I was excited and happy to be in Boston yesterday. I love the bustle, and variety – maybe not so much being stuck behind a garbage truck for miles – but I don’t like that at home either. The smells of the city are more concentrated, not having anywhere to go from being hemmed in through sky-scrapers and a labyrinthine road system that’s always in the flux of disrepair and repair somewhere along the routes, and usually in several areas at once. The same is true in the hill towns, but it’s not as oppressive as it seems in a more concentrated environment.
I enjoy the challenge of successfully navigating through the crush of people and traffic. I practiced letting go of control while my son drove through the city on our way in. We very nearly hit a pedestrian, and it would have been that guy’s fault crossing against the green light, his eyes only on his destination – meeting someone on the other side of the street. If I hadn’t been there to call out for my son to stop, that guy would have been hit because my son said he never saw him. I’m glad we averted that tragedy, and that my son didn’t have to bear that responsibility, but I hope the event made him a more aware driver. This is real life, son. People are idiots – including myself…
On the drive home, I started to relax, as I usually do, once I headed into wilder country. Seeing the hills of home in the distance at about the half-way mark between here and Boston is like a drug kicking in and I feel like I belong to that land. I know my friends and some family members are there, but it’s the actual vista that claims my heart. I will probably die here, or ask that my ashes be sprinkled from a plane over the hills. (Can you imagine being those hit with my ashes? “What the he-” choke, cough.) Maybe I can have someone just spread my ashes on the forest grounds.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.