Luckily, Air France asked me to check this carryon. Would have had to depend on the kindness of strangers to lift such a load otherwise.

It's hard to articulate the despondency that overcomes me when at a bookstore or antique book market in France. So close and yet so far, shut out by language, still.  This repeated alienation has led to a not low level of anxiety around English language reading materials and maybe a wee bit of hoarding. Brookline has spoiled me with its extensive and responsive libraries, numerous well-stocked Little Libraries, the Booksmith. So, when coming upon a seller of English language books in another country, rationality doesn't always rule. Making a purchase once at Schipol, I was handed an additional for free. Because it was in English and I was about to take a flight, I read it, even though it was called the Pumpkin Spice Cafe, a story of a young woman and man who are dating in a small town that holds regular fairs with balloons, where everyone knows each other and bands together in times of need, resulting in a positive outcome with a moralistic bent. 

Why am I telling you about this? As a disclaimer and acknowledgement that some reading can be a bit to treacly. As many times as I've rewritten this post which preserves my bookend to summer of 2026 in Boston, I can inject no irony, seamy underside. There was nothing but goodness and profound kindness to which I've done my best to do proper, though still inadequate, justice. 

It was to a celebration of Deb's birthday that 12 of us were gathering to play some tennis, though when I arrived, Iit was confusing to see Jenn, who is not a rule breaker,  wearing a (mon Dieu!) black hat, and then she was with flourish, handing out French flags. Slowly, light dawned on marble head. She and Deb had put this lovely afternoon together that I hope celebrated Deb and Anne, who both had birthdays, as much as sending me off to the place of wine and cigarettes. It was dear and special, filled with such happiness and kindness that it was impossible to not have doubts about eaving.  That Anne, at my behest, bought the birthday cake for someone else without mentioning it was her birthday might give you an idea of how lucky I am to have the friends I have.  Dear Jenn and Deb and Anne especially, but everyone else too, thank you for being who you are and making life so rich. It was such a fun afternoon.

Lindsey, Chrisanne, Mary, Sally, Sandra, Nancy, Jenn, Erica and Liz, then Anne, me and Deb in the front row. So much fun.

Have I told this story before? If so, feel free to skip ahead. Many many years ago, Jude and I had just flagged down a cab outside her apartment at 72 W 72nd.  A woman got out and we got in and after a few minutes, we noticed a classic black bridle Hermes scarf on the seat next to us. Jude, who had many beautiful Hermes scarves, but is also obscenely generous, gave it to me. For ages, it was a part of me, dressing up kilts and coats and cardigans and evening wear. One day, I ran for the C Line, just making it. When I sat and looked out the window, there was a woman picking up that scarf and walking away with a smile on her face. After feeling a painful pang of loss, I came to understand that the scarf had only been mine for a bit, and was now meant to be enjoyed by someone else. I wished her much joy.

Years later, the only time I've ever had a storage space, the owners doubled the rent a month after I'd moved everything in. In retribution, I took everything out and distributed the contents to various sidewalks around Allston and Brighton. While there was likely some holy underwear, sweat stained tennis tops, and chipped coffee mugs, there were also place settings of Tiffany tableware, silver serving dishes, other antique junk I'd been keeping for ages but knew I'd never use. I imagined an old Russian lady with one of those shopping caddies, finding and taking the silver serving dishes, later showing her daughter how there's silver on the sidewalks of Allston. One of my friends still gets a little green when we rehash this story, but something had happened with the scarf that made me understand how everything is transient. The storage boxes helped me to understand that for me, belongings have a weight to which I am beholden. So, after wasting a bunch of time on FB Marketplace, I gave most of my earthly belongings away, which, after the logistics were done, allowed for deeper breaths. 

Not going to lie, still a little painful

These plates were a part of me, but it was time.

Bags getting packed, lived in chaos for a few weeks

Off to a Northeastern dorm room

Last morning at Kilsyth

I've never liked questions like Who is your hero? Am I supposed to say Gandhi? I don't know. I've never had one. But someone who comes close is Roger Federer; his breathtaking style of play, impeccable manners, always perfectly tidy hair even after a five set thrashing. So when Jenn asked whether I'd like to go to his induction into the International Tennis Hall of Fame, any thought of packing or deadlines was thrown out the window. We tootled off one Saturday to Newport, meeting up with a bunch of buddies to ogle the absurd amount of tennis history walking by on the red carpet. And then there he was, introduced beautifully by his wife. It was an honor to be there, and even more fun to have one last day with Jenn.

Don't judge, we were hungry

Angela, Katie, Mariellen, Jenn, Beth, KO and me, ITHOF

The Legend

When a gap arose between the time I needed to vacate my apartment and the USA, dear Chris and Carin raised their hands and gave me, I really can't say roof over my head because it was nicer staying with them than it ever was in my apartment. The way I know I love them both is the level of comfort and contentment sitting at the kitchen table with them,  on say a Sunday afternoon while Carin and I are having a cuppa and Chris is making focaccia or a bolognese or my favorite, scallion pancakes. It's not really important what we're talking about and there's certainly no end goal, we're just happy to be together and that is just the best feeling in the world. It is that that they gave me and I'm sad I don't have a photo to share of both of them in their natural habitat.

For the last night in the US, my dear friend Katharine drove down from Newburyport to pick me up at Longwood, where I had stashed a yellow Ikea bag holding my remaining belongings, in the bushes next to the parking lot. She first drove me for an emergency last stop at Kikis for a 500g jar of Marmite to be transported back across the Atlantic, and then a very good lunch across the street at the Brazilian market. After, she carted me up north, where we had a killer ice cream at Hodgies in Amesbury, oh it was so very good. She made a most excellent lobster dinner, and then it was early to bed, with the end in sight.

But when waking up the next morning, the weeks of well-denied stress finally crescendoed, putting my back into a spasm. I was at a loss, and Katharine took control, going mom while I reverted to toddlerhood. She mapped out the day, told me what I needed to do and when, got me to the chiropractor in Newton, fed me, carried my bags, and somehow got me to the airport on time. And Rob, bless him, gave me an electric stim experience and some drugs to be used in an emergency. While the logistics proved  important, it was the love and care that this dear friend of so many years showed me for which I'm most grateful. Of all the people I've ever met in my life, she's the person who is the most intrinsically kind.

So thank you, Katharine, and thank you everyone else, my village that's not so unlike the one in the goofy book, for making it so difficult and easy to leave Boston. It's not that we deserve or don't deserve happiness or kindness, but I am not quite sure how I got so lucky to be given so much. I will miss you.

View from the end of Katharine's road, Newburyport, MA

Rob and Katharine and some very delicious lobsters