How the cheapskate Joe DiMaggio weaseled out and Ted Williams made me a Red Sox fan!

September 25, 2013 18:23 Boston

This is not the place where I’d boast about the Red Sox clinching the division.  I would not do that.  Besides it happened a few days ago.  It’s almost history. I can silently gloat behind the veil of these sentences, instead I think back to a couple of weeks ago when I saw a game at Fenway with Ali and Amanda and Joe as well as Katie and Ben.  It started out as one of those slow weekend mornings, when you wake up and hear the pats of rain falling on the panes of glass.  You want to pull up the covers and hide and let the dreams linger back in.  It was a Sunday in Boston.  Suddenly I was gripped with the anxiety, we have tickets for the game and it may be rain out…we walked through the drizzle and took our soaked seats and watched as the Sox beat the White Sox.  And this leads me to this past Sunday.  I am not a Yankee’s fan.  But I was at Yankee stadium on Sunday.   True, I was a Yankee fan years ago.  I was shocked and ecstatic when Bucky slapped that pitch over the monster.  I watched the game when I came home from St. Phillips,  Back then at the bus stop we’d have a  contests which of us could best imitate the Yankee at bat.  There was Mickey Rivers who dragged his bat behind him as he came up to the plate.  Slump your shoudlers...easy.  Reggie who spit such a unique way - the challenge was too much for our young lips. Chris Chambliss who’d swing and hold the bat out facing the pitcher in a menacing way and then there was Munson who always fixed his batter’s gloves before each pitch.  I remember when he died and I felt the loss the leader...of the captain.  I was a Yankee fan I tell ya…What happened?  Well, let me add I was always a Met’s fan and for years I could root for both teams.  Mets and Yanks.  But about that time when I was imitating the players as the bus stop - I’d write letters to some of the former players.  I still have “Smoky” Joe Woods autograph who personalized a piece of paper for me and shared what teams he played for and when.  He was a great Red Sox pitcher who pitched in the 1912 World Series.  There was a sarcastic junior high school English teacher, Mr. Anderson a Boston native who chewed and threw the heavy peanut M&M’s at the punks in the back of the class when they were not paying attention to him.  He was a Sox fan who had amazing precision with those little rocks which he forewarned us. He shared a story, while in college he brought one of his black friends home.  He grew up in a white Irish Catholic Boston neighborhood.  He knew as they got out of the car, the curious neighbors were peering through their curtains wondering why he brought the man to their neighborhood.   He looked around and pointed to some of the houses, and proclaimed, “I can’t wait till your family moves in!”  I have to add to the Yankees, one of the players I wrote to was Bobby Richardson who was great second basemen for the Yanks.  I read his autobiography.  He was a Christian and I valued his faith.  So here is the deal.  When I was 12 I cut out a picture of Joe Dimaggio from the Yankee yearbook and sent it to him.  I wrote a letter to Ted Williams and mentioned my birthday was coming up.  DiMaggio sent the picture back – signed, but…postage due recipient.  The mailman walked down our driveway with the letter which was a rare event, what the hell what he doing?  He said he was there to collect money for the letter.  And it was more than the price for a measly stamp.  Jolting Joe didn’t want to spend money on the stamp!  Ted Williams sent me a birthday card.  The switch was made.  Thank you DiMaggio and I will always have a soft spot for that great hero, Ted Williams.  I started rooting for the Sox…and The Mets.  Who did you root for in ’86?  The Mets.   This past Sunday I went to the Yankees game.  I wanted to see Andy Pettitte since I knew he would hang it up after this season and he declared last Friday he was retiring.  He is another Christian and this is a secret, I would root for him.  He used to have a cross on the NY on his cap, but I'm not sure if he still has that.  For the past couple of seasons I wanted to see one of the greatest pitchers Mariano Rivera.  Sunday was the day.  Mo is another Christian and I gained more respect for the man off the field for his support of his native Panama as well as local underprivileged communities - specifically churches.  I paid through my nose for a nose bleeder.   It was Marino Rivera day. Metallica played Enter the Sandman, Jackie Robinson’s widow and daughter were there since Mo is the last player to wear 42.  Former players and the stoic Joe Torre came out and I cheered.  I always liked Bernie Williams and Paul O’Neil.  I can say it here.  But I wanted the Sox to beat them each and every time.  Wade Boggs?  You should not have been a Yankee.  But I digress.   The wind was brisk and I waited.  Better, I pleaded for the sun as the faint light and scattering warmth crept up the rows to finally got up to me.  The sun light was faint through the clouds.  Andy had a perfect game going to the sixth until the kid next to me, this tobacco chomping spit dripping punk says, “Is he pitching a perfect game?”  The very next batter was walked.  The end of perfection and a fan behind him tells the dipshit - you jinxed it.  It was your fault!  The first hit he gave up was a dinger.  I’m sorry the Yankees lost the game due to a rookie mistake on third base.  There was a SF Giant’s fan who was bouncing up and down.  I wanted to smack him. Hold a second, I am not a Yanks fan and I pulled back and took a deep breath.  But I saw Mo.  It was perfection. He wielded his power, bats erupted; sending splinters into the blades of grass…and I watched him stretch before the release, it was a special sight even if I had the advantage of being on the furthest deck.  I saw Mo and I came home and wanted to let you know tonight may be the end for the Yankees and I am sorry for you since I appreciate the history of the intense rivalry between our teams.  This year was different.  I wanted to feel as if the Sox were going to go into the playoffs against the Yanks as the better team.  Only then would I gloat…like I did back in 04.  But through all the years I've learned each side has immense respect for the other team, but there is a reference for the way some of these men lead their lives away from field.  I am a fan of Mariano Rivera and I am grateful he is retiring.  Thank you for reading this...

Long Island has a new airline, Pen Air flying to Boston - all aboard!

Monday September 9, 2013 19:33 10,000 feet or more above Connecticut

Flying Pen Air for the first time from Islip to Boston.  We took off from the old terminal, B 17 to be exact.  I recalled bringing Phil there when he was in the Navy and watching the red lights of his US Air prop fly away into the night.  That was when you can wait at the gate seeing the passengers off or waiting for their arrival, that was before 9/11 and the necessary security measures. I’m sitting in the last row.  The seat does not recline, yet there is a woman in front of me and she is stretched out like a beached whale and asking for more to drink.  There is a steward, an older gentleman who speaks gently.  I watched his pre-flight routine unlike the other flights I’ve taken just because he asked me to pay attention and there was only him, not a line of attendants.  Behind the steward are the pilots who are behind a locked door.  It’s a smooth flight thus far.  I was thrilled with the prospect of taking a prop and felt a rush when we pulled away from the gate, passing the dark green National Guard helicopters, a row of Cessna’s and I remember the lessons I took at Mid-Island all those years and moneys in the past.  Up to Boston to see Mo Cheeks tonight and then driving to Wooster to spend the night and to meet Todd King.  If feels as if we are descending….and we are.  19:41 the steward made an announcement we have started the decent.  It will take at least another ten minutes before wheels are down, and I can feel the wind on the narrow plane as we move into the area.  Amazing.  Time to shut her off.

September 10, 2013 17:56 10,000 feet above Connecticut

Last night Amanda met me at the baggage claim at the airport, holding a sign she made: DAD…it makes me smile thinking about it.  We took a shuttle bus to the Enterprise terminal and I was struck how subtle she was as she flirted with the young man helping us.  She was sweet, but as I looked down they were giving each other the eye perhaps since I was in my jovial good mood.  I was with my daughter.  Had meetings today with Todd up in Boston, the first was out of the way and will remain nameless.  I think it’s best to keep a distance from writing about work and my blog.  That’s all.  It’s overcast up in the clouds, which is different from what we had last night.  A clear flight up to Boston, a little rocky, but not too bad. I plan on using this airlines more often since it’s easy.  You walk on and can sit wherever you’d like.  I chose the same seat as last night.  Like a train commuter we like our seats and keep returning to them.   We’re rocking a little more and I imagine we’re getting ready to land soon.   Airport to airport 45 minutes, but if I drove…five hours at least in traffic…so the flight is much better.  I can see the Long Island Sound or perhaps that is the ocean….the sun is setting.  We were told it’s a gusty on the ground…but it looks as if the clouds are clearing up.  I will be home for dinner and will need to write more of my novel.  I can’t believe I didn’t call Katie or Ben, but this was a pure business trip, except for seeing Mo Cheeks.  I should add we bought some ice cream down the block from her school; I had pumpkin since I’m off the beer.  What route are we flying?  I’m closing up since I’m expecting to feel…and there it goes…the decent…and Long Island is below.

Watching the Ladee rocket pass over Long Island on its way to the moon and random thoughts on the tourist train

9/07/13 Train to Penn

There is a family on the train chatting away, not a care in the world; they’re making sauce from scratch.  And what else did she say?  I never said that. You have a bad memory.  It’s been weeks since I wrote down my thoughts.  Last night we had a fire in the back yard and Ali and I relaxed on the lounge set, under the stars.  

Some guy just left his bag in the aisle and went back into the bathroom.   Don't leave your bag or I will call the cops.  He’s having some issues. On his cell phone.  Gets off at the next stop.  

So, last night there was a rocket, the Ladee that blasted at 23:27 from Virginia.  At 23:25 we were outside and waited, scanning the skies and searching.  I thought we lost our chance since I waited for it to pass.  It’s scheduled to orbit the moon on October 6^th.  Since it was a clear night, most of the east coast was able to see the rocket blaze over the trees or tall buildings and fade away to become a small diminishing dot in the blackness.  After a lot of prodding my son such as it’s a rare event, it's historical, you won’t get this chance…reluctantly Joe joined me and Ali outside.  I saw it cut across the sky and pointed it out.  It was a glowing cigar slowly rising into the night.  Joe was excited as was Ali although she was not too certain it was the rocket.  

Ali and I were sitting outside earlier today and she told me more about the federal tests for the schools which is her rallying call.  She will be interviewed by a TV station in Virginia.  

Shit, I can’t think there are too many conversations on the train.  This teen is saying LIKE…LIKE…I’m Like hold on…I can’t do it.  Parallel parking is too hard.  I hear them more when the train slows down.  Why? Take a deep breath and get the word like out of your vocabulary the world will be less polluted. Easy there…The next station is Hicksville.  And as the noises rise, the voices rise and I am trying to tune out from their popping gums and LIKES.   I can’t stop, they keep sucking me in…stop…now someone is cranking their music, this is a different world from the commuters I was used to riding with.  Let me remember this crap the next time I consider taking the train into the city on a Saturday.  It’s easier but this is painful.  Divide sign which is in Hicksville.  There is a clear divide between these generations.  There are true tourists coming in and taking over...

Picking Raspberries on a Sunday in July

I know I owe you some blogs and there will be more...this is from 7/22/13

 7/22/13 20:36 home

Yesterday, before church Bella asked if we can go down to the woods and pick raspberries.  So, after service and soon after singing and clapping our hands, Go Tell it on the Mountain… over the hills…coming out of church I thought of Garrison Keillor and knew I would write about the service and of course spending the time with Bella.  Behind the white steeple Congregational Church on North Country Rd in Mount Sinai, is an old cemetery as well as a county nature preserve.  We walked in the woods as we picked wild raspberries from clusters in the bushes. They were sweet and sour and the seeds popped between our teeth.  It was hot yesterday, but not the staggering heat of the week before.  We went back to Stony Brook University in the afternoon with a colander to pick more raspberries since this is peak pick season for the wild berries.  I brought Joe with us who barely picked but listened to his music with large black ear phones.  Our twelve year-old -son is too cool to pick berries or to say,” Father dearest, who I love so much.  Then don’t eat any.”  Later, after dinner I had vanilla ice cream with the rinsed berries sprinkled over the sweet mound and sat outside letting the pleasure consummate in my mouth.  It’s dark.  The windows are open since the air conditioning has to be shut off for the night. The pan for the runoff water is over flowing in the attic.  Ron will come tomorrow on his break and fix it.  Can we spend the night without the air conditioning?  Sure.  Ali texts Ron and he calls her.  It’s a wonderful relationship they have and I can sit back and let my wife take charge of these things.  I could see the stagnant water in the orange translucent pipe in the attic.  I can do nothing. I’m getting away from the wild raspberries, and especially from when Bella said, “Jesus,” and I tried to tell her, Geez is a better term.  I explained taking the Lord’s name in vain, but the concept was too abstract for her.  She responded, "Well, what do you mean?  Will God be angry with me?"   No.  And the other day she told Ali that she has brown bags under eyes and what can she do about them?  She is ten.  Tea-bags.  What does she do when we get home?  Is cold water OK for the tea bags?  That’s fine.  I am working from home which reminds me of another comment Ben made when I was in Boston, well you wrote on the train when commuting, how are you going find time to write?  I need to make time to write.   This is my time and I am thinking of Bella in the back seat earlier today sitting between Joe and Emma since I have few minutes to get the girls to the train station.  Want to know how much I know about REM?  Well, the name stands for Rapid Eye Movement and one of them got sick and said he wanted to leave the band to become a farmer.  By George, she’s an REM fan.  I can listen to her for hours.  Tonight, she is sleeping over Joe and Diana’s house.  After dropping the girls off at the train station I brought her over there and told Diana I have to run and she said OK and heard Bella say BYE…I should have hugged her, there was no I love you. She was beaming since she was spending the night with her grandparents. She is the special one on this summer night.  Time to take out the trash; then a beer, and tea and maybe an early sleep under a full moon that shines into our open window as the crickets chirp and the fire flies cause us to think they are shooting stars slowly fading away. 

Thank you for reading this

The Gordon's take in Cape Cod (part two)

7/29/13 15:23 Ferry back to Orient Point

When we landed in New London we searched for a Dairy Queen since they are a rare site on Long Island. Emma searched on her phone and found one just past the bridge in Groton.  Emma asked if we were close to Newtown since we were on Newtown Avenue.  My first reaction was no, but I was not sure.  We passed an elementary school.  Kids played in the field.  There must have been a camp going on.  We bought our Dairy Queen and drove up 95 to Cape Cod.  The first day was rainy and in a stark contrast, chilly.  The house we rented was a small cape.  The owners must have recently painted the place.  There was one bathroom.  There are six of us and we have gotten used to at least two full baths, but we knew we’d make it;  besides the vacation away from home was only for four days.  Amanda and Joe found where the lake was, around the corner from the house.  We had time and I wanted to see if we could catch some of the Falmouth (Falmouth is where we were staying) Commodores field.  The game started, but we had some dinner at the Anchor House. I assumed it had something to do with the brewery; I was confused thinking it was affiliated with Harpoon brewery, which is a local brewery in Massachusetts.  For the sake of the beer enthusiasts Anchor Brewery is in San Francisco.  The dinner was… not bad.  I had steak tips and two cups of the clam chowder.  I expected worse, since we were greeted with some surprise that a family would set foot in the place.  And as we were leaving, we were given waves and smiles since we survived and had the intention to go back.  Bella and I were dropped off at the stadium and bought some souvenirs, a wooden bat, and some stickers.  Even in the misty rain there was a good crowd at the game.  Bella asked if I can get her a ball which she spotted near the dugout or better, the bench near the dugout.  There were some players talking and a ball was close to one of their cleats.  I asked and said it was for my daughter, the player smiled and reached down and called her over.  Thank you… we walked around getting close to the back stop and then out the outfield.  When I was younger I had dreams of finding a MLB ball.  It sort of came true when I found a new Cape Cod ball that must have been a dinger.  The rain was getting harder by the time Ali and the rest of the gang showed up.   We stayed for an inning – if that was what we’d call it and left.  Still, there was a good crowd there.  There are no admission costs for all Cape Cod games, and since it was free we saw some local drudges - half bombed and reciting gibberish, so like a good Christian family we avoided making eye contacts with the inept intoxicants.  We stopped at the supermarket and bought some things for the days we’d be at the house.   Friday morning I made waffles for the first time.  There is a lot of butter in those things.  It was a success and Ali said we should buy a waffle maker.  We’ll see.  If we have it, it means I am making more of them although I have to give her credit Aunt Jemima makes it easy – just add butter and water to the mix.  Just to share with you, I have a pancake pan and maybe have made pancakes once in the last three months.   We swam in the lake and drove to Hyannis.  We went to the JFK museum which was sort of boring since it had some black and white pictures which captured the political royal Irish family over the decades.  Many of the pictures I’ve seen before.  Still, Teddy was a cute little runt with the missing teeth and seeing them on the beach with their big toothed father was like being there with them.  Not really.  It’s just these pictures have been etched into my memory from all of the documentaries I’ve seen.  Growing up Irish in America it was a ritual to watch a Kennedy documentary, but if you met one of them or had your picture taken with them your status within the family is greater.  I won’t share my picture with Senator Kennedy here.  But in the basement of the JFK museum is the Cape Cod Hall of Fame.  That was interesting to see the many professional players who had played in the esteemed league.  We watched a documentary in a side room which captured the life of these players as well as the local families that are associated with the teams.  (I just walked out onto the deck on the ferry heading back to Orient Point.  There is a cool breeze as the ferry slowly makes its way across the Sound) We experienced many things in for these four days away from home.   I don’t want to give a run down since I’ve covered a lot and don’t want to bore you any more than I’ve accomplished in this time, but a few highlights.  Last night we went to the drive in.  It’s located in Wellfleet and is the only drive-in in Cape Cod.  For any of you who had the memory of going to a drive in, this place has retained the atmosphere, all the way to the car speaker which still works - to the snack bar which had many of the original signs and a small playground where the kids played on the swings and the thing that goes around and around and you get dizzy…what was it called?  Since you’re not bored, before the drive in we drove into Chatham which is one of the most beautiful towns I have been to.  The grey cedar shakes on the centuries old homes, the white borders on the windows and the rolling hills lead to the ocean.  A jetty with a strong current where there are great white shark warnings since they go mostly for seal, but a good calf would make a nice snack.  There is a coast guard station there and a lighthouse.  I took a good picture of the family there.  In the village I escaped the massive crowds of tourist slowly trailing on the narrow sidewalks right into two book stores and bought a book by Thich Nhat Hanh called Fear, Essential Wisdom for getting through the storm.  Hanh is a Buddhist monk.  I’ve been reading more about Buddhism, but still studying the Bible.  Earlier I finished the book of Job from the Oid Testament.  I’ve been reading more lately, Pynchon’s Crying Lot of 49 as well which is not one of my favorites, but will trudge through his concentrated junk sentences.  I also started a short story while there, but I am getting away from some of the highlights.  What was the best day of the trip?  Friday we went to the Falmouth Fair and met The Johnson’s from Port Jefferson Station.  I met Paul’s 92 year-old father who kept up with us over the small hills as we tried to find things to do in the rain at the fair.  Paul senior is a man who ran four marathons and still runs almost every day.  He shared a story how some girls recently stopped him on his run to take a picture, they posted it on FaceBook.   Age is in the mind.  Paul senior as well as Junior who also runs is the epitome of this mindset.  I want write a separate post of the fair or may use it in the short.  That’s a better idea, but I will share that we saw Tommy James and the Shondells.  The announcer made some fuss about Tommy. “Ladies and gentlemen, performing for more than fifty years… he was a star before the car was invented… and is still a star that draws massive crowds much like tonight as I gaze out at the fifty skeletons standing in the rain…swaying in unison.  The announcer said I could have bought his new book and had it signed after the performance.  I wanted it.  Reality.  Are you kidding me?  Tommy comes out like a polished rocker I’ve seen on the cable channel that plays local bar bands at fire men fairs, all dressed in black.  But this guy was different, his hair was…hold a second, Tommy speaks…He said, “How are you doing New Haven?  What?  Where are we?  Cape Cod?  Hey, how are we doing out there? “  And I could hear him think to himself, “You, miserable wet and weary sunken… rock soldiers!  I love you.  He was wide with thick permed hair like Phil Spector without the court.   Still, Tommy James was an arrogant rock star with a limo parked on the side of the stage for all of us to see, there… in the wet grass with tinted windows.  Really? There was one part of the first song when Tommy barks out an order to a Shondell, “No, only me.  That’s my part!”   But he played Crystal Blue persuasion which brought back faint memories for me, well maybe some more since I know I heard it a few times over our state of the art AM radio in our 1969 light yellow Chevrolet Nova.  On Saturday we went to the Edward Gorey museum and found the Blue Plate Diner for some lunch.  Afterwards we pulled over at an old shop for ice cream at Hallets which was established in 1889.  This is where they sell homemade ice cream.  I asked for a vanilla shake since I’m always on the lookout for the best shake and real lemonade.   When I asked for the shake the server said we have a fripet or something like that which is the same as a shake.  For instance our friends in Pennsylvania call a hero a sub and there are some who call soda…pop.  We should all take a vote to avoid confusion since I asked for the shake and wanted to make sure I received a nice thick shake.  Just between us, it was not as thick as I’d like, maybe since it’s a fripet or whatever they called it in Yarmouthport.  After the lunch and the ice cream it was off to the Cape Cod All Star game in Yarmouth.  There is a $5 ticket price which keeps out the drunkards and lunatics.  It was a beautiful day, the sun was out and there was no humidity.  We stayed for about seven innings and left.  I have to add, it really was a serene setting of old time sports and family and a real neighborhood feel.  This was America, red white and blue, but without the rock and roll egos and professional posturing…as real as the endless smoke rising up from the bar-b-que which was churning out burgers.  Infants were flopping around near curious dogs, who cares who won, we were there cheering on all of the players, but we still left early to beat the rush.  On our way home we watched an old Piper Cub stop and go on a grass strip on the side of the road at a small airport. The pilot was pulling back on the yoke on takeoff, full throttle and I thought for certain the thing would stall, but the plane leveled out and he went turned down wind and came back in for a landing.  Just as we were about to leave, a parachutist floated down in a neon orange parachute and then a green jumper floated down as birds darted in the tall grass.   That should do it. I appreciate you reading this and hope you can get up to Cape Cod.  Try the local beer…Cape Cod brewery – go for the blonde flavor which was the best out of the three they make.

Teams visited: Falmouth Commodores, Chatham Anglers, Yarmouth-Dennis Red Sox (all-star game) Cotuit Ketteleers (beautiful field nestled in the woods, but didn't catch a game...sorry Bruce (their GM who I met) Orleans Firebirds...rain out (picture from the outfield/game called due to rain, but it didn't matter we were heading out to the drive in & had to take a picture of this field for Nora)

The Gordon's are going to Cape Cod (part 1)

7/25/13 13:00 On the ferry to New London

First day of vacation, four days in Cape Cod, tonight catching a Cape Cod baseball game, but it’s grey outside, chilly, drizzle.  Autumn is captured in the mists.  I took Mo Cheeks, Joe and Bella outside for a walk to see the view of the land, passing ferry, the wood trash bobbing in the waves. A morose kid is sitting up there alone, very similar to the brooding teenager I was.  It was an easy drive from Port Jefferson Station, taking Sound Avenue, passing the pristine vineyards and both Ali and I said it would be nice if we liked wine and could take more drives out here.  Most of them offer very good wine. Pinot Noir is perhaps my favorite if I had a wine to choose.  The ferry is rocking side to side, watching sky and then waves.  I told Amanda soon there will be sick people.  I’m curious what the Cape will be like.  I’ve heard so much about it over the years and now we are on our way to a new vacation spot.  Closing up…I want to take more pictures.  

Crossing the finish line in Boston

7/20/13 09:07 Home

I was in Boston this past week for a trade show.  I drove up with Amanda, took the ferry across the Long Island Sound.  It was a scorcher this past week and all of us can complain about the heat, but then the reality hits us.  It’s July and we need to stop whining because in a few months, no…in a few weeks we might complain of the dead leaves on the trees.  But it’s still hot.  We went up to the deck on the ferry and there was a breeze over the calm waters.  I recalled picking Amanda up at Simmons and bringing her home.  It was a quiet ride for most of the trip, so soon after the bombing.  There was the thought what will her reaction be?  She was excited to go back to see her friend.  But I knew there was the anxiety she was not sharing or attempting to not give too much attention to.  The plan was for her to spend Tuesday night with her friend Lindsey while I hung out with Katie and Ben.   After a couple of hours out of Bridgeport we pulled into the city.  I need to add, there was an altercation with an attendant at a gas station.  Beware of the belligerence of this Sarah off 95 in a small Connecticut town - Wethersfield.  The dim child switched my order with another, tried to tell me to stop the guy on three from pumping.  You need to go out there!  Tell him to stop pumping your gas!  What?  How? But you said pump three…blame the customer.  When I said I would complain to the manager she said go ahead, he told me I could say whatever I wanted to a customer.  There’s customer service for you; from the manager down.   I said, I’d call the district manager and complain about you both! The positive out of this was that I did not use any foul language or call her the ignoramus she is.  After driving away I thought better of what occurred.  It was obvious she was not all there and this was the only job the poor dim dunce could occupy.  Ben is doing well, working for a NASA project at MIT…he received his doctorate from Harvard this past June and the three of shared a delicious dinner at The Kitchen in Boston’s South side on Tremont Avenue. The neighborhood was once a dangerous area for most to enter - just ten years before.  While we ate outside; it drizzled lightly.  The scent of the steam rising off the concrete made the double burger with cheese more delectable.  I had two beers from the oldest brewery in the world, Weihenstephan served in cooled metallic steins…Ben referred to them in their native tongue.  After dessert I headed back to the hotel in Copley square and called it a night.  Next morning, I walked seven blocks in the furnace to the hotel where the trade show was.  I arrived sweaty and damp and knew I should have taken a taxi.  Later that night Amanda and I ate in the concierge lounge, I had two Harpoon IPA’s.  We walked down to Newbury St for a veggie burger and a shake.  On the way back to the hotel we walked on Boylston Street where the bombings occurred.    The architecture stood out from the new footage of the blasts, the store fronts, all of them and the people who mingled about with their meals, stifled in the heat and haze. Did they consider the screams and where are the blood stains? The closed store which took a direct hit and we walked down to where the yellow mark for the finish line is.  This is Boston strong.  I took a picture of Amanda.  She doesn’t look happy since even a couple of months later the memories crept up , she didn’t sleep very well although I remember her looking out the window at the Prudential building and listened as she said she loved Boston so much.  The next morning I ran in the humidity, the ninety degrees and wanted to pass the stores we walked by the night before.  I wanted my sneakers to smack the concrete.  I passed the press vans who were lined us trying to get quotes since the new tangled story way back last week was the controversial cover of Rolling Stone.  And I admit I wanted to say how great this country is. We can have freedom of speech, freedom of press and can have a publisher far off without a care of the victims, who had the insensitivity to print a picture of a passive faced killer… who appeared stoned for the camera…and I thought back to the dinner I had with Katie and Ben and how they described the city soon after the bombings, a police state and both woke up with the onslaught of gun shots since they live in Watertown.  Ben opened up since he said he could not sleep for days, was it nerves or adrenalin?   Machines and cords, a homeless man asking what was going on?   I passed cameraman; poised behind their anonymous glorious machines sucking the life out of the faces and the voices captured pent up emotions that spilled on the screen.  We survive…we turn off the TV and can’t see the covers since they are banned in many stores …freedom…and just as well since we should all judge a book or a magazine by its cover instead of searching for the truth.  Who gives a shit about the cover?  We ignore the victims.  There are countless emotional scars and those souls who lost their loves and those who lost limbs and those who suffer PTS.  No matter how much time passes their scars will rise up whenever a reference is made and we can only sit there, listen and sympathize.