09-24-2014, 10:51 AM
Ireland, here we come.
The day started with rain, interrupting my walk around Lake Quannapowitt. It didn’t last long and I only waited about a half an hour before starting my two hour constitutional. I do like the walk past the churches and the geese and the small cemetery. It would be a hundred times better if it were farther from the encircling roads. Although I do get my adrenaline up crossing the roads in the rotary.
At 9, we drove over to Melrose to see my Aunt Eileen, stopping at the Honey Dew shop for muffins and coffee. Originally, it was going to be one muffin for Eileen. Might as well get two. You know you should have a muffin, Greg. Three Blueberry Muffins, then. Hmmm, that Banana Nut muffin looks tasty. Four. It’s the same price to get six as it is to get four. And that is the why obesity is at epidemic levels in the US.
We had a nice chat with Eileen. Since we’d been to the other cemeteries, Eileen figured we should go to my Uncle Jim’s grave as well, so off we went to the Wyoming Cemetery. No Howitzers this time at the grave site for the General.
The whole day was running around since we had appointments to do and a plane to catch. We went back to the Wadzinski’s and loaded the car, and by we, I mean me. I love the van because all the bags fit. I dread what will happen when we get to Ireland and it’s plethora of tiny cars.
As I loaded the car, I noticed a billfold on the floor in the back. Aunt Eileen had dropped her ID on our journey to the cemetery. One more stop on the way to the airport. One more let me see if I know a quicker way to the freeway tour.
We were having lunch at Durgin Park, the only place for Indian Pudding, with the daughter of a friend of my parents, Ellen Bartlett Wilson. She had seen one of the pics on Facebook and wanted to get in touch, just for a few minutes. A few minutes turned into lunch.
Durgin Park is always one of the nostalgia stops on the Boston Tour. I have even inflicted it on poor Cindi. Originally, we were told it was closed. Thankfully, that was just a base lie. I only got lost a little trying to find it. My father was his helpful self in offering driving suggestions.
Ellen brought her two sons, Jack and Tom who were delighted to hear stories about the good old days back in Burlington. Fortunately, the Raider-Patriot game was on over my shoulder. I also showed them some martial arts videos on the phone, of which they almost saw all.
Then the highlight for the day, getting on the plane. I dumped the parents and the bags at the curb outside the Aer-Lingus gate. It all went surprisingly smoothly. Except for the part where I missed our terminal while riding on the return shuttle from car rental area and got to ride the bus around the airport a second time.
Learning from my past experience on the SFO-BOS leg, I tried to see if I could get the parents their own row, while I sat somewhere else. This would allow my father to lean over and take the pressure off his ass.
At the ticket counter, they told me to ask at the gate. If they did it at the ticket counter there was a chance they would fill the now empty seat in that row. We put the parents in the wheel chairs and rolled them through the TSA. I’m getting used to the glares from people as we cut in line in front of them.
I now went on the quest to find chocolates for the friends in Ireland. I bought some really tacky American chocolates in a tin. I talked to the agent at the gate about the row situation. He talked to his manager who wanted to know if were paying for an extra seat. Oops. Well, the gate agent found a work around and put me on the aisle further up the plane. He told me to keep both boarding passes in case I was forced back to their row.
I also had to arrange with the gate agent to get the wheel chairs to take the parents down the jetway to the plane along with our six pieces of carry-on.
Your supposed to get the wheel chair people on first, but the wheel chair delivery people were late and the other passengers were already going down the jetway when we cut into line. I apologized to a lot of glares.
If I haven’t mentioned it, it is a great time trying to maneuver 5 carry-on bags down the narrow aisle between the rows of seats. I swear the rolling oxygen concentrator was trying to escape from me. Since people were already seated, I nailed many of them with the bags over my shoulder.
As we passed my seat, 9A, I put my camera case in the overhead and dropped my bag on the chair while I helped my parents to the back of the plane. I explained to them for the millionth time they were to sit together until the plane took off and then move apart to avoid any more unpleasantness.
Since, I was at the back of the plane, I had to wait until everyone was seated before I could return to my seat.
Guess what happens when you leave a bag unattended on a plane in these post 9-11 times?Sure enough, the people in my row thought someone left a bomb on the plane or at least a suspicious unattended bag.
They called over the intercom about the bag on the seat. I told the stewardess near me that it was my bag. She called to the front of the plane to explain. I guess that didn’t calm their fears because the stewardess at the front of the plane met me halfway up the aisle with my bomb, I mean bag.
Ireland, here we come.
The day started with rain, interrupting my walk around Lake Quannapowitt. It didn’t last long and I only waited about a half an hour before starting my two hour constitutional. I do like the walk past the churches and the geese and the small cemetery. It would be a hundred times better if it were farther from the encircling roads. Although I do get my adrenaline up crossing the roads in the rotary.
At 9, we drove over to Melrose to see my Aunt Eileen, stopping at the Honey Dew shop for muffins and coffee. Originally, it was going to be one muffin for Eileen. Might as well get two. You know you should have a muffin, Greg. Three Blueberry Muffins, then. Hmmm, that Banana Nut muffin looks tasty. Four. It’s the same price to get six as it is to get four. And that is the why obesity is at epidemic levels in the US.
We had a nice chat with Eileen. Since we’d been to the other cemeteries, Eileen figured we should go to my Uncle Jim’s grave as well, so off we went to the Wyoming Cemetery. No Howitzers this time at the grave site for the General.
The whole day was running around since we had appointments to do and a plane to catch. We went back to the Wadzinski’s and loaded the car, and by we, I mean me. I love the van because all the bags fit. I dread what will happen when we get to Ireland and it’s plethora of tiny cars.
As I loaded the car, I noticed a billfold on the floor in the back. Aunt Eileen had dropped her ID on our journey to the cemetery. One more stop on the way to the airport. One more let me see if I know a quicker way to the freeway tour.
We were having lunch at Durgin Park, the only place for Indian Pudding, with the daughter of a friend of my parents, Ellen Bartlett Wilson. She had seen one of the pics on Facebook and wanted to get in touch, just for a few minutes. A few minutes turned into lunch.
Durgin Park is always one of the nostalgia stops on the Boston Tour. I have even inflicted it on poor Cindi. Originally, we were told it was closed. Thankfully, that was just a base lie. I only got lost a little trying to find it. My father was his helpful self in offering driving suggestions.
Ellen brought her two sons, Jack and Tom who were delighted to hear stories about the good old days back in Burlington. Fortunately, the Raider-Patriot game was on over my shoulder. I also showed them some martial arts videos on the phone, of which they almost saw all.
Then the highlight for the day, getting on the plane. I dumped the parents and the bags at the curb outside the Aer-Lingus gate. It all went surprisingly smoothly. Except for the part where I missed our terminal while riding on the return shuttle from car rental area and got to ride the bus around the airport a second time.
Learning from my past experience on the SFO-BOS leg, I tried to see if I could get the parents their own row, while I sat somewhere else. This would allow my father to lean over and take the pressure off his ass.
At the ticket counter, they told me to ask at the gate. If they did it at the ticket counter there was a chance they would fill the now empty seat in that row. We put the parents in the wheel chairs and rolled them through the TSA. I’m getting used to the glares from people as we cut in line in front of them.
I now went on the quest to find chocolates for the friends in Ireland. I bought some really tacky American chocolates in a tin. I talked to the agent at the gate about the row situation. He talked to his manager who wanted to know if were paying for an extra seat. Oops. Well, the gate agent found a work around and put me on the aisle further up the plane. He told me to keep both boarding passes in case I was forced back to their row.
I also had to arrange with the gate agent to get the wheel chairs to take the parents down the jetway to the plane along with our six pieces of carry-on.
Your supposed to get the wheel chair people on first, but the wheel chair delivery people were late and the other passengers were already going down the jetway when we cut into line. I apologized to a lot of glares.
If I haven’t mentioned it, it is a great time trying to maneuver 5 carry-on bags down the narrow aisle between the rows of seats. I swear the rolling oxygen concentrator was trying to escape from me. Since people were already seated, I nailed many of them with the bags over my shoulder.
As we passed my seat, 9A, I put my camera case in the overhead and dropped my bag on the chair while I helped my parents to the back of the plane. I explained to them for the millionth time they were to sit together until the plane took off and then move apart to avoid any more unpleasantness.
Since, I was at the back of the plane, I had to wait until everyone was seated before I could return to my seat.
Guess what happens when you leave a bag unattended on a plane in these post 9-11 times?Sure enough, the people in my row thought someone left a bomb on the plane or at least a suspicious unattended bag.
They called over the intercom about the bag on the seat. I told the stewardess near me that it was my bag. She called to the front of the plane to explain. I guess that didn’t calm their fears because the stewardess at the front of the plane met me halfway up the aisle with my bomb, I mean bag.
Ireland, here we come.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit