Pilgrims and potions

Friday April 15, 2005

Something I notice particularly when we wander through the backstreets of Boston, as we did yesterday, is the incidence of really, really old walls and buildings, patched, repaired, openings for windows and doors inserted and removed in turn as usage changes with time. Sometimes the very building itself has been removed, leaving only an orphaned wall for the purpose of maintaining boundaries, defining the lines between private and public. You can see the history in them shown by the multiple changes of brick and mortar, and of craftsmanship.

It’s an odd thought that some of these walls were witness to the Pilgrim Fathers out on their morning walk, muttering about the shortage of ships to take them away and wondering if perhaps Plymouth or even the Netherlands might not be a better place to wait for the number 39 transport to New England and a life free from religious oppression.

I doubt there’s much in the way of religious oppression in Boston these days but you never know. Judging by the numbers of incoming people from Eastern Europe who settle here for a while as they find their feet in our fair and pleasant land, I suspect that whatever oppression they may feel, and experience, is outweighed by the freedom they find to take jobs, earn a living and make a way for themselves.

I smile when they smile at me, which is quite often, and am happy for them to settle. The Boston that drove the old pilgrims out must surely owe these new pilgrims a bit of space and I’m pleased at the thought that ordinary folks are free to move about the world in search of work, living space and happiness. I wish they’d learn not to stand in groups, blocking the aisles in Tesco’s, though.

Today has been a quiet day, made so by a combination of dull weather, rather chill, and the residuals of my recent incapacity. The weather promises to improve over the next few days, however, and a hefty dose of salts together with a short burst of a Spring cleansing diet will get my system back on track soon enough. Can’t remember the last time I felt so congested and gloopy. I’m doing my best to be positive about it, and taking charge of my condition. And I’m bearing in mind that painkillers, like old age, are better than the alternative.


Boston, Apr 14,'05
Boston private life
pen cam photo



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