown

It’s really eerie here in Boston.

Since the older terrorist in the Boston Marathon bombing was killed in the small hours of the night and his younger brother went on the loose and is now the subject of a city-wide search, Boston has been on lockdown.  All forms of public transportation have been shut down, including the “T” (the Boston trains and buses) and Amtrak, businesses are closed, and people have been told to stay indoors.

Katie, my 18-year-old daughter, and I were in Western Massachusetts for the past 24 hours, attending an Open House at a college to which she was accepted when the two suspects were located and the older one killed.  Hearing about Boston being on lockdown this morning was just surreal.  We had planned to spend the entire day at the college, but instead we headed out almost immediately.  When we arrived back home, there were lots of hugs from my mother and my 10-year-old daughter.

When we left Boston yesterday for our trip, we drove through Watertown, where the shoot-out took place.  It is now closed off, so we had to take a route to the south of Boston, rather than driving in directly from the west.

The Massachusetts turnpike (the "Mass Pike") near where the Marathon started on Monday morning.

On the Massachusetts turnpike (the “Mass Pike”, also known as I90) near where the Marathon started on Monday morning.

In Hopkinton, the town where the Marathon started 26.2 miles from the finish line in downtown Boston, there was virtually no traffic going into Boston.

There was even less traffic on Route 9, the major  thoroughfare to our part of town and to downtown Boston. Traffic is always fierce on Route 9, but not today.

No traffic is coming out of Boston. Everything is shut down.

No traffic is coming out of Boston. Everything is shut down.

Yesterday morning, right before we left for the college’s open house, Katie went to the Church of the Holy Cross where the memorial service for the victims of the Boston Marathon bomb explosions was taking place.  She was hoping to get into the church and see President Obama speak not only as Commander-in-Chief but in his new role as “Comforter-in-Chief.”

She was number 1,050 in line, but unfortunately they only let in the first 1,000 people.  While she was waiting, she took this photo which captures four major aspects of the past three days:

1.  The Boston police who worked selflessly to protect the city.  Here they are protecting people attending the memorial service.

2.  The medical personnel from Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital in the van who, along with doctors and nurses at Children’s Hospital, Brigham and Women’s, Boston Medical Center, and Massachusetts General Hospital, helped save the lives of countless people.

3.  The American flag at half-mast

4.  The Prudential Center, Boston’s second tallest building, which was a block or two away from the Marathon finish line.

copyright Katie

Photo taken by Katie.

She missed seeing President Obama speak in person, but those of us in Boston or involved in the Marathon have his words of comfort to listen to as many times as we need to hear them.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vguxffX1ftg

The Boston (Marathon) Massacre: Why would anyone do this?

15 Monday Apr 2013

Posted by in Back in Boston, How we're coming along, US vs UK

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Some of the over 27,000 runners.

Some of the over 27,000 runners.

I was out for 3 hours today on Beacon Street, watching the Boston Marathon which passes 1/2 mile from my house.

We stood on the street  24 miles into the race, 2 miles from the finish line, as  people from all around the world ran the oldest marathon in America.  This took place in Boston, one of the US’s most historic and safest cities.  It was Patriot’s Day, cherished by people from Massachusetts which celebrates the colonials first taking on the Redcoats on April 19, 1775 and which signalled the start of the American Revolution.

The weather was perfect–in the 50s, not too hot for the runners, and sunny.  The mood of the crowd was upbeat as we cheered on people from Kenya, Ethiopia, the UK, Nebraska, Japan and probably every state in the Union and country in the world;  runners on foot and in wheelchairs,  and members of the armed forces in camouflage carrying 100-lb packs.

Many of the people running in the Marathon were raising money for a charity–a children’s hospital, a cancer center–and there was no political agenda to anything today.  There was only the joy of putting one foot in front of another and doing the best that you could in order to say that you ran and finished the Boston Marathon and perhaps raised money for a good cause.

My daughter Meg in red, and her friends Mame-Diarra whose parents are from Montana and Senegal, and Julia, parents from Boston and New Jersey.

My daughter Meg in red, and her friends Mame-Diarra and Julia.

The first women runners at mile 24.

The first women runners at mile 24.

The first men runners at mile 24.

The first men runners at mile 24.

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More of the Marathon runners.

And then, at 2:50 p.m. two explosions at the Finish Line.

And all I could think of was the other innocent victims of violence, in London during the IRA bombings and the terrorist attack on 7/7/2005, in Afghanistan, Iraq, Israel, Palestine, Syria, India, Indonesia, Somalia, and too many places around the world.  And in the US, the Omaha City bombing on 4/19/1995;  the World Trade Center attack in New York City on 9/11/2001; and the slaughter of children in Newtown, Connecticut, on 12/14/2012.  All massacres of innocents.

The stone walls of New Hampshire

07 Sunday Oct 2012

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If you’ve been reading my blog over at The Year of Living Englishly (theyearoflivingenglishly.wordpress.com), you’ll know that I’m crazy about (in a good way) stone walls and just about anything historic except leeches, sewage running in the gutters, and various deadly plagues. My previous post about typical English stone walls and how to build them can be found at:  http://theyearoflivingenglishly.wordpress.com/2012/07/10/how-to-build-a-stone-wall/

Today I’m in New Hampshire visiting my son on his 16th birthday at his boarding school, and it’s wonderful to see how happy he is there. We stayed at a beautiful old inn near Littleton, NH, a former 200-year-old dairy farm with stone walls that have been badly overgrown over the years.  The new owners are busy clearing away the undergrowth and have managed to reveal several stretches of wall.

Here’s the New Hampshire wall:

A stone wall in New Hampshire

It’s been estimated that at their peak just after the Civil War, there were about 240,000 miles of stone walls in New England, though I haven’t found a more recent estimate.  In contrast, England has about 70,000 miles, which seems small in comparison, but in general they’re much better maintained and still in use.  Many of the New England walls have fallen down or been swallowed up by new growth forests that appeared when farmers moved to Ohio and other points west for more fertile, less stony ground.

The wall I saw in New Hampshire looked remarkably like the one I saw several months ago at the National Stone Centre in Middleton-by-Wirksworth, Derbyshire, England.  Here’s the UK wall:

A typical Highland Scottish wall. Note that it’s only one boulder wide, and that the boulders themselves are immense. This type of wall is also seen in North Wales and Dartmoor.

Both walls use huge boulders as single stones, both tip the stones slightly downward so the water drains off, and both have slight “gaps” between stones which is believed to help keep sheep in the field.

UK stone wall

US stone wall

Clearly the person who built the New Hampshire stone wall 200 years ago knew how to work with huge boulders–perhaps a new immigrant to America from Scotland, North Wales, or Dartmoor.

If you’re interested in reading an article in the Atlantic magazine about the world’s best builder of stone walls (or “waller”), take a look at: http://www.theatlantic.com/past/docs/issues/2000/05/finkel.htm

Thanks for reading this post about one of my passions which, luckily for me, can be found in both England and its namesake, New England.