We don’t take advantage of the riches around us. Although I’ve lived in the Boston area for more than fifty years, I get so embroiled in my daily routine that I forget that people come from all over the world to see what is at my doorstep.
I remember buying Peter a book about Boston’s neighborhoods for his birthday one March. We decided we would spend the spring visiting one neighborhood each weekend until we had seen them all. But our busy lives got in the way. The book remains on the shelf, the neighborhoods unvisited.
So when we ended up in a beautiful old brownstone on Beacon Street in Boston’s Back Bay for a play reading Saturday afternoon, I suggested that instead of taking the subway at the nearest stop, we walk through the Public Garden and the Boston Common to a stop closer to home.
It was a gray, damp day, but Beacon Hill’s Federal-style row houses with their purple-tinted bay windows were as beautiful as ever, huddled together on the side of the hill. And the ice skaters in their finery on the Frog Pond on the Common below were a live Currier and Ives painting.
We should do that more often.