Boston Uncommon

rever gravestone

So I’ve been procrastinating on writing a blog since my triumphant return from the whirlwind tour of Boston. Meetings with the Kennedys, the Kerrys and the Cardinal took all of the stamina and fortitude I could muster.
Oh wait that was a dream. Something about donuts and snakes too but that’s not important right now.

Got an email this morning asking if Boston was nice this time of year. Well, define nice.
I’m sure that in comparison to the Amazon River basin this time of year it qualifies as spectacular.
Otherwise the weather can best be summed up by the following metaphorical blathering:
“I woke up, soaked a heavy woolen blanket in warm water and after showering and dressing wrapped said blanket about my body. Then I walked around the sauna until dehydration indicated admittance to Mass General.”

The weather reminded me in precise terms why living on the east coast in the summer became anathema and I’ve been back out west for the past few years.

Having slammed the humidity I will also add that in this Hades-reminiscent climate I ran in a 5K along the Charles River one morning.
The shocking thing (besides my actually getting up at 6:00 am to perform any kind of exercise –excluding strenuous sex of course) was that I did not finish last in my age group, and this was in a field of exercise-obsessed sober cardiologists, anesthesiologists, shrinks and dentists. They’re all whack-jobs.
I kinda felt at home.

After finishing the race I walked back to the hotel to find my lovely daughter still sound asleep in our room. I threw my soaking wet (and now mildly aromatic) woolen blanket over her reposed figure and said “Cate Honey… get your lazy teen-age ass out of bed and go find mommy some coffee before she becomes homicidal.”
She was not amused.
But I was.

My days in Boston were filled mostly with AA meetings and lectures given for physicians to obtain their CME credits. The free time was spent exploring every nook of historical significance I could find. I walked miles and miles, mercifully burning off the calories from the exquisite meals I’d been indulging in.
Did you know that Boston Common is Boston’s largest unmarked grave? There are more than 10,000 bodies buried there and not one tombstone.
Graveyards from the 1600’s, a night tour of haunted Boston, delicious seafood, sober doctors, ala-teen kids running amuck, lectures, bad banquet food, a fab evening listening to mystery writer/physician Michael Palmer speak, cannoli at Mikes Pastry, standing outside to have a smoke, buckets of coffee, my family, and general disorder.
In a word the trip was…. Surreal.

Here’s proof below. It’s my daughter, myself and my dad in front of the Revere House.

my daughter cate, myself, and my father

The one meeting I looked forward to was a bust. It was a lecture given by an Associate Professor of Psychiatry at Harvard, and the subject was:
Treatment of Bi-Polar Disorder in the Alcoholic and Addict Population.
This is a subject near and dear to my heart, and other parts of my anatomy such as my liver.
Sadly the doc delivering the lecture was possibly the lamest speaker it has ever been my misfortune to hear. I looked at my dad and he leaned over and said “My God this is the lamest speaker I have ever heard.”
My suspicions were confirmed. The guy was bad.

Unfortunately I learned nothing new. The poor bastard didn’t have any more info than was already available, to both lay persons (that would be me) and physicians and psychiatrists (that would be my dad).
For instance; the rate of suicide for persons suffering a dual diagnosis (addiction and bi-polar) is far greater than that of the general populace or a patient diagnosed with one or the other.
Whoa! No way. This guy is a fucking genius.

No new treatments were discussed, no new meds, no new anything. The speaker was unorganized as well. If I want unorganized there’s always my life to review.

After the meeting I had a cup of coffee and considered heading over to Cheers, on the other side of Boston Common. Where I could have a drink and ponder all of this and of course,
everybody knows my name.

~miss r

4 thoughts on “Boston Uncommon

  1. I hate hot weather. Summer sucks all over the place, so don’t blame Boston exclusively.

    Check back in the fall of the year. Not only is autumn my favorite season, but New England falls are awesome. (The stereotype is true).

    For the record, I can tell you apart from your dad. Not only are your tits bigger, but you have much longer pigtails.

    Like

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