Mrs. G. decided to wrap the last couple of days of the Boston trip up in glossy paper and a pretty pink bow and deliver it to you in one final post. She's been home from the trip for over a week and if she doesn't start writing about what's been happening now, she will forget the now and have to rely too heavily YouTube videos and the objectification of men. Plus, she's starting to feel like she's dragging you down into her goldenrod, shag carpeted basement to watch vacation slides while snacking on Bugles and Tang.
Day Four started with a tour trolley. It was a pretty great deal because the trolley drops you off at historic points, like Quincy Market and Paul Revere's house, where you can hang out for a while and grab another trolley when you are ready to move on.
The trolley drivers are worthy of their own story. They vary in enthusiasm, temperment and historical accuracy, though a couple of the drivers were ace and taught Mrs. G. more history than she learned in four years of high school.
Mrs. G. can't not tell you about a driver named Ben, who pulled the trolley up to a random, not historic corner to have a four minute, full volume conversation with a co-worker named Kelly who was pissed at their boss, Leo. Ben had a full trolley of paying customers but seemed perfectly at ease with just pulling over to shoot the shit. As if that wasn't nonstandard enough, Ben said goodbye to Kelly, pulled out into traffic and nonchalantly reported the following on microphone to all the folks on the trolley:
Well, there you have it folks. Some people in Boston, like our boss, Leo, are liars. Leo takes advantage of people who don't speak English and overbooks these tours all the time. Kelly was just blowing off some steam. I just don't get it.
Mrs. G. tipped Ben well because she was blown away by his inappropriate honesty and feared for his future on every level.
Next up was the Boston Duck Harbor Tour. It was cheesy, good fun.
Especially with these two crusty, salty, exceptionally funny captains. They were a hoot.
Dear Boston, has Mrs. G. mention you are loved?
One of Mrs. G's favorite spots was Boston's Old North Church, built in 1723.
This is a memorial garden for the fallen men and women who served in the Afghanistan and Iraq wars.
The number of dog tags was a stunning reminder of of what some of us (Mrs. G. included) seem to forget, take for granted as we hurry, hurry, hurry through our days. It was good to stop and think, to thank.
A pack of wild women beneath the Midnight Rider.
The Declaration of Independence was read from this balcony.
On Wednesday night, Mrs. G. and her mom went to the North End to have dinner with two fellow bloggers and derfs.
and Erika, both such lovely women with outstanding hair.
Janet, you were missed.
The Italian food was good, but the conversation was better. As always, meeting other derfs feels like hooking up with old friends to Mrs. G.
Deb was kind enough to bring four cannolis from this famous, apparently always packed joint (Deb told Mrs. G. to be sure and share a cannoli later with Miss G, but she didn't...she and her mom have no further comment on this matter).
Erika was kind enough to drive Mrs. G. and her mom back to their hotel and have a drink.
Meeting these two was a highlight of the trip. Many of you can meet them on the derf road trip in a few weeks. Deb has generously offered up her cabin for a get together.
On the final day, Mrs. G. and her daughter wandered off (Mrs. G's mom got back on the trolley and undoubtedly schooled the drivers on the Civil War. Do not ever challenge Mrs. G's mom on the yellow pie in Trivial Pursuit. The woman knows her history.) to have a little time together. They sat on Miss G's apartment deck, had lunch at Zaftigs Delicatessen in Brighton and...
headed back to the North End for some gelato and people watching.
Dear Boston, you are loved.
Because you don't just have mangos, you have fancy mangos. And so many other things.