Welcome Home, Dancer

I took the dog for a long walk at Magnuson today. We did the loop first, past the beach and around the curve at the dog run. Then we looped again and headed to the wetlands. It’s all yellow heart-shaped leaves right now.

I just got home from a trip back east where I spent time with my family and three old friends. Fantastic to be with them. And, really important, we said bon voyage to my nephew who moved to London (luck-ee!!).

My trip started in Boston. From the airport, my friend and I drove to Cambridge which looked great on a Friday night. The Border Cafe was perfect — loud Mexican music, veggie fajitas and lots of catching up. I wore my Seahawks hat. Saturday night was a little jam session with a few guitars, harmonicas and mandolin. We flipped through the Beatles and Paul Simon songbooks and picked out tunes we all know (and that I could play). Everyone was much better than me but singing and playing together was a blast.

Then we turned on SNL and watched Kate McKinnon sing Hallelujah. Heartbreaking, the whole thing.

Then we turned on SNL and watched Kate McKinnon sing Hallelujah. Heartbreaking, the whole thing.

On Sunday I wore my Russell Wilson jersey and my hat into Gillette Stadium. Brave girl, I am. I got heckled: Hey Seattle! Welcome to New England! this guy jeered, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Um, it’s not my first time here. I spent two years in Worcester, including…wintering over at 39 Birch Street in the back room without any heat. So I’m kinda familiar.

Nature spoke to me as I rode the train from Boston to Newark. This is the same line I’d ride to Providence, at 16, visiting my sister at Wheaton. I sat on the left side of the train, randomly, but was glad I chose it, because I had views of Long Island Sound as we wheeled south. The clouds that day were the high paintbrush kind, some curving left, others wisping right on a canvas of blue. Welcome home, Dancer, those brushstrokes in their arabesques seemed to say.

The clouds that day were the high paintbrush kind, some curving left, others wisping right on a canvas of blue. Welcome home, Dancer, those brushstrokes in their arabesques seemed to say.

Hanging out with my family in NJ filled me up. Needed that! Then I braved driving alone to northern NJ to visit an old friend and her family. Thank goodness for Maps because one road was completely closed and I really had no idea how to get to her small town. What’s that thing about traveling challenges you?

I was much more confident driving back to my brother’s. As I cruised through “The Oranges,” as the big sign says, I flipped on WFMU. I thought of the great DJs that, in my time with FMU, were: Vanilla Bean with his hilarious stories, Pat who played punk on Sunday nights, the lovable Irwin. Across the airwaves a singer sang about the “good of life” and then the DJ put on…Playing in the Band! It definitely appealed to my superstitious radio thing where I believe that messages you need to hear come through at the right times.

Great to be on the east coast where you can enjoy Dunkin Donuts, Italian food and reality.

Great to be on the east coast where you can enjoy Dunkin Donuts, Italian food and reality.

And now I’m back. In the hinterlands of Seatown. I’m super refreshed. Traveling rejuvenates you and urges you to recommit to your own life. Which I do, gladly.

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