Walk Journals: September 14 (Walking is Good for the Heart)

I'm walking in Boston today.  I arrived late yesterday afternoon for a weekend getaway.  It's MixFest 2013, a free concert in the park sponsored by Mix 104.1, a Boston radio station.  I was here last year too.  Because, if you haven't guessed by now, Gavin DeGraw is one of the performers.  But that's for a different set of thoughts and impressions ...

I'm looking forward to spending time with my daughter too.  But she's pretty busy, having started a new job this week.

I'd wanted to walk last night when I arrived but just as I checked in, it began to pour.  My hotel is attached to a shopping mall ... so that's where I walked.  Except that shopping doesn't qualify aerobically and carrying bags isn't exactly weight training.

So I roust myself out of bed early for a Saturday and set off for the Public Garden, my favorite place to stroll.  Along the way, I pass Tico, the restaurant where my daughter had worked until recently.  I've eaten there a few times now and I really like the menu.  It's one of several restaurants owned by chef Michael Schlow and even though she's not with that restaurant group any more, I'll likely continue to drop in for margueritas and lobster tacos.  And the fried manchego cheese.  No wonder I need these walks ...

In the park I head for the 9/11 Memorial.  It's only a couple of days past the anniversary and so it's only fitting that I spend a minute or two there.  When I come upon the low granite wall with all of the names of local people who perished in New York that day, I am unprepared for the flowers and wreathes that are lovingly placed there.  I don't know why ... of course there'd be lots of flowers this week.  There are often small bunches of flowers left there but I've never seen the whole wall lined with them like this.  I stop to photograph the name of the one whose name is inscribed here whom I knew.  His family attended my church.  I remember his rambunctious, smart, curious boys--they were so little then.  They must be teenagers now.  Maybe in college.  I offer a silent prayer for them and their mom.

Making my way to the other end of the park, I glance up at the Four Seasons, wondering if my favorite singer is staying there.  I'm not sure but I have my suspicions--forensic tweet reading from last year points that way.  I'm listening to the song he released this week as I walk, Who's Gonna Save Us.  Standing at the traffic light, waiting to cross over to the Boston Common I notice a lady glancing sideways at me.  Suddenly I realize I'm singing along.  Aloud.  As in out loud.  Loud being the operative word.  I shrug.  This isn't the first time people have been unwittingly been subjected to my voice (which actually isn't that bad ...).  Although I majored in music, I went out of my way to not sing--especially solo--the entire four years I was in college.  I've just never felt that strong in the vocal department.

Narrow old steps lead from street level up to The Marliave

I pass through the Common.  It's not as pretty as the Public Garden but hugely historic.  Little shelters are being set up for some community event and food vendors are already grilling giant slabs of meat and more.  There are homeless folks sleeping in small groups everywhere.  It's disheartening to see but Boston is no different than any other community and we, as a people, haven't given the issue of homelessness the attention it needs and deserves.  I think I'm headed in the direction of my daughter's new place of employment, The Marliave.  But, even though I'm a Girl Scout Leader, I head off in two wrong directions before deciphering the map in my phone correctly.  Good thing I've never had to teach orienteering.  I finally find the right route and before long I'm standing in front of a really old building in one of the oldest parts of town.  The Marliave is a French restaurant named for it's founder, a Parisian immigrant who opened the establishment in 1885.  It's in a narrow street, Province Street, once known as Governor's Alley as it was the route between the Statehouse, a block or two away, and the residence of the Governor of the Massachusetts Colony before the Revolution.  I marvel at my daughter's opportunity to be working in such a historic venue--at all the ghosts that must linger in these cobblestone streets.

The tomb of Paul Revere

While finding the restaurant I'd passed the historic Granary Burying Ground where Paul Revere is buried.  I decide to take a side trip through the site and learn that several signers of the Declaration of Independence, Samuel Adams, Ben Franklin's parents and many other folks of historic significance are buried there too.  The headstones are tightly packed with tiny child-sized headstones layered close to their parents'. It's a beautiful place filled with stories of the ones who conceived our country and stood up for their experiment called democracy.  It's a place that forces you to be grateful for those men and women who've shared their lives in public service, whether historical or quietly local.  One large tablet simply read:  Freeman Tomb, 1807 Benj. Bangs.  It's positioned right next to Paul Revere's.

Prayers for peace.
Pray for peace.

Looking at my watch, I realize there's not much time before I have to get ready for the concert so I hurry back through the Common and Public Garden.  Across from the Garden is Arlington Street Church, a Unitarian Universalist Congregation.  The church was completed in 1861 and was the first public building in the Back Bay neighborhood of Boston.  I'm struck by the hundreds of ribbons tied to the old wrought iron fence that surrounds the church (like many of Boston's beautiful churches).  Randomly I read a few.  They're all tributes to those affected by the bombings the day of the Boston Marathon; they are prayers for peace, for love and for a future free from fear.  Toward the end of the fence, a plastic bag filled with blank ribbons hangs along with a bucket of pens.  It's an invitation for all of us to add our prayers.  I don't stop to add a ribbon but for the second time today, I offer up a silent petition for peace and understanding.

Four and a half miles.  Pretty comfortable ones with barely a trace of sciatic trouble.  Four and a half miles packed with significance, history, proud feelings for someone I love dearly.  Meaningful miles today.

Gosh, I love Boston.