Local Tourists

Brad's sister, Rachael (Auntie Ray Ray), came to visit about a month ago. She timed her visit perfectly, weather-wise. The temperature was amazing. Very little rain. Nice breezes. It was fantastic tourist weather. So, we touristed like pros.

I have done the Freedom Trail in its entirety once, but I have done sections of it countless times. The last leg of the Trail is not the most convenient, so I rarely do it. However, Brad and I have had a Boston Bucket List going for a while now, and "climb to the top of Bunker Hill" was on it. Rachael's visit was our chance. The weather was great, and we were feeling adventurous, so up to the top we went. It's steep and tight and wind-y and makes your legs hurt...but the view was pretty sweet. I even carried Claire on my back part of the way up (then I got weak and tired and had to transfer her to Brad). Those stairs are steep, and Claire's 19 lbs felt a lot heavier. 

This shot was taken after the climb. My legs were still shaking.

View from the top

Siblings

After climbing Bunker Hill, we walked past an ice cream truck and had an interesting conversation with the ice cream man. His family has lived in Charlestown for generations, and he was full of stories about bank robber family members and the filming of "The Town" right there in Charlestown. 

We also made a quick stop by the U.S.S. Constitution (Old Ironsides). 

Obviously, we had to have a lunch at Regina's and pick up cannolis at Mike's, followed by a stop at the Old North Church and the Paul Revere Mall (it's a courtyard, not a shopping center). 

Yay! I love Regina's!

Wait a second...I get a cannoli, right? Right??

Waiting at Mike's...Claire is skeptical about whether or not she is actually getting a cannoli (she didn't, by the way).

Paul Revere Mall with the Old North Church in the background.

Family shot!

Other side of the church. "One if by land, two if by sea."

Lovely.

We enjoyed listening to part of the official tour and explanations. We left a donation on the way out- don't worry.

We finally got around to riding the swan boats in the Public Garden. Claire loved it! She's such a water baby. She enjoyed the water, watching the ducks, and watching the other swan boat passengers.

Views from the water. We love you, Boston!

I got this great shot of our church building out of the window of our car while we were at a red light on the way home. Isn't it beautiful?

We had a great time with Rachael in town. Claire was in Auntie Ray Ray withdrawals for a while. The weather was awesome and the visiting was a blast. We really enjoyed playing the local tourists and roaming around our city yet again. Good times in New England.

There was a marathon here a few months ago...

I was thinking back, and I am fairly certain that I never wrote anything about this year's marathon. What?? If I actually did write about it and am just not remembering, let's chalk it up to the fact that I have a teething toddler and my house is ashambles, as we move in 10 days (which I don't want to talk about...and if you're truly my friend, PLEASE don't try to convince me of how cool Durham is and how much I will love it. I will resent it at this point in my life. I'm not ready. I'm leaving BOSTON for crying out loud- you are incapable of convincing me that Durham can reach that level of cool.).

We had a lot of Red Sox going on that day...It's a Boston thing.

Marathon Monday (Patriot's Day...which is a Massachusetts state holiday. Brad didn't have school that day...partly because it's a holiday and partly because the course goes right in front of BC, making it impossible for students to get to class.) was the day after Easter this year. Because of that, we chose to take the T to church the evening before, knowing that if we took our car, we wouldn't be able to find ANYWHERE to park after church. The city began shutting down the roads on Saturday, and parking spots were incredibly scarce. Because we don't have a private parking spot and are at the mercy of street parking availability, we weren't about to take a chance and find ourselves driving around for hours after church.

Waiting for the T after church...

...because of all of these.

While on the T, we actually met some marathoners from California. We had a nice chat with them about Easter services, Italian food in the North End, and the fact that they were in their mid-50's and this year would be their sixth marathon (?!? Do you know how fast you have to be to qualify for the Boston Marathon? FAST. They don't let just anyone run. They are choosy around here.). Things locals know: if other passengers on the T start up chit chat with you, they aren't from here. Also, if you aren't a runner, you are in the minority. Boston = runningest city in America. Maybe the world.

"There's magic in these streets."

On Monday morning, we made plans to meet up with friends of ours from church so that we could cheer on our friend, Pete, who was running. Our apartment building is just down from mile 21 (which is near Boston College/Heartbreak Hill). We used the online tool to track where Pete was and headed out before that to fill up on the atmosphere. The marathon is regularly charged with electric excitement but was even more so this year, on the anniversary of the bombing. Over 35,000 runners competed in the marathon this year! The streets are lined with thousands of fans, cheering on the runners (and soldiers who march in full kit- including pack!). Our timing was perfect: we literally got out there five minutes before the first of the elite women came through, which was about ten minutes before the first of the elite men came through. We saw the winner of the marathon as he flew, I mean ran, through Cleveland Circle. I even got this awesome picture of him on my phone, because I am GOOD (or just uncannily lucky):

Meb! First American to win the marathon since 1984. 

After we saw Meb run through, we headed down another mile or so to Mile 23 to wait with our friends for Pete. There were probably 15 or so of us, which was a lot of fun. Pete's fiance, Kelly, was spending her day biking from spot to spot on the race course to cheer Pete on with this sign:

Kelly, cheering for her Kiwi.

Marathon with friends. Best way to spend the day!

Pete is from New Zealand where they, apparently, are called Kiwis. So, when he ran through, we cheered him on with a rousing chorus of "Ki-wi! Ki-wi! Ki-wi!" He seemed spurred on by our enthusiasm.

The guy across the street from us was cheering runners on with this sign that said: We love you even without toenails. Boston strong.

Lovely friends.

After Pete ran through, we headed back toward home so Claire could take a nap. We knew that an acquaintance from Tennessee was also running in the race, so, on a whim, we decided to see if we could maybe just happen to spot her. We stopped for a second and I pulled up her bib number on the online tool just to see the last checkpoint she'd gone through. About 2 seconds after I said, "She should be through here any minute," we spotted her, yelled for her, and nearly scared her to death. Bless.

Walking back home. View of the crowds.

I took this shot to make a point about security this year: the city sealed all trash cans and mail boxes that lined the course so that no one could slip contraband inside. Thus, trash on top of the trash can.

We then spent the rest of the afternoon evening hanging out with friends, playing lawn games, and enjoying the sun after many weeks of little sun. Claire enjoyed reading with Pete, and Brad dominated at corn hole. I didn't do either of those things but had fun visiting with friends, anyway. 

I love the Boston Marathon. It's one of my favorite days in Boston. Which is odd, seeing how I feel like running is of the Devil. There must be something in the water around here...

A Boston Fourth

Ever since last July, when we came home from a 4th of July party and put our 4-month-old to bed before seeing any fireworks, Brad has been determined that we would go see the Boston Pops for the July 4, 2014 show. Bound and determined. It's an iconic event in an iconic city. Brad just knew that we could do it. I couldn't see much of a way it would happen, but he just knew it could. I was all Debbie Downer about it because I knew that to get grass space at the Hatchshell, you have to get there at, like, 8:00 in the morning before the 8:30 pm performance. Hello. We have a toddler. That means we either spend an entire day in the sweltering heat with a teething toddler or we pay an all-day babysitter. Neither is a great option.

Then, miracle of miracles, Brad found out that on the 3rd of July, the Pops do a dress rehearsal. It is exactly the same performance, minus the fireworks and about 450,000 extra people (that's a real number...not one of my hyperbolizations). Bam. That was our plan. One of my friends was willing to come stay with Claire, and we were set to go.

But, ah...the best laid plans. You knew something like that was coming, right? We had wrenches tossed into our plans that were quite literally out of our control. Primarily, the weather. Because of the threat of Hurricane Arthur, as well as weather coming from the west, the planners of the event decided to move the fireworks to the evening of the 3rd. It was supposed to rain all day on the 4th (it did, by the way). This meant that the concert we were planning to go to that was expected to have only 50,000 in attendance was going to have 500,000 instead. And, to top it all off, they weren't opening the gates until 5:00 pm, rather than 8:00 am. 

We decided to do what we could, so Brad planned to head down there at 4:00, in order to get in line early and get a good piece of grass. Which he did, by the way. I had to stay at home with Claire until our babysitter got here, which wasn't going to be until 5:30. It ended up being closer to 6:00 before I could leave, though. I ran to the burrito place where I picked up dinner and started my trek toward the Esplanade. It took the train a looooong time for who knows what reason. And, once I got to the correct T stop, I still had 10 or so city blocks before I got to the outer edges of the lines for security. I made pretty quick time and threaded my way through the crowds, jockeying for a good position in line. I kept following the crowds, making sure I was going toward the correct entrance. I got through security (with all of my belongings, I might add. Brad and I checked the website beforehand to see what we were allowed to take in and learned that backpacks were no-go's. Those who did not know this and took backpacks had to leave them outside the secure area, with no guarantee that they would see them again. I saw several people just throw their backpacks away.), got my neon yellow arm band, and began the hunt for Brad. 

The one we left at home.

This proved frustrating, as I wound my way through the people and sidewalks and port-o-potties, trying to get directions from Brad on where to find him. His directions made no sense. I wasn't seeing any of the things he was describing. In fact, I wasn't even seeing the Hatchshell at all. It was as I realized this that I got to the end of the sidewalk and realized what had happened (a theory that I verified with a nearby policeman): Brad, with his red arm band, was in the Hatchshell Oval area, which had been closed to new attendees because of having already reached capacity. I, with my yellow arm band, had been automatically funneled in the Hatchshell Island area, a.k.a. the overflow. 

My heart sank. I knew that Brad and snagged awesome seats. Look:

I could get awesome seats right at the edge of the Charles, but we wouldn't be able to see what was going on at the Hatch, even though we could hear. I tried to convince Brad to stay where he was, but he insisted that he'd rather sit with me than have the awesome seats (how sweet is he?). He packed up, went through security again and eventually found where I was holding down some ground for us. He brought the blanket, and I brought the burritos. What a pair we make.

We were able to hear the concert just fine and ended up having an awesome view of the fireworks. In fact, hordes of people thronged over to where we were in order to see better.

Our view

Boats on the Charles. We were sitting on the Boston side, so this is a shot of the Cambridge side.

Before we reached the end of the concert, though, the coordinators of the show explained that the State Police were calling for an "emergency evacuation" and that the show was being curtailed. I'm surprised that with that intense-sounding wordage, there wasn't a scary, trampling exodus. Thankfully, there wasn't, and everyone headed out in an orderly manner.

And let me tell you: it was none too soon. We had gotten a few blocks away from the Esplanade and the crowds had just begun to thin a bit when the heavens opened and floodwaters akin to those of Noah burst forth from the sky. Sheets of torrential rain crashed down everywhere. Now, I should mention that Brad and I had taken the Boy Scout approach to the evening: we were both wearing our Chacos and had taken our rain coats. When the rain started, we ducked under the nearest store-front overhang and put on our rain coats. I also tucked Brad's library book into my jacket and guarded it as though it were my child. We decided that since we had raincoats, we'd just run through the monsoon and, hopefully, get into the train station and onto a train before the majority of the masses. Our planned worked out well. We sprinted quite a few blocks and were drenched DRENCHED 3 seconds into our run. 

Luck was with us in the train station, as well: we were able to squeeze onto the first train that came through. It still took us forever to get home because of ALL THE PEOPLE, but we fared better than most, so I call it a win.

We had a fantastic time and are so grateful that we did it- even if nothing actually went according to plan. #boswellsloveboston

Also, I didn't even write about the dental work I had done that day, the phone call about the cat, the stranger who took up half of our blanket, or the drunk Scottish guy who crawled over us in the train. Just try and tell me that we didn't have an eventful July 3!

The Laundry Lair

I know I've written about our laundry room before, but I thought I'd take some pictures of it for those of you who haven't seen it (which is most everyone). It's kind of a creepy space. Our apartment opens into the basement, as we are basement-level unit. (Technically, they call our kind of apartment "garden level," but it's basically a basement level. I think "garden" is supposed to make it sound fancier.) It tends to make people wary when I tell them that our door into the basement is located in Claire's room. Never fear: there are two doors (with multiple locks) between her room and the basement. Plus, you can't get into our apartment from the basement if the doors are closed and locked. No problem.

Anyway, I hate our basement. There is decent lighting available, BUT to get to the light switch, you have to make your way all the way across the dark, creepy basement to get to it. It's like spinning your wheels, I think. So, Brad got a super powerful tap light and mounted it on the wall right next to our door so that I can illuminate the pathway to the other light switch that is right over the machines. Over the past few months, I've discovered a dead mouse on the path from our door to the light switch (my tap light is powerful but not quite powerful enough to light up everything). 

In addition to the dim lighting, things that make the basement creepy are: lots of random items that have been stashed down there, like broken lamps and chairs; LOTS of exposed pipes; and mysterious sounds that remind me of scenes on murder-mystery dramas that make viewers go, "Get out of there!!" to the soon-to-be-victim.

Once arriving at the machines, you find one washer and two dryers (side note: I'm pretty sure half of the people I know in Boston don't even bother with dryers...so I'm not sure why we have two of those and only one washer. Why don't they bother with dryers, you ask? Because it's pricey. Ours is really reasonable: $1.75 for 63 minutes. One of my friends would have to pay $1.00 for 6 minutes. She rarely dries her clothes. That's just an annoying amount of quarters to have to keep up with all the time.) Our washer is $2.00 a load, which is also reasonable, given that a more standard rate at laundromats is $4.00. You have to REALLY want to wash your clothes in this city. Confession: I cram a LOT of clothes into those machines. I pretty much try to do a load of whites/lights and a load of darks/brights per week, plus two loads of diapers. That's $8.00 right there, folks. Almost a whole roll of quarters. Most of the time, I air dry most of our clothes and combine things from the whites and darks load for one cycle of laundry. Do what ya gotta do, right?

To put clothes in the washer, you wedge yourself in between the washer and dryers...and turn your back completely on the labyrinth of mystery that extends past the dryers. <shiver> Surprisingly, Claire LOVES going to do the laundry. I wear her on my back in the Ergo carrier, and she thinks it's a grand adventure. She's actually disappointed when we're done. She's a strange child.

Despite my distaste for the laundry facilities here, I am SO thankful that we have laundry in the building. I'd never get anything washed if I had to haul it two blocks away to The Missing Sock every time. On the ice in the winter? While sweating buckets in the summer? I don't think so, buddy.

Blown out flash...but you can see the "wedge space." When Claire is on my back, she likes to bang her head into the side of the dryers. She thinks it's hilarious.

More realistic lighting.

A glimpse into the Labyrinth of Mystery. 

This is a glimpse back toward our door. This is with my taplight on, too. Cree-py.

And that's a brief glimpse into life in the city. Won't miss this aspect.