Travelog: Time in New England
Our hotel at the corner of St. Paul and Beacon streets in Brookline was just a few blocks from Boston University, where I attended graduate school. Last Friday morning, as we started walking down Comm Ave., the main road bisecting the urban campus, it dawned on me that my husband had never seen the place except the dreary day I graduated. That bit of intel was all I needed to declare myself in charge of our itinerary.
First stop: breakfast at Trident Booksellers on Newbury Street. There are two sides to the famed “Rodeo Drive of Boston.” One end is trendy; the other funky. Trident Booksellers is a café and bookstore definitely on the funky side. As we wolfed down our frittata and omelet, I told Gilbert how I would treat myself during cold months to a hot white chocolate from here and take it to the reflecting pool at the Christian Science complex off Mass Ave. 
Therefore, the tour continued with us going to that very spot, only this time to see the Mapparium. It costs $6 but is worth it, especially if you’re into geography, current events or physics. You wait in a Hall of Ideas, where quotes bounce off marble walls and floors. Then you are guided onto a translucent bridge surrounded by a three-story glass globe of the world as it was in 1935, when the mapparium was built. The exhibit makes you aware of just how much our world has been changed by wars. There are some really cool sound effects too because of the unique structure. It ends with a self-guided tour of nearby exhibits that tell the story of Mary Baker Eddy, the church’s founder.From Tokens to Tickets
From there, we went shopping in Downtown Crossing via a walk through the Public Gardens and Boston Common. It was a tough year for leaf-peepers with the drought draining many dying leaves of their stunning color, including those surrounding these urban parks. By the time we walked out of the last store, we’d been on our feet for four solid hours since breakfast. Time to grab the T to get back to the hotel. Imagine my surprise to discover tokens had been replaced a couple of years before with “Charlie cards.” It’s still a flat fee, regardless of how far you go, and a plastic card’s fare is cheaper than the paper ones, though both can be reloaded.
Friday night was the rehearsal dinner at Legal Seafood at Copley Place, a high-end mall in the Back Bay area. It was open bar and, let’s just say many of us made it a “dry run” for the next day’s reception. I’m not sure how many glasses of wine I had; I only know it was one (or three) too many.
From there, we went shopping in Downtown Crossing via a walk through the Public Gardens and Boston Common. It was a tough year for leaf-peepers with the drought draining many dying leaves of their stunning color, including those surrounding these urban parks. By the time we walked out of the last store, we’d been on our feet for four solid hours since breakfast. Time to grab the T to get back to the hotel. Imagine my surprise to discover tokens had been replaced a couple of years before with “Charlie cards.” It’s still a flat fee, regardless of how far you go, and a plastic card’s fare is cheaper than the paper ones, though both can be reloaded.
Friday night was the rehearsal dinner at Legal Seafood at Copley Place, a high-end mall in the Back Bay area. It was open bar and, let’s just say many of us made it a “dry run” for the next day’s reception. I’m not sure how many glasses of wine I had; I only know it was one (or three) too many. 
How’d Noel Make the Guest List?
The morning wedding started just about the same time Hurricane Noel was getting in some decent licks. The groom’s from Scotland, and the minister joked at the start of the ceremony that his family had brought their weather with them. Immediately after the service, the driving rain shot at us from all directions as we tip-toed in our silk dresses and heels and the men in their kilts toward the reception just down the hill at Longwood Towers. After a few glasses of wine or ale, everyone began to look at the weather in a more positive light, eventually concluding it fit the medieval feel of the ballroom and, besides, we were all indoors now, and dancing. Hours later, rather than head to an after-party at a Kenmore Square billiards, we elected to go back to the hotel, change into more comfortable clothes and head out in the rain for a late dinner. I kinda thought a bowl of chowder and pint at a nearby pub was appropriate fare, but I got talked into doing Chinese.
Sunday morning I privately reserved just for me. I woke at sunrise and dressed in black shorts, blue T-shirt, brown sweater and maroon gloves. I eagerly pulled on my running shoes and literally bounced all the way to the Charles River path just behind BU’s Marsh Chapel for a run in the clean 37-degree air, knowing both the day and my body would soon warm in the jentacular sun. During my college days, I could easily run from the BU Bridge to the Longfellow Bridge and back in between classes. That day, I made it only to the much-closer Harvard Bridge (which actually goes to M.I.T.) before the injured ankle pronounced itself. But you’d never know I was in pain. I waved to runners and cyclists, even if none of them waved back. I petted an old man’s black lab sitting on a bench and left alone the college student doing Tai Chi on a small dock. I also almost collided with a cyclist when I went to turn around, and he didn’t accept my apology.
The Mighty Ducks
The run bode well for the rest of the day, which included all of the out-of-town guests
going on a Duck tour and me getting yet another memory-lane moment with lunch at my favorite Boston restaurant, Parish Cafe. We even ended up sitting at my usual table. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Ducks, these are the WW2 amphibious vehicles that U.S. women built for the troops. Now, they carry tourists through city streets and, in Boston, the polluted Charles River. Our guide took great liberties with local lore, correctly assuming most on board were history class flunkies instead of junkies. After the tour, select family members were treated to a big dinner at my sister-in-law’s new condo in the Financial District, just a few blocks from where I used to work after graduation. The view was stunning and held me all the way through the rest of the evening, before it was time to call it a night and a trip and head back to where it was a whole lot warmer.
The morning wedding started just about the same time Hurricane Noel was getting in some decent licks. The groom’s from Scotland, and the minister joked at the start of the ceremony that his family had brought their weather with them. Immediately after the service, the driving rain shot at us from all directions as we tip-toed in our silk dresses and heels and the men in their kilts toward the reception just down the hill at Longwood Towers. After a few glasses of wine or ale, everyone began to look at the weather in a more positive light, eventually concluding it fit the medieval feel of the ballroom and, besides, we were all indoors now, and dancing. Hours later, rather than head to an after-party at a Kenmore Square billiards, we elected to go back to the hotel, change into more comfortable clothes and head out in the rain for a late dinner. I kinda thought a bowl of chowder and pint at a nearby pub was appropriate fare, but I got talked into doing Chinese.
Sunday morning I privately reserved just for me. I woke at sunrise and dressed in black shorts, blue T-shirt, brown sweater and maroon gloves. I eagerly pulled on my running shoes and literally bounced all the way to the Charles River path just behind BU’s Marsh Chapel for a run in the clean 37-degree air, knowing both the day and my body would soon warm in the jentacular sun. During my college days, I could easily run from the BU Bridge to the Longfellow Bridge and back in between classes. That day, I made it only to the much-closer Harvard Bridge (which actually goes to M.I.T.) before the injured ankle pronounced itself. But you’d never know I was in pain. I waved to runners and cyclists, even if none of them waved back. I petted an old man’s black lab sitting on a bench and left alone the college student doing Tai Chi on a small dock. I also almost collided with a cyclist when I went to turn around, and he didn’t accept my apology. The Mighty DucksThe run bode well for the rest of the day, which included all of the out-of-town guests
going on a Duck tour and me getting yet another memory-lane moment with lunch at my favorite Boston restaurant, Parish Cafe. We even ended up sitting at my usual table. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Ducks, these are the WW2 amphibious vehicles that U.S. women built for the troops. Now, they carry tourists through city streets and, in Boston, the polluted Charles River. Our guide took great liberties with local lore, correctly assuming most on board were history class flunkies instead of junkies. After the tour, select family members were treated to a big dinner at my sister-in-law’s new condo in the Financial District, just a few blocks from where I used to work after graduation. The view was stunning and held me all the way through the rest of the evening, before it was time to call it a night and a trip and head back to where it was a whole lot warmer.