Wednesday, June 26, 2019
Belle Revived
I have had several pictures from Belle's new owner, now that she is refitted. She has a bimini top, a mast crutch, and new cushions for the cabin. She is very well scrubbed and looking happy as boat with some needed attention can be.
Boston Adventures
Back in February, my sister suggested a summer trip to the Boston Ballet. She bought front row seats. I bought a plane ticket. We would see Cinderella with my niece.
I thought it would be a good idea to leave a little earlier this time so we could get lunch at a cafe without being rushed. We drove to the station to catch the train into town. One person was on the platform. Then an older man arrived and observed to us that today is the Pride Parade. And a Red Sox double header. My sister was not aware of either, but we soon realized what that meant for the train. Sure enough, it arrived already full, and we squeezed on. Others were not as fortunate. That was to be our luck on the way back, as it turned out.
The passengers were literally of every stripe-- rainbow-garbed and Red Sox geared. Everyone was polite. After a few stops, the driver informed all of us that there was a derailment ahead that was blocking the tracks. We would have to get out and take a bus around the obstruction and get back on the train. My sister did a quick calculation and we decided to walk from Fenway Station to the Opera House. It was a little over two miles.
We could see the parade forming on a street parallel to Commonwealth Avenue, about 3 or 4 blocks away from where we were making our way through the brownstones. We arrived at the Commons crossing just as the motorcycle escort stopped. The head of the parade was coming a few hundred yards behind them. Everyone stopped. Then a couple of people crossed. Then a couple more. I said, let's go, and we did. We grabbed a couple of hot corn and cheese cakes at a stand in the park, and we made it to the ballet in time.
We had seen Cinderella before, maybe three years ago. It was our first time to the ballet together. This time, it was the next-to-last matinee and everyone seemed energized. The orchestra, the dancers, everything was engaging. Sitting right next to the orchestra pit was thrilling. Maybe because of where we sat, I particularly heard the bassoons' part. And with Prokofiev, every phrase seems to take an unexpected turn.
We tried to take the nearest train stop, but we walked back to Fenway Station because every train that passed us was full. By the time we got to Fenway the crowd had lightened up and we got a train.
Near Fenway Park earlier in the day, I noticed a granite planter with words carved into it, and on the way back I recognized the words. It was "The Season of Phantasmal Peace" by Derek Walcott. A little research turned up the fact that this was Audubon Circle, a revitalization project with several planters featuring poems with birds as the common motif, chosen by Robert Pinsky.
My other Boston adventure was going into the city on the train by myself for the first time. Again to Fenway Station, where I got off and went to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. I had lunch in the cafe. A little Italian villa in the middle of Boston, full of Renaissance paintings, statues, and icons. It was a much quieter and less crowded journey than the trip to the ballet, but I will have to say it was a thrill to see the people of Boston turn out for Pride and baseball.
I thought it would be a good idea to leave a little earlier this time so we could get lunch at a cafe without being rushed. We drove to the station to catch the train into town. One person was on the platform. Then an older man arrived and observed to us that today is the Pride Parade. And a Red Sox double header. My sister was not aware of either, but we soon realized what that meant for the train. Sure enough, it arrived already full, and we squeezed on. Others were not as fortunate. That was to be our luck on the way back, as it turned out.
The passengers were literally of every stripe-- rainbow-garbed and Red Sox geared. Everyone was polite. After a few stops, the driver informed all of us that there was a derailment ahead that was blocking the tracks. We would have to get out and take a bus around the obstruction and get back on the train. My sister did a quick calculation and we decided to walk from Fenway Station to the Opera House. It was a little over two miles.
We could see the parade forming on a street parallel to Commonwealth Avenue, about 3 or 4 blocks away from where we were making our way through the brownstones. We arrived at the Commons crossing just as the motorcycle escort stopped. The head of the parade was coming a few hundred yards behind them. Everyone stopped. Then a couple of people crossed. Then a couple more. I said, let's go, and we did. We grabbed a couple of hot corn and cheese cakes at a stand in the park, and we made it to the ballet in time.
We had seen Cinderella before, maybe three years ago. It was our first time to the ballet together. This time, it was the next-to-last matinee and everyone seemed energized. The orchestra, the dancers, everything was engaging. Sitting right next to the orchestra pit was thrilling. Maybe because of where we sat, I particularly heard the bassoons' part. And with Prokofiev, every phrase seems to take an unexpected turn.
We tried to take the nearest train stop, but we walked back to Fenway Station because every train that passed us was full. By the time we got to Fenway the crowd had lightened up and we got a train.
Near Fenway Park earlier in the day, I noticed a granite planter with words carved into it, and on the way back I recognized the words. It was "The Season of Phantasmal Peace" by Derek Walcott. A little research turned up the fact that this was Audubon Circle, a revitalization project with several planters featuring poems with birds as the common motif, chosen by Robert Pinsky.
My other Boston adventure was going into the city on the train by myself for the first time. Again to Fenway Station, where I got off and went to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. I had lunch in the cafe. A little Italian villa in the middle of Boston, full of Renaissance paintings, statues, and icons. It was a much quieter and less crowded journey than the trip to the ballet, but I will have to say it was a thrill to see the people of Boston turn out for Pride and baseball.
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