July 5 Continued

Then I went south out of there, back on I-90 and went to Providence, Rhode Island—and I was impressed. I see why Doctor Hayes liked it so much. He almost took a job there last year—but no one knew it. It was neat. So I added another state today—this trip boosted me up to 36! 14 to go, 12 contiguous US states. Then I was out of RI almost as quickly as I was in it! That is what happens when you visit the nation’s smallest state! Then I realized I had not stopped and touched my feet! That is my rule—to touch my feet down in all 50 states. Sometimes, like in Delaware, that is literally all I do—Maine too. So I exited at the next exit and drove about 30 seconds before I was back in RI. I was out of gas so I made a gas stop down the street, then 5 minutes later was back in MA. Then I was on 195 East so I decided to go for it—I went to Cape Cod. If you have ever been on the bridge that takes you over the area into Cape Cod, you know why it is almost scary. It is a suspended bridge—GORGEOUS, but SO high in the air. It was worth going to see that, but I was glad to get off it--but then I realized I had to go right back over. New England has these annoying things—actually that I think the real England has—here they call them a ROTARY. They are awful traffic circles where traffic comes from all directions but only one has the right of way and the other directions yield. People go loony and you are lucky to live. I have been through more of those things that I ever want to see again in my life, but after getting through a few more, I escaped and got on a rural highway toward Plymouth—after all, I was already there. Just when I thought I was not going to make it, there I was passing Plimouth Plantation (that is NOT a spelling error; it really is spelled that way!). It was closed but I parked and ran over the gate to peek at the big house! It was incredible. Then I ran back thinking had misread the map and missed Plymouth Rock, when, tada—a sign said I could exit for the Plymouth museums and Plymouth Rock. I was thrilled. So I went through another evil rotary and found myself on another part of Cape Cod, I guess it was, with boats all over the water and wall-to-wall tourists. I drove a bit before I could find Plymouth Rock. I saw the signs but seemed to keep missing it. I figured there was no way I would miss it. Wasn’t it a huge black thing on the edge of a cliff by the water you could see from afar? What movie or book did I see that in? It is amazing what your mind thinks falsely. I asked a worker there finally—and it was dark by now—and he pointed me to a series of granite columns. I was over by the pilgrim houses then but I had to see Plymouth Rock if I was that close. There between the columns down on the shore, encased—as Emily’s grave was—was a rock. It was maybe 3 ½ feet wide by 2 feet long and 18 inches deep. It was not a huge dark rock by the water you could see from far off by any means. It had a big “1620” in it—the date the pilgrims arrived. It was the original rock and that was exciting, but it was so small. And it was sad too—a group of teenagers was there as I was. The guys in the group were yelling loudly and swearing like crazy about it all. I walked off and thought if the original settlers could hear what was being said at Plymouth Rock now, they would cry—and then I realized I was crying,too, as I said that. It was sad—sad to look at the contrast and see so much of what our nation has become. I picked a leaf or two from the area where the rock was, but I wanted a rock. It took forever of my literally digging in the dirt but I found a little rock—MY Plymouth Rock. Too cool. Then I bought a bit of salt water taffy and some postcards and cranberry soap—now I also understand why we have cranberries at Thanksgiving. I saw the pictures on postcard of the huge cranberry harvests in that area. Oh.

Then I headed back to Boston where my perfect hotel is—yes, I am still thankful for it. It was a long day but I did SO much neat stuff. I am going to have the COOLEST citizenship interview next week. I can’t wait to share about my trip! One day I want to come back here—with no credit cards!—and take a literary tour. I have not made it to Salem and Nathaniel Hawthorne’s area, nor have I made it to Walden Pond. Beyond that, almost all my favorite writers are from New England. I want to go back to the Dickinson house and go to the areas and see her original manuscripts. I would love it. But even if I never do, I had a crash course and I loved it. My flight leaves at 5:12 tomorrow—so I have some time to do one or two more things—probably just go to Boston in the city. I want to go to Filenes. That is from a book. I realized my passion to travel this nation is from two things: Those silly wooden state and capital puzzles I thrived on when I was a kid and the many young adult novels I read. Now what is produced for teens is JUNK! But when I grew up there was so much good stuff. Lois Lowry taught me that in Filene’s Basement in Boston the bargains are great but there are no dressing rooms, so ladies stand around in their underwear grasping the clothes they want and trying them on. That seems so silly, but when you grow up with books and then you are during by where they are set, it is a thrill. If I were to ever had kids, I would expose them to all my wonderful books. I learned so much. When you read like I did, you are never confined to one area. Now I am so blessed because I get to see what I read. I still have those books—pretty much all of them. I won’t get rid of them. You can’t buy them anymore.

I am exhausted. Little sleep, lots of stress, lots of running around. I have so much to do when I get home too. Gag! But still this is neat. I will decide in the morning what I will do tomorrow in the bit of time I have.

Maybe I will stand around Filenes in my underwear.