Saturday Picnic

Rain and humidity had been our lot for the past few days. Today is Saturday and just when I was getting used to the doom and gloom, out comes the sun dictating to me that it's time to play. I answer back that I have to work. This pleasant day will have none of that. A few clouds form in the sky relieving me of hopping the Block Island boat. Now that I have a new friend in the North End of Boston, I'm given an alternative in my choice of which end of Route 95, north or south, will I head my little no air-conditioned Gulf. There was some rumor my eldest son might be heading that way which made my decision easier. His grandmother was also in a playful mood. She has the Gulf with air-conditioning. The chemistry seemed right. Dust, mops and pans were dropped, and with no hesitation we were off like the two black slaves set free for the promised land. Parking our Gulf was not hard and we started walking. The sign said Commercial Street. I have two friends who have a studio here. No sooner said and we were on their doorstep. We went into the studio, looked over the new space and reminisced, and made plans to renew our relationship, we would get together soon. Off we were to find Hanover Street. Here again we were not there five minutes when my older son appeared. He spotted his grandmother first, then me. I thought I saw neon signs go off in his head saying,"no hiding places." With mixed feelings about this invasion of his turf, he politely invited these two strong women who had played a big part in his life, to lunch. We strolled from the North End to Faneil Hall. It seemed to me that we walked back in time . In a boyish and pleasing way, my son brought us our picnic lunch as we sat outside on the old- fashioned benches. I remember being mesmerized by the coo-coos of the pigeons flying overhead and nibbling at our feet. 5:30, back at the starting point of my day, with too much Greek food under by belt and dark clouds overhead that are making it easier to settle down. My travelling mate has gone home. She too will review the day of three generations that met on a corner on the North End of Boston. I'm tired now after that ride home and can't remember, was my son wearing his short pants and knee socks of yesterday or his long pants of today?

Copyright R. Mahoney 23-Jul-88