Seven Days in Concord: The Old North Bridge

So...I never said it would be seven consecutive days would it? It has been a lovely summer thus far. The weather has been wonderful and on days it was too hot I realized that one of the things I *love* about being back in the US is air conditioning. Yes, sometimes it's too cold and it's not that great for the environment but man, sometimes it's also just that little bit of heaven to step in from a 100 degree plus day right into the coolness of refrigerated air. So sue me...I'm human.

On day two of your virtual journey to Concord we will tour the old north bridge. For all you Americans and history buffs out there...this is where the revolution began. Combine your love of American history with the love of poetry and you come to Ralph Waldo Emerson's lovely poem to commemorate this event in 1837 in his poem "Concord Hymn." I am not much of an Emerson fan but these lines surely resonate to the anti-colonialist in all of us:

"By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world."

I consider our current times some of the darkest days of American history when the GOP is trying to drag us backwards with their no-evolution, leave sick people to die, let's invade the world stances, the economy is in a slump it's not been in over 50 years and there is close to 10% unemployment. Then I remember the shift made by the people whose descendants still live in the Lexington-Concord area. They went from being British subjects to rebels, rebels with a cause. The revolution was not led by people who wanted to go back, they took up arms, these embattled farmers so they could go forward, to become citizens instead of subjects. And citizens are engaged, they have a voice but they also want to know the truth. I hope, for my adopted country, that we become engaged. Even if we are philosophically conservative we can be intelligent. We can believe in God (if we do, I don't) and still believe in evolution. It's not an either/or scenario. Yes, this is what I thought as I ran my hands across the warm wood of the bridge that day and looked across at Daniel Chester's French's statue of the Minuteman with Emerson's quote engraved on the pedestal on which it stood. By the way you might know French from another statue he made: the Lincoln Memorial statue. Ring a bell? But I digress.



I wonder what the real Minutemen, those brave men who faced down the British empire would think of the pretenders in their name? They were willing to die to liberate their country. They didn't hunt poor, desperate Mexicans on their borders. They were the underdogs, they didn't create the underdogs.

Even as I walked past the peaceful bridge and looked across at the picturesque boat house and the intrepid people canoeing and boating down the Assabet river I was filled with a sense of strange belonging. America and India are not that far apart when we think of our shared colonial past. And our anti-colonial past. We too fought...albeit without guns...to liberate ourselves from the British. We shared a dream. And to various degrees both countries have veered from their onward paths. But paths loop back don't they? I hope both my countries will loop back to the place where we can go forward again.

You have been warned: places with histories like the old north bridge make me sentimental and optimistic in the most sickening ways...as chick-flicks do to others.

Among the clouds

So...I'm on my way to California. Nope, I don't mean I am leaving soon or that I am sitting at the airport, or on my way to the airport. I mean I am actually on the way...in progress, sitting in seat 11D, smushed in next to two fellow-travelers, sipping a Diet Coke.

This morning as my plane lined up (number 2 for take-off) at Logan International Airport and lumbered onto the runway, the Atlantic Ocean glistened deeply blue. And I took a few minutes to ponder this modern miracle. In a few hours I would be across a continent, touching down towards another ocean as the evening shadows descended upon that beautiful city by the bay.

I am not an adrenaline junkie (really Jawahara? Do tell us more after this shocking announcement) but there are few things as exhilirating to me as taking off in giant plane. The short stop. And then the sudden rush of power and speed and that almost effortless lift off. You can tell me about aerodynamics and air flow or whatever but there is a little bit of magic in flight.

Ever since Dedalus's ill-fated adventure captured our imagination humans have been obsessed with flying in the skies. Perhaps even before that. And why not? Despite the hum of the engines, when else can we fly above the clouds?



And now this. Sitting (uncomfortably) at 32,000 feet I tap into a wifi signal, update my facebook status and my blog. Or is this sad? That I cannot unplug even for a few hours? I'm not sure. This is the first time for me. If I make it a habit it would make me worry. But for right now I am reveling in the newness of it. In front of me is a familiar screen. Next to me is....nothing. The sun is shining pink-golden light onto the dappled clouds below us and I feel a world away from civil wars, earthquakes, tsunamis and nuclear meltdowns. It feels like a respite.

So I look out at the clouds below, watch a distant plane fly beside us and take in this new plugged reality. So, friends of my blog...hello from the clouds. Of course, with all this magic...there is something still missing. Yep...my computer is running out of juice and there seems to be no magical way to recharge it...at least no in cattle class.

Crossing a Street in Spring

If you and I are Facebook friends you've seen my album of Boston in Spring pics. The last I lived in the Boston area I hated it. I mean *HATED* it. I looked for things to hate...and there are plenty (potholes that can swallow cars, rude people, the grayness, the crumbling infrastructure, the very fact that it was not California and never would be...wait, that last one was more about me, wasn't it?)

Like I said I tried to find things to hate and then felt justified in falling deeper and deeper in hatred with Boston. This time I decided to make it a do over. (Did I mention that I had do-overs in....wait for it...California???!!!! already). And now California is my Shangri-la, my city on the hill...where I hope to live forever and ever in Jawahara heaven! Oh well, on to Operation Boston Love.

So Tuesday dawned bright and blue and wonderful and off I went to meet a new friend. She lives in town, on Beacon Hill no less, two blocks from Boston Common. We had a great meal at a lovely Italian place called Fig. Right across from us were quaint, cost the earth little shops on Charles Street, a specialty food store (DeLuca's I think), and lovely little bistros and ice cream shops.

Then we walked back to her place....for some freshly brewed Nespresso. I had the Ristretto. It was lovely. Ok, yes, you don't share my passion for the Nespresso...but we bonded something fierce. She's European, she loves Nespresso and has the coolest penthouse pad. And did I mention the Nespresso?



I walked back to my cart that was parked under Boston Common. I walked through the Public Gardens. And I was struck by how just...well beautiful it was. The grass was not really green yet but it was getting there. Even though my backyard still has snow out in the 'burbs, the gardens were devoid of any white stuff. People were walking dogs (one woman had 6), the bronze ducks (inspired by Make Way for the Ducklings) were decked out in the finest, gaudiest Mardi Gras beads, couples lazed on park benches, and everything gleamed in the way they in the first nice days of Spring.



And I felt alive. And happy.

There was Washington's statue, the general and horse frozen mid-stride. There was other statues. The lagoon was drained of water and a few geese and ducks had gathered near a mud-hole in the center of it, cackling loudly. The world was coming alive, climbing out of our long winter.

I crossed the street and entered Boston Common. This is where Bostonians of old grazed their cattle and sometimes got together for bit of family fun and togethernesss...to watch public executions. You know...fun times! Now it's peaceful, verdant....full of joggers and walkers and tiny fashionistas with their tiny dogs dressed in pink winter-wear: both dog and owners. The tall buildings around us gleamed in the strong sunlight, the dome of the State House glistened. Then I heard a jingling bell, yes, the tourist trams were running. No duck tours yet but it's still early.



It was wonderful and I tried not to believe that there was rain forecast for Wednesday. How could that be? Just look at this bright, beautiful day. How could there be rain tomorrow.

I paid my parking ticket. $22! Yes, 20 fucking 2 dollars!!! I guess there will be rain tomorrow. And there was. Tons, buckets of rain! Arrrghhh!

Dirty Secrets: Snow and Caffeine

So...the snow is melting and the skies are blue and inexplicably I am a little bit sad. This terrible winter we had was almost like a living thing...an adversary. And for so long it won and kept on winning. Now it's in retreat and there is something sad about a routed enemy. Oh well! I will get over it I'm sure..and apart from my two and a half readers I am not letting in anyone else into this dirty little secret. I am waiting for all the snow to be gone and then I will embark on the great Concord Literary Tour. I plan to do one day (or two) going to Walden Pond, the Alcott House and other locations literary in my new home. So...stay tuned.

As those who move from Europe, especially somewhat chi-chi Switzerland know we love our Nespresso machines. So I have one and I love it. I make my renverses, take in the aroma, close my eyes and for a moment am transported back to Geneva. While I was in Geneva, when I was homesick I'd spend time at Starbucks. It was almost like being in a little enclave of the US..and there was free Wifi. Great to hang out, write, meet up with others, etc. But here's my secret....I *hate* Starbucks coffee. To me it tastes burnt, like the beans were over-roasted. Oh well! Waah! Now, that I am back in the US I went to Starbucks a few times because....yes it reminded me of being in Geneva. I am weird, I know...but do you think Starbucks is a wormhole, a conduit between countries and worlds.

However, I usually drink fizzy water there or sometimes a light coffee frapp. But now, back in the North-East, especially in the great state of Massachusetts, I have succumbed to our own special coffee addiction. Yes, Dunkin Donuts folks. Down and dirty, coffee (and they put in the milk and sugar for you if you're not a black drinker). I still have my Nespresso but every couple of days I have to stop by and pick up a "medium hot, milk and sugar." And I *love* it.



There you have it: Geneva and Bawston living side by side within me. These are my dirty secrets.....or at least some of them.

Welcome back World

Or is it the blogging world and my two-and-a-half readers who welcome me back? Regardless. I hope to blog about once a week. Sometimes when so much is happening I go into survival and shut-down mode. There was leaving Geneva and my friends, the packing, the moving, our things that arrived in three installments, a vacation in India in the middle of it all, a wonderful birthday. And the worst winter I have ever experienced and I've been in some bad winter situations...but this New England winter was history making and one for the record books. But I survived it all! And I am still here. So...yay!

And trying to settle into life in Concord. You know I still haven't been to the Alcott House or to Walden Pond. I guess I was hibernating for the winter. But as the snow piles grow ever shorter and the day becomes just a little bit longer... I am starting to come out of my hiatus.

Here's to 2011, to my new life, to all whom I love...and just to life in general. More later.