July 6, 2003

I am back on a plane heading home again. I am sick of traveling. I really am. The thought of moving in a few weeks absolutely makes me sick. It is not that I don’t want to go, but it is the idea of the work involved and the traveling again. I am so glad Robin is going. That will save me. There is no time or place with her—it is just comfortable. But there is so much to DO between now and then. I am overwhelmed at the thought. Meanwhile I am start two classes tomorrow! Yes, as in I am a student. Both are internet but they are a lot of work nonetheless. But they are necessary—and they will push me to the next pay level at my new district, which is very important. A note, one of the classes involves internet research and design. As a project I have to create multiple page web pages, so be looking of some new blogging modes in the future. I might end up separating myself from Blogger and going solo if I can learn it well enough. I don’t know details yet. If I can use my blog I might, or I might design literary pages.

I had another literary day today. I have been to Walden Pond and the homes of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Louisa May Alcott. These things are all in Concord, MA. It was a beautiful place, but I think I am a bit disillusioned. I had read that in order to preserve the pond, they limited guest to 1000 people at a time, so when I got there it was closed. That is how I ended up in Concord downtown—in the east they call the downtown areas the center (where there is usually an evil rotary; today’s rotary was the best, though), so I was in Concord Center. I went back at 12:30 and the line of cars was incredible. People in their sunning outfits, ready to dive in the pond. I paid $5 to park for a few minutes. But I had to see the pond. So I went in and followed the trail. It looked like a Texas lake. It was very pretty, but so is Lake Hawkins. But the pure image of Walden Pond is forever marred by the scantily dressed sunbathers. This is not what Thoreau would have liked. It made me sad, sort of like the swearing kids at Plymouth Rock did. I had actually planned to read my Bible at Walden Pond instead of in my hotel room, but then I realized that would not be the peaceful respite which I had envisioned! I read it, instead, in the car, under the trees while sitting in a half hour line.

Anyway, I went from there back to Concord Center to see Emerson and Alcott’s homes. I was not sure what I wanted to do this morning—I was torn between Salem and Concord. Then I was going to do both, but then with the delay for Walden Pond I had to decide. I chose Concord because of the chance to hit three authors’ histories in one place—and they are three I love. I love Hawthorne too, but when you have a day and a half in a place you maximize! I picked a leaf from the Alcott yard and put it in my Bible. Louisa would have allowed me to do that! Between that and sneaking into Plimouth Plantation last night, I feel like a true rebel to enjoy Americana.

I left to head for the airport a bit early—thank goodness. I wanted lunch and was quite hungry by then, but I had directions that took me on little roads, and I wanted to be sure I could get there. That ended up being smart and the directions I copied off the internet were not clear enough to match the street signs. I got turned around more than once. I ended up in Cambridge at Harvard--and that was cool because I wanted to see that too, but I really didn’t have time. Harvard Square was like being in New York City. I did not like it with all its activity, but I did like the culture. The one way narrow streets were NOT fun! I knew from reading Anastasia Krupnik that I had to get across the Charles River to get to Boston. But I couldn’t seem to get anywhere near a bridge. I was immensely frustrated. Finally I got back on Massachusetts Avenue and went west instead of east. I took a different way that was sort of like my directions and got to Boston without crossing the river because I was farther north. Anastasia felt like an old friend to me today—like I was visiting her neighborhood. Then I pictured Jason there—he finished his first year at Harvard. How different he must be going from Tyler to Cambridge.

I realized that while New York and Boston are both the major East Coast cities, filled with culture and life, they are incredibly different. I prefer Boston, I think. I think the difference is the history engraved in the infrastructure of Boston. Everywhere you go is the foundation of a nation. It gives the city more depth, I think.

My trip ended at the rental car place, which I found almost by accident when I thought I took the wrong exit by the airport. Of course I had to put gas in it, and that was an adventure I hated. First I could not get over into the lane, the when I did, I did something I have never done before. I splattered gasoline all over my hands, shirt and pants! I am on the plane exuding a lovely aroma from my Mount Holyoke shirt! No one seems to care.

I got my shuttle to Logan airport and found myself in a the long holiday line with all the holiday travelers. I was disappointed not to be bumped, but I still have the extra miles and perhaps more from the initial flight fiasco—I am still “in talks” with American! So I am on the plane, barely making it to the gate when they began to board—didn’t get to eat lunch—though I had a “Bistro Bag” on the flight—stupid Perdue turkey sandwich they ALWAYS serve with the Ruffles I cannot eat. Same sandwich, same magazine, same planes, same safety demonstrations. I hope I don’t have to fly again til November when I go to PA with Shachah. I am truly exhausted from all this travel. I wonder if I will be a homebody in Los Angeles.