The stately sycamore trees along the Charles River on Memorial Drive near Harvard Square have been a star of the Cambridge landscape for decades.  I have a (perhaps somewhat faulty) memory that Jackie Kennedy helped save them decades ago when they were almost on the chopping block.  Once, when she visited the Kennedy School, I shook her hand, and I recall that I thanked her for taking up their cause.

Now, decades later, in my new home, a 6^th floor apartment along Memorial Drive, their sweeping branches are the first thing I see through my shades-not-drawn bedroom windows every morning.

Thanks to Mrs. Kennedy.

I don’t own AirPods.  First appearing on the scene about six years ago, I now see the telltale wires coming from ears everywhere. But not mine.

My son Seth, who resides in São Paulo, Brazil, lost one of his AirPods, allegedly eaten by his dog.  I recall his telling me that they had proof that it had been digested—exact details not offered.

Replacing AirPods in Brazil was costly enough that he ordered them from Amazon via his sister-in-law in Maryland, who had them mailed to me because I have a trip to Brazil coming up.

All I have to do is remember to take them.

My husband Peter and I bought our “sea-green,” but really sort of aqua, Toyota Prius in 2016.  It was an unusual color so whenever I saw its identical twin going in the other direction, I wanted to honk in recognition of the driver’s good taste.

But living and working in Cambridge, I didn’t drive it every day, which may be why it still looks pretty darn good. Using it even less now-a-days, I decided to offer it to my grandson Grady who is a sophomore in college, and, unsurprisingly, he decided to accept it.

He and his father flew to Boston to pick it up the other day.  Before turning it over, I had to remove a bunch of used masks from Covid, two umbrellas and some CD’s which have sat un-played in a pocket in the door for years.  I didn’t even try to remove the one noticeable dent on the driver’s side door which, in my view, is a mark of character.

I’ve never been car-less in Cambridge, but I’ll not miss the parking space search or the digging out in the snow. And there is always Uber and Lyft.  Still, it’s a bit of a loss…

I have observed groups of people waving their arms in unison doing something called Tai Chi for years. It looked a bit strange to me, but who knows?

Hoping to meet some neighbors in my apartment complex, I joined the Tai Chi group for its once-a-month meeting. It took place inside in the laundry room rather than in our garden because of the extreme heat. 

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but when it was over, I asked myself, “Exactly what was that all about?”

Stay tuned.  I’m going to give it a shot.

I’m still feeling newly moved.  Not sure why.  Most things are where they will remain, although I do recall thinking that I was placing many items temporarily. For example, bathroom rugs that I planned to replace don’t look so bad, and may yet have another life. 

But there was one item sitting in a corner of my second bedroom/study looking forlorn, still in its shrink wrapping, namely, my paper shredder.  It’s one of those items that doesn’t get much publicity or much love, but it’s been loyal and always gets the job done.

So I unwrapped it—it was more resistant than I thought, but I finally got it free.  I grabbed some shredding needs and turned it on.  At first, nothing.  Then I pushed the lever the other way and it roared into action.

It’s the little things that can make one’s day.

My younger son, Jeremy, is the father of two sons, Leo and Grady, who are now adults (pretty much). One, is a brand-new college grad, the other entering his sophomore year in college. I adore them.

Jeremy’s brother Seth has been a doting uncle throughout their lives. A week ago, that uncle, age 56, became a father himself. And I have a brand new grandson.

Jacob is his name, and he lives far away in Brazil, but he is, and always will be close in my heart.

Brazil is far away, at best a 10-hour flight. You can be sure I will be on one before too long…

I can’t recall ever having been so hot for so long.  Or maybe because I am certifiably old, the heat is harder on my tired body.  My new apartment has a lovely breeze from the Charles River, just across Memorial Drive.  But even that doesn’t get the job done in this heat wave.

So, I spend much of my home time in my air conditioner-cooled study.  Unfortunately, it’s quite conducive to…

Napping. 

Weeks before I bought, and moved into my new apartment, I was invited by friends to visit one of my favorite places, the Marlboro Music Festival in Marlboro, Vermont.  It turned out that a little break from moving was the perfect antidote to chaos. 

I’ve probably mentioned before that our children referred to Peter and me as their “classical-music-loving-parents”.  We made many trips to Vermont for those concerts over the years. Today, the festival setting looks exactly as when I first visited it in 1963 with my previous-to-Peter-boyfriend.

The program, played in the former college’s dining hall, was devoid of any modern sounds—which suited me just fine.  The audience was mostly gray haired; the musicians young and very talented.

 Everyone loved it. 

I had quite a bit to say about my recent move.  (Doesn’t everyone who moves?)  Occasionally, I write blogs to be published later, but on Sunday, I accidentally published the post that was supposed to be today.  Two posts on one day means I can skip a day, so with apologies, no fresh blog post today.

‘til Sunday…

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”

So wrote Robert Frost in 1914. My latest move brought that famous quote to mind because I am now “home” in Cambridge again.

I moved to Cambridge from Beacon Hill in 1965, married Peter in 1968, and a year later, we moved to the suburbs. In 1995, with our boys out of college, we moved back and lived in a perfect “empty nester” Cambridge home until we retired, and then moved to a condo near Harvard Square.  Except for the last ten months, Cambridge was my home.

My returned-to-Cambridge-apartment is a mile from where Peter and I lived for twenty years and two blocks from the (condemned and now demolished) apartment building where we lived for five years together, and I lived for one year without him.

It’s great to be back.