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.

Root, root, root for the Red Sox

For most of my life, I have hated baseball. I have never understood why anyone would want to watch it on metal bleachers in the hot sun and REALLY never understood why people would watch it on tv (or, like my dad sometimes, listen to it on the radio). I realize it's a game of nuance, but I have just always felt it to be tedious and slow and extremely boring. Like, the only thing more boring than baseball is golf. I'm sorry if this offends any of you. 

And then...I went to a game at Fenway Park last summer. I loved it! Fenway is the cutest little ballpark that there every was. In fact, I'm pretty sure that my newly discovered appreciation for baseball is intrinsically tied to this particular ball field (so...I'm not willing to say that I'm a fan of BASEBALL, but I will say that I'm a Red Sox fan). I went for the first time last summer and had a great time. I still don't follow all of the details of the game, but I am very into hot dogs and ice cream and Cracker Jacks. And singing "Sweet Caroline" all together. It didn't hurt that the Red Sox won the World Series last year, either. Boston was sort of electric with Red Sox fever. In all honesty, though, Boston is always alive with Red Sox fever. New England LOVES their Red Sox (and, in case anyone was thinking to themselves that there are any other New England baseball teams, like the Yankees or the Mets, I need to inform you that New York is not considered part of New England, and don't insult true New Englanders by calling it such, thankyouverymuch). It was great fun to be playing in the World Series and even more exciting to win it here in Boston.

While Brad's parents were here a few weeks ago, we got a babysitter for Claire and headed off to a game (which we didn't win, but that's hardly the point, in my opinion). The Sox were playing the Toronto Jays, the weather was awesome, and the food was fantastic. A perfect Boston outing.

Waiting for the T...along with quite a few other fans.

Down near the bathrooms, there's a gallery of all of the Red Sox logos through the decades.

Family picture!

The gal singing with the microphone stand sang "O, Canada" and the girls' group sang "The Star-Spangled Banner."

I got this shot of the New Balance, Dunkin Donuts, and Ford logos...it's so very New England. New Balance is headquartered in Boston, Dunkin Donuts is originally a New England chain, and Ford is as American as it gets. Very Boston-themed sponsors.

Big Papi warming up, with Pedroia at bat.

Big Papi is WELL-beloved around here.

The Pru, lit up with Red lights (for the Red Sox).

When the crowd was belting out "Sweet Caroline," the cameras panned to this little girl holding a sign that said, "I AM sweet Caroline!" The whole stadium laughed.

So, although I've loathed baseball for most of my life, I have to say that I love the Red Sox. Boston has rubbed off on me, and I can't help it. Root, root, root for the Red Sox, 'cause if they don't win it's a shame! (there's been a little bit of shame recently, unfortunately...)

Things Locals Know

I would never presume to call myself a Bostonian. However, after living here for two years, I would venture to call myself a local at this point. As a local, there are things that I've learned about Boston/Massachusetts that I might not notice as a tourist/visitor. 

For example, anyone who visits here will quickly learn that the public transportation system is referred to as the T. The full name is the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority (MBTA), but everyone calls it the T. The T is made up of several differently colored lines (red, blue, orange, silver, and green). The green line (the one we primarily use) is also broken down into letters (B, C, D, and E). When referring to different lines, locals don't really shorten the names of the lines...despite the fact that MBTA is shortened to T. We don't say, "Hey, I'll be home soon. I'm on the green." We go ahead and say "I'm on the green line." That extends to the lettered lines, too (i.e. "Hey, it'll take a million years for me to get home. I'm on the B line." The B line is reallllly slow).

On a similar note, although both trains and buses are part of the T, if you say, "I'll take the T," you mean that you're taking the train, not the bus. If you're taking the bus, you usually say the number of the bus you plan to take (i.e. "I'll take the 86 bus."). Small little quirks, but they're pretty universal in Boston, I've found. I also found that it sounded really odd when I saw an instagram caption of a visitor to Boston that said he was "on the green." I literally had to notice that the picture was taken on a train to figure out what "on the green" meant. 

Another little local quirk that we caught onto really quickly was that Commonwealth Avenue (a major thoroughfare) is always called Comm. Ave. Always. Unless you are not from here. Or haven't been here longer than a day. It's not "Commonwealth Avenue" or "Commonwealth." It's Comm. Ave. Similarly, Massachusetts Avenue is "Mass. Ave." and Harvard Avenue is "Harvard Ave." (but not "Harv. Ave." Don't be ridiculous.)

Incidentally, almost anything with "Massachusetts" in its name is shortened to "Mass. ___." "Mass. Gen." is short for Massachusetts General Hospital (also called MGH), and the Massachusetts Turnpike is the "Mass pike." Boston, Massachusetts is "Boston, Mass." Any of the University of Massachusetts campuses are referred to as "U. Mass. Amherst/Boston/Lowell." A glaring exception: MIT. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology is just MIT. Like, universally. Globally, and whatnot.

In the same vein of shortening names, Boston University is BU, and Boston College is BC. I don't even remember the last time I heard anyone actually use the full name of either school. People just don't.

Dunkin Donuts is on every street corner here. It's a New England-based chain, so they love it here. Boston isn't really into chains unless they began here (or nearby). They DON'T do Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart, to New Englanders, is the beast. The sign of the end times. Target, however, is acceptable. Don't question us on this. 

It's expected that, if you live here, you are a Red Sox fan, a Bruins fan (that's hockey, folks), a Celtics fan, and a Patriots fan (we're not really Patriots fans, but we keep that to ourselves.). You're generally expected to know when games are, too. We bluff a lot.

September 1st is a day to stay off the streets. Literally. It's an across-Boston move-in/move-out day (of apartments), and it's NUTS. People will actually move all of their possessions out of the apartment and onto the sidewalk, as the next tenant moves his or her stuff in. The sidewalks are full of stuff, and man, if it's yours, you better guard it...BECAUSE it's also common knowledge that if something is left on the sidewalk and isn't locked up, it's fair game. We are proud owners of a sidewalk lamp and sidewalk bookshelf. Quality stuff, too. Not even kidding and not even ashamed.

You must know how to parallel park- or figure it out really quickly. Otherwise, you will not park, and you'll be driving your car around for the rest of eternity.

Pedestrians have the right-of-way...unless the cars want it...and sort of vice versa. Jaywalking is not really a thing here, so if you're a pedestrian and think you can make it across without a light, go for it. It's expected. You can even do it in front of policemen. They do it, too. We figured this out early on. You can tell who's from out of town, according to when they cross the street. 

These are just a few of my observations. There are probably a bunch of others that I just don't even recognize any more. Anybody that has visited Boston: are there any others I'm leaving out?

Inside my head: parallel parking

I think I've mentioned this before, but growing up in the South did absolutely nothing to prepare me for parking in Boston. Like most other big cities, the majority of parking here is of the parallel variety: a skill that I was sorely lacking upon arrival. For the better part of the year (plus) that we've had our car in Boston, I've dreaded any time I needed to drive because there's just no knowing what kind of parking situation will await me at the end of my journey (and by "parking situation," I don't mean whether or not it will be parallel- it will- I just mean how tight the spaces will be/if they'll be covered over in ice/if the other parked cars will have parked well or lousily/if there will be any spaces at all). Then, there's the issue of holding up traffic while backing into the space. This isn't because I'm so bad that I hold up traffic- it's because so many of the roads are really tight/cramped/one-way that there's no way around holding up traffic. And, Bostonians are not known for their patience, y'all.

Parking is also complicated by things like only being able to park on certain sides of the street, due to street cleanings or "resident parking only" These are assigned based on which neighborhood you live in. There's not a "Boston" residents only, so ours is "Brighton/Allston." If we go into another part of town, like the North End or Fenway or Jamaica Plain, we can't park on the "residents only" sides of the street (even though we all live in Boston, "residency" is based on your neighborhood). 

Then, of course, there are tow zones, fire hydrants, driveways, commercial-only from 8:00-12:00, and fire lanes that you can't park in. It's a lousy feeling to think you've FINALLY spotted a parking spot...only to realize that it's another fire hydrant. Drat you, fire safety. (Just kidding...we're big fans of fire safety.)

Some parking signs on our street.

On the right side of the street, street cleaning is on the 1st and 3rd Wednesdays of the month...

...and on the left side of the street, it's resident parking only and street cleaning on the 2nd and 4th Wednesdays of the month.

Also, generally speaking, in Boston city limits, parking spots are not marked with lines. This means that you don't have markers for where your spot begins/ends and where the next does. It's very annoying. I had a moment a few weeks ago wherein I realized how different our parallel parking situation is from the kinds that you see down south. A gal that we know lives in Alabama and posted a shot on instagram of her parallel parking job in a downtown area where she works. Brad and I had a good long chuckle because the parking job involved clearly marked parking lines and a good two feet on either end of her car. Disclaimer: I'm not mocking her abilities, by any means. I just realized how different things are here. We're usually parking with no lines and have inches to spare on either end of the car.

I thought I'd give you a little peek into my head...the manic thoughts I have whilst parking in Boston.

Ok, Erin. Eyes open...find a spot. Wait...is this resident parking only? The right side of the street is but not the left. Must find a spot on the left...is that one? Nope. Hydrant. Ok. End of the one-way street. Gotta drive around the block and start back up this one again...drive drive drive...alright, left side of the street...there's empty space. Will my car fit in that spot? I think so...maybe...it's probably the size of a sedan, but Brad Boswell would attempt it...I'll give it a try...pull up next to car in front...cut wheel...back, back, back...shoot...I overshot it...and there's a car behind me...AGH! <pulse speeds up because of holding up traffic> pull out...correct...<nervous about car behind me and can't seem to make it happen because of said nervousness> should I have just kept on going to a different street to try to find a bigger spot? Probably...but now I MUST MAKE THIS WORK...and that was the curb I just hit...at least the other car could scooch by...inch forward...get off curb...inch back...hit curb again...inch up...inch back...don't bump bumpers...whew. In. Finally. I have two hours to park here. Check watch and set alarm.

<unloads baby and gear and walks towards destination>

<spots wide open parking spot closer to destination and bigger than the one I squeezed into>

<feels part of my soul die a little bit...>

End scene. (until the next time I move the car)

A Visit from the South

For Claire's birthday celebration, my parents came into town! It was really fun having them here for such a big life event (and not just for the fact that no one makes grits like my mom...even though I follow her recipe exactly). It was super fun having them at Claire's party. I'm pretty sure they loved it, too. 

But, since they were here for six days, and the party lasted only two hours, we had to come up with some activities to fill the rest of the time. There was a lot of Bear-cuddling, obviously, but we also got out and did a few things. 

Back in August, we went with Brad's parents to Cape Cod and had a blast. Now, March is definitely not "in season" for Cape Cod, as they actually end up with more snow than the city does (i.e. we get 10 inches, they get 15), but we're rebels and went anyway. We went to the best restaurant on the Cape, The Keltic Kitchen, and spent a few *extremely* chilly minutes on the shore, getting some photographic documentation of our visit. We kept our itinerary to a minimum, as Claire is a one-year-old and has limits.

Keltic Kitchen

Hanging in the car while the grandparents get pictures.

We saw this house whose fence was made of old doors. It was so cool.

As usual, we set aside a day to get lunch at Regina's in the North End and cannolis at Mike's (we also picked up Bearsy's birthday cupcake). We had planned to walk toward Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church after picking up our cannolis, but we ran out of time (and by that, I mean that Claire's window of pleasant wakefulness began to close). We settled for a walk through Quincy Market (not for food but for the shops), which was great for Brad and me because we found some Boston art that we wanted. 

Regina's. Mmm.

We spent another day visiting Cambridge, which included lunch at Mr. Bartley's, a walk through Harvard Yard, and quick browsing at Black Ink and the Curious George store. Due to some unplanned walking in the wrong direction, Dad came to the sad realization that Cambridge, MA is not nearly as universally quaint and classy as his mind had always seen it. I felt bad about shattering that vision for him, but unfortunately, it's true. Harvard Square itself is quaint and rather Americana, but Cambridge, as a whole, is not. Bless it.

Mr. Bartley's. Iconic Cambridge.

We squeezed in a lunch at Shawarma King (mmm...we love some Middle Eastern goodness). and Brad and I got a date night, as well (we saw The Monuments Men and loved it!). An excellent time was had by all (especially Claire). We've been adventurers around here lately, so here's hoping I get on a blogging streak and tell you all about it. 

And now, some gratuitous Bear photos: