I’ve lived in Boston about 18 months now, and mostly felt as though I’m just sort of visiting for a long time. It hasn’t felt like home. Not in the sense where I’m glad when my plane lands just because I’m in Boston—obviously I’m always glad to be back with Kent and the kitties. But to be glad because I’m in Boston? No, I haven’t experienced that yet. In fact, except for one time on the roof deck of the bed and breakfast Brad and Kerry stayed in last August, I haven’t even thought Boston was all that pretty. (By the way, that B&B is directly across the street from our place.)
Monday night as I drove home from the first day of work in New Hampshire, I saw the city from 93 heading south down a pretty long hill. The skyline was framed and the buildings were lit because it was dark, and I actually caught my breath. It reminded me of driving into Kansas City from the west along I-70—the first time you see the skyline, it’s just really pretty. As a quick aside, it always makes me think of Frank Baum and the Wizard of Oz since somewhere I heard or read that he modeled Oz after Kansas City. I don’t know if that’s true or not, although I’d like it to be.
Anyway—I’m still not sure how much I love Boston or how much like home it feels. I’ll find out in about 10 days because I have a business trip to Washington, D.C. I’m interested to see if I’m glad to be in Boston then, or if it’s still only that I’m glad to be with Kent.
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