The Perfect Gentleman of the Yellow Checker

I had the coolest cab driver on the way to the airport early this morning. He arrived in the pouring rain, his golfer’s cap soaking instantly as he got out of the car. I winced as he heaved my heavy bag into the trunk -- he must have been at least 70 years old – but he made light of it. “Isn’t the worst I’ve seen,” he said in a thick Boston accent.

Before he pulled out, he made small talk. Good morning, where are you from? What are you doing here? And then finally he said, “All right missy, do you have your phone? Charger? ID? Medications?”

I laughed and assured him I did.

“You’d be surprised how many times I ask people that and they still forget.” He reached into the front passenger seat and opened his palm to me. “Want a butterscotch?” I realized I couldn’t have painted a better character sketch if my life depended on it.

He pulled out then, started the meter, and we were off on what became the most educational cab ride I’ve ever experienced. Turned out Frank Sullivan was a history buff, and as soon as he found out I was from Illinois he decided that I just had to know the history of Edward O’Hare, the namesake of the world’s busiest airport. I almost got the impression that Frank was a bit of a ham; he spoke in a theatric manner, like he’d told the story before in front of a large audience or television camera. Although I guess he did have a large audience – his moving taxi classroom, with students who really had no choice but to listen.

O’Hare was born, grew up, fought World War II and died in that fifteen-minute ride. At the end I tipped him $12.00 - $6.00 for the driving, $6.00 for the history lesson. I want to remember it all, although while I know the details of O’Hare’s life will probably fade within a few days, I won’t soon forget my morning. And I’ll know who to ask for next time I call for a cab – good old Frank Sullivan from Newton, history buff and perfect gentleman of the yellow checker.

Kate in Boston: The Commute

In celebration of my last day having to make what I consider an annoying commute to get to work, I’ve decided to write a little poem.

Ode to the Hill

For the last three months,
at least three days a week,
I have climbed this old hill
Whether feeling strong or meek.
And as I do so on this night
I can’t help but make a rhyme.
Sorry Hill, my old friend,
this is my very last time.
In the early morning dew
(although lately it’s been frost)
I have trekked down your steep slope --
a few pounds I must have lost.
Past the bushes, leaves like beetles
and the houses, big and old
in the rain, and in the heat
through the leaves and now the cold.
To the stop there at the bottom
where I caught bus number one –
the 57, I will miss you,
even the times I had to run.
Then to Watertown I rode
to the next chariot of steel
that would stop a million times
with jerky stops and breaks that squeal.
Finally I would arrive
to alight in Harvard Square,
and even though I always fretted,
I never lacked the time to spare.
With caffeine in my grip
(Starbucks always a good friend)
I'd be energized to work
and then commute at the day’s end.
Now I’m here, good Waverly,
trekking up you for the last.
And though your sidewalks were not mean,
I’m happy you’ll be in the past.
On to Cambridge! On to Parker!
There my feet are all I need.
But I’ll remember you, my Newton hill,
I’ll remember you indeed.

Kate in Boston: Bravery and Stupidity on the Road or You Have a Horn, Use It

Right after moving to Massachusetts, I wrote a post about my car, pondering whether or not I would keep it were I to stay here permanently. Since I now know I will be here for a while, and have been meeting more people that live all around the area (Brookline, Waltham, Watertown, Cambridge, and even Northampton), I’ve decided to keep it for now. I’m moving to Cambridge right after Thanksgiving (more details to follow) and the parking situation is ideal – just $8.00/year for an on-street parking permit. But since I’ve been driving a lot more and must prepare to continue this feat, I thought I’d enlighten my readers on the wonders of Boston traffic.

I always wondered why Brian would get so angry driving in Saginaw. He’d yell, curse, and complain to no end about the sporadic stopping and slowing down by the (mostly elderly) drivers there. I knew he grew up watching his father drive in Boston and then learned to drive in Atlanta, but didn’t really understand his latent frustration until I began driving here myself.

The first thing I noticed was that cars rarely ever stop. Even while sitting in traffic, they inch up, bit by bit, until the line starts moving again. And no one waits to be let into a line; they just go, and if you don’t want a crumpled bumper, you have no choice but to let them in. Being a nice little Midwesterner who not only waits politely for my turn, I also expected to be thanked when I “let” someone in front of me. Not so – not only did I get honked at if I didn’t edge my way in front of moving traffic, I’ve never gotten so much as a nod from thankful motorists that edge their way in front of me.

Secondly, I learned to honk liberally. I could be driving a neon-pink hummer with flashing LED lights all over it, but I would still be virtually invisible if I didn’t lay on the horn. And unlike in the Midwest, where a horn could mean anything from, “Hey Bob” to “F You,” here it just means one thing: “Move.” Someone doesn’t go the split second a light turns green? Move! Someone cuts you off? Move! Someone is driving the speed limit (how dare them)? MOVE! I’ve even been honked at for not going at a red light because the other light was already yellow. “You’re not willing to risk the life and limbs of you and the poor undergrad trying to cross the street? HONK!”

Finally, a word on parking: Every day I thank Mike and the god of fortuitous used-car sales that I have a VW Beetle. This is an old city with narrow streets and even more narrow-minded parkers. Give me a springy steering wheel, keen senses, and a bag of quarters, and my Bug and I can park anywhere.

And as for my Bug, I’m pretty sure I heard it breathe a sigh of relief when I decided not to sell it. Because as challenging as driving is here, we both tend to have a lot of fun.

A Balance to Finally Look Ahead, and An Apology

Because I've been going through so many big changes in my life lately, I wasn't sure how to approach the loneliness and painful nostalgia I felt for lives left behind. I knew that I wanted to keep talking to all my old friends, the friends that already know me inside and out and could make me smile with a few words, but sometimes this connection did more harm than good. I found myself so lonely for those thousands of miles away that I would curl up into a ball and be unable to open my eyes to new possible friends and experiences out here in Boston.

So I staved off a lot of communication with these old friends, and put my full attention on making new ones. I was able to get past missing my old friends and open my eyes to all the experiences out here with my new friends. But it wasn't until people found out about the divorce that old friends (even older than I'd been talking to recently) started to write and call. Their support has meant the world to me, and I've been even more strengthened to go out here and make new friends and have new experiences.

Thus I have reached a balance. There's no reason I should shy away from those who know and love me already just to have a positive attitude in making friends here. If anything, I need all the support and love I can get - and that's what everyone is giving me. I am so grateful for it all. And if I've been a little distant with anyone lately...I'm sorry. I'm over it. Shall we chat?

Thanks, Fitz

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther...And one fine morning--"

...one fine morning, we'll awaken to think, "Hey! In one month I'll be living in Harvard Square!"

Too Late for Empathy?

We are all wrought with self-doubt at times in our lives, but I'd like to think that for the most part, the even-keeled that walk among us believe that they're usually doing all right. No matter what flaws others see in us, there's a part of us that wants to believe that the way we are is okay, and that there's no reason to change. But sometimes things happen that blow us over and cause us to take stock in a way that stays with us forever.

For me, it was something my dad said to me when I was in high school. He said that among my many talents, among the multitude of friends I had and brains I possessed, I faltered at one thing about all else: empathy. He said that if I were only more empathetic with people, I would have it made and could hand-pick my world to be any way I wanted. Now I know there were lots of speeches my parents made to me over the years, but none stuck with me the way this one did. I went upstairs and sat on my bed and thought very hard about empathy. Was I really so deficient in such a basic human quality?

This conversation has haunted me, but possibly kept me from making decisions or comments over the years that lacked empathy. I know that from it I have learned how to take the thoughts and feelings of others under consideration. But sometimes I hit a large snag and realize that my dad was right and still is in a lot of ways - sometimes I'm far too concerned about making myself feel better that I don't consider the feelings of others. I say things that make me feel better, or stronger, and they come out wrong because I didn't consider how the other person might take them. I hear my father's words and realize that the more I do this, the farther I stray from a happy and fulfilled life.

When we go through life feeling we're doing okay, feeling ourselves fall so far jolts our reality in a big way. Suddenly we do things that go against what we've always felt was right, and even though they seem right at the time, they are revealed as awful later on. It's a realization I must make to continue this process of self-growth, for sure.

I just hope it's not too late.

Dreams are Not My Friends

Though I know dreams work for us, in helping us organize our minds and purge stressful thoughts, for me they seem to be doing nothing but harm lately: I will be asleep one moment, immersed in a very good dream of better times, and awake to hear voices and see faces as clear as if I'd seen them or heard them yesterday. But I awake alone. And it seems that no matter how hard I work during the day to regain myself, the night works against me and I am lost again when morning comes.