Another
drive about as Beth collected appraisal pictures and I went along. It
looked like the first day of spring, burgeoning and lovely. My father
died on the last day of winter in 05, which seemed appropriate.
Down
Rt 3 to I-95, which is still Rt 128 to me. Took the exit onto Rt
2A/Marrett Rd, heading towards East Lexington. Passing close to where
I grew up.
For
instance, the Old Res (for reservoir), Threw a lot of rocks into that
thing. It represented semi-wildness in my cultivated childhood. It
became a town swimming hole at some point but that usage seemed wrong
to me. Too civilized. Passed the store where I used to get comic
books and the usual oddlots of candy. Now a paint store. There are
now also places where I can get a fresh BMW or have a laser scrape my
face potentially fresh face. Progress.
Further
on, the busy intersection of gas stations, convenience stores (not
called that in the day), and so forth. Considerable so forth, in
fact. A daunting number of large houses have been squeezed in behind
the Dunkin' Donuts. My goodness. My former home just visible above
thru the winter trees.
Somebody
left coupons at our store to a Sports Barber Shop here. There
used to be a pharmacy at the location. Free haircut, were I inclined.
Beth thinks I’m absurd for abstaining, but see: it’s gonna be
talkative stylists hepped up on local sports, and there’s something
about a towel on my head and a scalp massage. Sitting in front of a
mirror whilst hirsute machinations occur is travail enough, don’t
add to the list.
So
anyway. On to Mass Ave, within sight of the convent where I worked
thru high school. It was a French-Canadian order, they were just
enduring modernization (younger nuns opting for less tonnage in
regards to their habits), and Catholicism was mystery to me then.
Unlike now. The place now serves the assisted-living community, of
which I am not, to the depth of Republican soullessness, a part.
Got
pix of a comp near the bike path. The path is a stretch of paved
intent running from Bedford to Cambridge. Formerly, trains ran all
the way to Concord, with a northern spur to Billerica. Such modicum
of individualism has been displaced by the three car garage.
Next
we took the contrary route back 2A. Past, for instance, the site of
an ice cream stand of much enjoyment, as the lad I was. Now part of
the Minuteman National Park, the stand has been removed, and more
emphasis has been placed on the fact that Paul Revere was captured at
the site, on the fateful night (hardly a man is now alive). Pix
taken.
Then
on to Rt 2, the vital artery to Cambridge/Boston and the palooka
world of valid employment. Route 2 has been receiving a quick,
perhaps vicious, update from the country road that wandered to the
western end of the state to a sluice that pours workers of the world
to and fro, poor sods. Where quaint Concord and Lincoln meet, a swath
of hillside has been transformed into condo heaven, a hillside sliced
free from consideration and replaced by bonded construction of
delirious intent. Irony Inc decreed this must happen maybe one mile
from the vapid sanctity of Walden Pond. You know, where the guy wrote
“Amplify! Amplify! Amplify!”
Past
Walden, and over the culverted Sudbury River, Emerson Hospital, where
I was born, and my mother died (not the same day). Dad died across
the street. Looping around the famous rotary in front of the Mass
Correctional Facility, we bended toward West Concord. Formerly the
working class side of Concord, but real estate prices make that a
memory.
Heading
to Maynard on Rt 62. Maynard remains a working class town, but shows
earnest in upgrading. It nestles around the Assabet River which, with
the Sudbury, joins the Concord, eventually. Found all necessary
comps.
Homeward,
oh. A gas station in West Concord was removed for the flowering of a
new bank. Next to old bank. Thru Concord. Bang left past the Colonial
Inn, once owned by Thoreau’s father. Monument St past the Old Manse
of Hawthorne’s mundane writing career (mundane, of the world). Past
the real estate prices and horses swathed in blankets. Some real
world, no doubt, exists beyond the palaver. I mean, we saw crocus and
daffodils.
Dropping
her report off meant we could side trip to Wegmans. Nothing egregious
about the store but the crowd overwhelms me. Where should I put my
piddling cart amidst the thronging? We escaped with provender and
victuals. I hear the cat snore behind me as I write.
