On day two, Mrs. G. and her mom headed to the Boston Common to grab some breakfast before they met up with Miss G. They found a Starbucks (this was before they became familiar with the refreshment bonanza known as Dunkin' Donuts) and enjoyed a cup of coffee while Mrs. G. made sure her camera was working. It was.
Day two was all about the Boston Marathon. The energy in the city was enthusiastic and intoxicating, runners, tourists, natives everywhere. Mrs. G. knew the marathon was a big deal but she didn't know it was a big ass deal -- schools and businesses close -- and she was into it. The vibe was New Year's Eve at high noon. This huge city suddenly rolled back to a small, one grocery store town, where you can talk to the the guy beside you, actually everyone around you, without feeling weird, chuck random babies under their chins and scream your head off at will. It was thrilling.
Mrs. G. was rooting around in her backpack for some lip balm when she heard a lady behind her yell, "HERE COME THE PIGS ON WHEELS!" Mrs. G. turned back to the lady, tickled and amazed, and said, "Are you for real? Are there pigs in this race?" The lady ignored her. And ignored her. So Mrs. G. turned back around. Alrighty then. Mrs. G. hasn't heard anyone call a cop a pig since she was nine and secretly bathing herself in her mom's Jontue perfume, so the whole scene was a little off, tacky really. Mrs. G. dealt with the letdown that no actual pigs would be in the race and moved on.
Why, hello Cute Officer. That's right. Mrs. G. is taking a picture of that big banner not above your head.
And the race was off!
Runners from all over the world have been pounding these streets since the first Boston Marathon, April 19, 1897.
Mrs. G's main goal of the day was to see her fellow blogger and Seattle sister, Kelly Tweeddale dash by in her pink running shoes. No such luck. But this did not stop Mrs. G. from yelling, "GO, KELLY, YOU CAN WIN THIS THING!" every six minutes.
And damned if Kelly Tweeddale did not win the 2012 Boston Marathon.
She really didn't, but she did in Mrs. G's mind.
Caught up in all the excitement and slightly delusional from the heat and her typical daily mindset, Mrs. G. told Miss G. that the minute she got home she was going to start training for next year's marathon. To her credit, Miss G. didn't laugh, but it is at these times Mrs. G. most needs her friend Ann, who makes a genuine effort to at least look like she believes Mrs. G's enterprise of the week. Sometimes Ann even nods her head a little.
To inspire her marathon training, Mrs. G. decided to buy the official 2012 jacket. They did not sell them in her size. Dreams don't come easy, people.
"GO, KELLY, YOU CAN WIN THIS THING!"
Hey there, Miss G. and Mrs. G's mom.
Mrs. G. can't remember if she's mentioned her mom's lifelong love affair with Jack Russell terriers. She adores them and she has many t-shirts to prove it.
Who doesn't love swan boats?
Or George Washington, tulips and red heads?
Or friends having lunch in a tree?
Nobody that's who.
After a long day, Mrs. G, Miss G. and Mrs. G's Mom went and had an early dinner at the Summer Shack. Mrs. G's mom's friend insisted it was a "must go" so they took her at her word and went.
"GO, KELLY, YOU CAN WIN THIS THING!"
And Mrs. G's mom's friend was right. Meet Mrs. G's new Secret Boyfriend: the lobster roll.
This is the Summer Shack's owner, Jasper White. He was not in attendance at their meal but if he had been, Mrs. G. would have overtly covertly taken his picture and added him to Mancake of Boston. Jasper is a cool name and she likes his glasses.
To most of you this probably just looks like a lone sidewalk, but it is a lone sidewalk littered with old gum, nasty cigarette butts, and what remains of Mrs. G's flimsy dignity. This is the one and only place Mrs. G. fell in Boston. Her mom says she fell off a curb but that's just because she's Mrs. G's mom. There was no curb. Mrs. G. just fell. Luckily, there were few bystanders and no injuries. There was no alcohol involved (that's Day Three). As she was falling, Mrs. G. remembered hearing that you don't just show up properly dressed and run the Boston Marathon. You have to qualify. Dreams don't come easy, people.
The three weary travelers returned to the DoubleTree and headed for the Fusion Lounge, another fine day down.
To be continued...