Boston, you’re my home.

This morning at Logan, I bought a copy of the Globe for the first time since the Sox won the Fall Classic. I became so engrossed in an article about Mark Bellhorn, reliving the spectacular 2004 season in my mind, that when I looked up from the paper I was surprised to see snow on the ground. You see, I was expecting green grass, red brick, brown dirt.
I love this about Boston: every time I leave, I miss it. When I got to my Chicago layover, newspaper in hand, grin on face, I started making a list of things I love about Boston. This is obviously incomplete; but it’s what I came up with at the moment.

The Old Hancock Tower. The Harvard Bookstore. Springtime on the Common and in the Public Garden. The MFA. Walking across the Harvard Bridge. T tokens. Fenway Park. The North End, late at night, in winter, snow falling, in a dress and heels and a warm coat. The Fourth of July. Sailboats on the Charles. The clever titles for the Boston Globe masthead weather forecast. The sports page. Seeing BOSTON in bold caps in the ALCS rankings. Brick and old flagstones underfoot. Streets packed high with snow. Boston Light. The Citgo Sign. The Hood blimp. The lights of Fenway illuminating the city for blocks. Running into people I know. The Green Monster. The Fenway Park scoreboard. Walking everywhere. Sunset over the Charles. The sound of the T departing the train station. Old candlepin bowling alleys. Seafood and beer. The way the city becomes electric when a big game is on. Watching Sox games in bars, or through the windows of bars, shops, and restaurants, with strangers who are my best friends. St. Patrick’s Day in Southie. Boston accents.

I’ll see you folks next week. Enjoy the snow.


2 thoughts on “Boston, you’re my home.

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