Boston First

When I first planned this trip, since I live on the west coast and my mom on the east, my friends asked if I were going to meet her in Paris. Perhaps it was the look on my face or the burst of laughter followed by an emphatic, "Are you crazy?" that made them realize the levity of their query. That would require, on top of all the other worries, one - my father driving Rosemarie to the airport and two - my mother flying by herself. I'd have a better chance of winning the California and Massachusetts state lotteries simultaneously than those events ever happening. So one week from today, I leave for the first leg of my trip: Boston. The rent-a-car works out perfectly so only I have to drive to Logan, which you can bet will be bright and early despite our 2 pm flight (hence the red carpet treatment).

Since my move to San Francisco twenty years ago, I go back to Boston about once a year. I despise the cold, so it is never in the winter, although that first visit back to Medford was for Thanksgiving. I was thinner (oh happy memories) and sported a crazy goatee/beard look that to this day, I don't know what I was thinking. My mom, just like when I was in school, was in the kitchen when I got home. In fact, I first wrote about my mom and her location at our kitchen table in an essay that I called "Sipping Coffee," which was published in the fourth edition of America Now: Short Readings from Recent Periodicals.

Since those first visits, I've really come to appreciate my family. Chalk it up to getting older, becoming wiser, whatever you'd like to think. Whatever it is, I always find time in my schedule to spend time with my relatives. This visit also turns out to be Easter weekend and that means insane amounts of food. You're probably thinking, perhaps you shouldn't eat so much before you go to a city of gastronomic delicacies, but we are Italian (I'm a 1/4 Lithuanian too, but that's another story) and refusing food - no matter if it's coming from my 92-year-old Aunt Lil or my Godmother, Aunt Louise - is not an option.

This all fits in nicely since my mom loves to eat, despite the misconception that she consumes nutrition like a bird. But really, when you think about it, birds are always eating, so the metaphor fits. The first thing I'll probably buy her in The City of Lights is a chocolate eclair at a cafe where we'll sip some coffee and talk about everything from childhood to California and all the stuff in between. Now, I'll take that over winning two state lotteries any day.