Today is a pretty day with sun and a blue sky. It will be around 74° all day, a perfect temperature. I am still housebound. I don’t drive because my leg still hurts, but it is getting better. At least that’s what I tell myself every day.

I remember my first night game at Fenway Park. I was twelve. A friend of mine had a sister who worked at Fenway, and she got tickets. I remember the magical look of the field when I walked out of the concourse behind right field. I swear my jaw dropped. The field was as light as day. The grass was the greenest grass I’d ever seen. The sand was smooth, untouched by cleats. Players came onto the field for batting practice. I watched for a while and tried to identify the players at bat, but I was a long way from home plate. One ball landed by me, and I got it. The ball was scuffed and was a bit dirty, but I didn’t care. It was the best souvenir.

I’ve always loved New England. I remember Sunday family trips to the best places. We went to Boston to ride on the swan boats in summer, and we went to Boston in the winter to see the lights on the common and in the store windows. We saw Santa Claus at Jordan Marsh. My mother said he was always the best looking Santa. We went to museums, and I remember a dairy farm. My father drove us up Mount Washington. He drove ever so slowly. When a car going in the opposite direction passed us on the inside, I looked over as were on the outside. It always looked as if we were right on the edge and only inches from tumbling over the side. I’m sure it wasn’t inches that’s how I remember it. It was scary. I got to see the Old Man of the Mountain. His face was easy to see. The Old Man collapsed in 2003. People laid flowers on the site.

We went to the beach, mostly on Sundays. My mother packed great lunches, with sandwiches, chips and treats. The Tartan cooler held bug juice. At first I could hear the ice cubes clink on the sides of the cooler then as the day got older, it was just a splashing sound. By the end of the day the bug juice was warm, the remaining sandwiches had sand in each bite and the Oreos were only a memory. It was a great beach day.

This entry was posted on August 29, 2025 at 12:52 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.