From Mexico, Indiana, Beverly, Boston
It was so clear on Sunday, cold though, love the view from Niles Beach. You can identify the building in Boston.
If you know me, you know by now that I’m passionate about a few things…..my amazing boys, the school where I am blessed to work and my boys are even more blessed to attend, people who have your back, staying busy, all things Cape Ann, and Fenway Park. Weird, right?
I say the same thing each year at about this same time….. I appreciate baseball, I like the Red Sox, but I love Fenway Park. Cliche as it is, I find it kind of intoxicating. Larry Lucchino once led me through a door that leads from the front office to the grandstand on a day when the park was relatively empty. It was, in fact, hours away from an evening game time and the park was just starting to yawn and stetch. He told me that it was moments like that when Fenway spoke to him the most. I couldn’t agree more.
I am in love with the geometric lines and patterns, the shadows, the shapes, the textures, and the colors that make Fenway come to life. During game time, as exciting as the play on the field can get, it is the sounds, smells, and palpable buzz in the air that literally give me goosebumps. It is watching families, friends, soulmates, and strangers united in their love of a day together at the park. At all other times, it is the history that seeps from every nook and cranny, it is the tradition that stands at attention, and the memories that echo off the hallowed walls. It is my own memories and the memories of millions of others swirling together in shades of green and red that make me take pause….and smile.
I have attended Opening Days, World Series games, Big Papi’s last game, Pedro’s # retirement, ring ceremonies, rolling rally parades, concerts, charity events, and hundreds of games in between. I have been blessed to be in the midst of some incredibly exciting moments and to bear witness to history being made. That being said, my favorite minutes in the ballpark still remain the very late night hours when I’ve left a game, met friends for a drink, and then wandered back into the park and down towards the field. The park is sleepy then, the lights are still on, the air is still buzzing, the field is often shiny and wet, and all is right in the world.
The 2018 Red Sox Home Opener takes place today….and with it comes the promise of excitement, disappointments, cheers, spills, laughs, rally caps, 7th inning stretches, home runs, wins, losses, broken bats, broken hearts, continued traditions, lots of firsts, and a wild, wild ride. Buckle up, grab some friends, and make some memories. Game on.
From Rafe’s Chasm on a clear day with Boston as the view.
As the sun was gong down on Monday, realized it was almost 6:00 when I got home. Now that is a good sign. Monday night’s sunset interesting with the sun shining on one of the buildings in Boston. Also when looking at Magnolia Harbor the moorings will be full of boats in no time. YEAH…
The warm weather has given me baseball fever.. spending summer nights at Fenway never gets old. The red seat is supposedly the longest home run hit inside the ballpark,Ted Williams holds this.
With the cold weather sticking around, these pretty ice sculptures will be around for awhile.
Attending the anti-Nazi demonstration in Boston was an event I won’t soon forget. The day began really well, with a fantastic interview of our GMG podcast guests, the playwright Israel Horovitz, and Gloucester Stage Company’s Heidi Dallin and Emme Shaw. Israel fills the room with his stories and Joey knows how to bring out the best of them. After the podcast, I stopped home and had a quick lunch with Jessica while getting kisses in for our granddaughter (and return smiles!). Jessica, Tom, and I discussed transportation strategies for attending the demonstration. The Blueline was decided upon, which as it turns out was so easy, I would take this route again without hesitation. It only took forty-five minutes to drive to Wonderland Station in Revere and parking is free on the weekends.
I am unfamiliar with purchasing train tickets from a machine and rather than holding up the other passengers, I suggested to the woman next in line that she go first. She laughed and said she would help. She was a woman of color, a beautiful brown color, and within moments I had my Charlie card. This was the first of several incidences of needing assistance throughout the afternoon. The train pulled into the station and off we headed to Government Center.
Disembarking from the train and entering the plaza, the streets were so quiet you would never know that only a few blocks away were throngs of thousands. There were tourists with cameras, families and young couples mostly, sightseeing and photographing. The walk from Government Center Plaza to the State House is rich in American history, and there were even tourists on the Common, seemingly unfazed by the demonstration underway.
At the State House entrance to the Commons, you could see tens of thousands counter protesters rallying, carrying signs, and chanting anti-hate and anti-fascist slogans. I am frankly not a person who feels safe in large crowds. But I have faced my fear twice this year, once for the Women’s March and yesterday, because I wanted to go to this demonstration for no other reason than to be one of a hundred million people-strong looking clearly into the eye of fascism to say, you will never gain power in America.
I held my breath and walked into the crowd. Along the criss-crossing paths of the Common were people of all ages and colors, in small groups and large, holding handmade signs and talking about their vision for America. My fear of crowds began to lessen, and at one point a young man, also of a beautiful brown color, lent me his hand so that I could stand on a bench to take a photo.
As I headed deeper into the crowd, a scuffle suddenly broke out. I was quickly caught in a rush of people and as I struggled to get out of the way, an older couple, also of beautiful brown colors, pulled me towards them. They were standing under a tree and instructed do not run, but “stand beneath this tree with us.” After a few minutes, the fighting ceased and we made our way together out of the center of the Commons.
Along Beacon Street, which was closed to traffic, there seemed to be a police headquarters of sort. This was also where the largest group of counter protesters had gathered. They had a megaphone and were leading the crowd in chants — “Black Lives Matter,” “No Trump, No KKK, No Fascist USA, and “Whose streets? Our streets.” In repeated situations of high tension and raw emotions, the police kept their cool, handling haters and troublemakers with clarity of strategy and with lightning speed.
I left the rally at three o’clock and saw news footage taken later in the day, of police and counter protesters together chanting anti-hate slogans. I have to say I am so tremendously proud of the people of Massachusetts for coming together to protest peacefully for the love of their fellow man and humanity for all. #bostonstrong.I overheard this man say that he stitched his flag together the night before the protest, with no prior sewing experience.
Forty thousand anti-Nazi demonstrators sent John Medlar and his cowardly band of fascists packing, after only one hour into what was meant to be a five-hour rally. The throngs of anti-white supremacy demonstrators gathered on the Boston Common was made of a diverse coalition. The great majority were there to protest peacefully.
The man in the red shirt getting arrested.
There were heated moments, with approximately two dozen arrests, but the well-prepared and cool heads of Boston Police officers prevailed.
Chants such as “Black Lives Matter,” “Whose streets? Our streets,” and “No Trump, No KKK, No Fascist USA.” rang loud and clear throughout the Boston Common.
Led by Commissioner William Evans, the Boston Police presence was tremendous. #bostonstrong
Bas-relief of Robert Gould Shaw and the Massachusetts 54th Regiment marching down Beacon Street, located on the Boston Common, opposite the State House. The Massachusetts 54th Volunteer Infantry was the first documented African American regiment formed in the north, in 1863. Bronze bas-relief by Augustus Saint-Gaudens.