
Well, immediately, that was a weekend! Late on Monday afternoon, I’m still trying to collate all the details and events of the last three days and turn from them to face the coming week with some new ideas and insights. So far, very little.
My friend Bea had scored a pair of Friday evening mezzanine tickets to “Hamilton” in Boston. This meant an upgrade from my usual jeans and Moabs to chinos, sensible shoes and a blazer. Luckily, I keep a spare blazer at Bea’s house for just such emergencies, so it wasn’t a heavy packing job. We had to leave for dinner downtown by 5:30. Departing Montpelier by noon gave me plenty of time to spare, and got me there before the heaviest of rush hour.
We’d have to leave Kiki for longer than she’s ever been left, which was a bit of a burden on my mind. I left her a good supper and a Kong with peanut butter and we somehow managed to keep her inside while we left. Bea was driving (Boston traffic), so I could have had my usual tot of scotch, but I eschewed it; I needed my wits about me just to ride along, reflexively hitting an imaginary brake pedal.
We’d been unable to get reservations at Legal Seafood, directly across the street from the theater, but were told we were welcome to try to find a spot at the bar. The line waiting for reservations went out the door. We went in. I stopped; she walked down to the head of the line, and I could see her gesticulating as she talked with the hostess. “series this,” I said to the man next to me. “If anyone can find a seat, she can.” In about a minute she came back. “Come on! I’ve got two at the bar.”
The theater was full, everybody excited. Our seats were 15 steps up with no railings, but a husky Minnesotan (I asked) helped me up. The seat was built for a man 4 feet, 6 inches tall, with double amputations at mid-thigh. The first act was an exercise in pain control, but after stretching at intermission I tried an extreme man-spread, which eased things a bit. I also decided to see the play again, but next time at home with captions. Everybody around us seemed to love it. I recalled Mark Twain’s remark about Wagner’s track being much better than it sounds.
Then, of course, the dreaded Boston traffic, loaded with cars disgorging from the parking garage. Siri and Bea somehow got us through it without hitting anything, and we were able to let Kiki out of the house for a run. Any creature but a dog would have given me a hairy eyeball and a guilt trip, but her joy at my return was pure.
Saturday morning, after breakfast alfresco and a light sunburn in Swampscott, it was time to tog up for the graduate school dean’s annual garden event in Concord. Time also for a second Kong for my little left-behind companion and a regretful departure. Our destination was an hour’s drive through traffic and a crowded chunk of I-95. But the event was lovely: moderate temperature, blue skies, international flavor, an almost seamless blending of students and faculty, and nobody not involved in a conversation. One of the professors in the graduate school used to ride the Hanover school bus with my kids when we lived in Etna. I also stumbled across Chris, a fellow car guy with a V-8-powered, six-speed manual small pickup as a daily driver and a BMW motorcycle for recreation. So it wasn’t all nutrition programs and protocols and economic determinants and endogeneity. Still, I mostly listened.
Another hour home dodging zooming automotive missiles, and then dinner out with a usual friend. Most weekends it’s two friends, but one of them couldn’t miss the Ohio State game. He might as well have; Minnesota did.
Sunday we were due at a New Hampshire Public Broadcasting fundraising event at the Castle in the Clouds estate in Moultonborough. I was due at 11, she around 1, and she next morning early back near Boston, while all I had to do was find my way home to Montpelier early enough to spend some snuggle time with Kiki, maybe catch a nap, and get at my weekly column. Apparently, we both made it. The main roads were a bit clogged with leaf-peepers, so I snuck cross-lots on back roads, which the leaf-peepers should have been haunting.
I’ve a relatively quiet pair of weeks coming up (Bea’s in Minnesota next weekend, Indigenous People’s Day weekend, which we’ve learned to avoid for recreation). I’ve got at least one book to read, and a dog to warm my lap while I do.