At age 24, I traveled alone to see the two schools; an adventure that would shape my life. I took a huge suitcase, carrying more clothes than I could wear in a short week. In my time in Boston, I walked the Freedom Trail, I ate cannolis at Mike's pastries, and I felt a sense of history, that I'd not ever experienced in either Minnesota or California.
Boston is a city that reminds me of my San Francisco. A city on water, a city with gorgeous brick, a history shaped out of a drive for freedom, and a city with amazingly authentic people.
This last week, like so many across the country, my heart ached for Boston. I can't imagine the fear that the marathon bombing created. And then as the events in Watertown unfolded on Thursday evening, I was glued to Twitter. To a news feed from Boston, and I prayed that the innocent people, the law enforcement, that they would remain safe.
This weekend I found myself wanting to relive the good memories, to remember the happy and amazing place that Boston is and was. Sean and I went back to Boston three years ago, and here are a few of those pictures.
We arrived at South Station from New Haven:
We went to see the Red Sox play at Fenway Park:
Because I really, really wanted to see the "Green Monster" (aka the 37 foot tall left field wall at Fenway Park). This is one breath-taking ballpark:
We hoofed it all over town and followed Boston's Freedom Trail:
I love this area in downtown Boston on the Freedom Trail. We hid in the Einstein's Bagels to avoid a rain storm. I stopped by the site of the old Filene's Basement, and recalled shopping there with my mom several years prior.
It was amazing to see the demolition of the Filene's building:
covered in stones and flowers.