Living the Life I’ve Imagined...

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined." ~ Henry David Thoreau

I’ve always believed that somewhere deep inside me beats the heart of gypsy, a traveler, a wanderer, an explorer...

For a long time I suppose that fear quieted that beat. I suppose if I did not now know what it is like to state in no uncertain terms what you’re greatest fear is, and then have to live through the realization of that fear that today might not be possible.

Traveling alone for the first time was at first --in the early morning light of LaGrange, Ohio -- a bit frightening to me. I felt a bit apprehensive, a bit nervous, a bit out of my element. And then I thought that if I could face the realization of the greatest fear of my life and survive that, I could likely face anything.

And fear slowly became excitement...

The flight to Boston was for the most part uneventful. I did have a Cinnabon in the Cleveland airport this morning. To be more precise I had about half of a Pecan Caramel Cinnabon...I only ate half because I didn’t really want to go into a diabetic coma on my flight to Boston and ruin the last portion of this leg of the Queen’s Travel Tour. I found it absolutely necessary to eat half of a Cinnabon because that’s what I do in airports. In fact, for some time I honestly believed that Cinnabon was something that only existed in airports. Some sort of sweet reward for weary travelers who make their way through endless terminals dragging bags and dodging airline carts (you know what I mean here...Those obnoxious glorified golf carts that carry disabled -- or whomever else qualifies to ride -- passengers from one place to another in an airport with no regard for those who have to walk from one gate to another) only to miss their flights and be able to only be comforted by some terribly bad for you gooey goodness that comes from Cinnabon...Apparently there are Cinnabon locations outside of airports, but I refuse to patronize those places...I firmly believe that Cinnabon should be the right and reward for the weary -- or nervous, or excited, or bereaved, or any other --traveler...

Upon arriving in Boston, I collected my one bag -- I am having my other huge suitcase shipped home via FedEx from the Grimmett’s house (thank you Jessie & Jason, not only did you take great care of my comfort while I invaded your household, but now you are also taking care of my luggage...You’re the BEST)... -- And I headed for the Limo pick up area...No, I was not actually being picked up by a Limo...I’m over-indulgent, but that seemed a bit over the top even for me... but I did decide not to catch the bus to the North Station, the commuter train to Concord and then a cab to my Inn. I made this decision because 1) i’ve mentioned the negative connotations I associate with the word COMMUTER and 2) because of an adjusted holiday schedule taking the bus/train/taxi option would have made me arrive well after 4 pm at my Inn when I had landed in Boston at 1:25...So, I hired a car service, which turned out to be a mini-van with a large man with a mullet for a driver. He did have that unmistakable Boston brogue and was nice enough to point out Cambridge, Harvard and a few other points of interest on the drive to Concord.

When we arrived at the Hawthorne Inn, I viewed a lovely pink, mauve, and grey-ish teal green home that likely dates back to the 1800s where I would be spending the next couple of days. The innkeepers were on ladders outside painting the trim of the house, but promptly came in, showed me to my room and then ushered me to the parlor where he asked me about what I wanted to see and basically just chatted for a few minutes. He then showed me a map of Concord and said that it might be possible for me to catch a couple of sites before they closed for the day.

I set off, camera in hand, toward the center of Concord. On the way, the first site I would pass was the Wayside Inn. The former home of the Alcott family that was then purchased by Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Wayside was closed for the holiday, but I did get a few pictures of the outside of this historic residence.

The next place I encountered is known as the Orchard House. The former home and current museum is the actual home in which Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women. The Concord School of Philosophy, which was built by her father, Amos Bronson Alcott has also been moved from just up the street to this place as well. I entered the Orchard House and purchased my ticket for the tour, which was to begin in 15 minutes with the viewing of a video about the Alcotts in the Concord School of Philosophy. I wandered through the gift shop wanting to purchase everything, but settling for just a lapel pin (I’ve decided to buy one at each place I visit and attach them to the inside of my luggage -- or possibly post them on a bulletin board -- to keep a record of my travels from this point on) and I bought a magnet with a quote by Alcott for Blair, my hair stylist. That probably seems random and strange, but Blair is a sweetheart AND she is also named after Louisa May Alcott, her middle name is Louisa and the quote is about beautification...so, it really seemed appropriate.

The tour began and the video was very informative. I suppose as an educator -- or a former educator on sabbatical -- I found the information about Louisa’s father, Amos Bronson Alcott, and his philosophy on student-centered learning and the Socratic method -- unheard of and not incredibly embraced in his time -- to be some of the most interesting information. I also very much enjoyed the information about the similarities and differences in the Alcott sisters and the characters they inspired in Little Women.

As with many museums, photography is not allowed inside the Orchard House. However, there are many treasures there to view. The drawings that May Alcott did as she grew up in the house grace the walls, windowpanes, closets and even the bread board in the kitchen. Louisa was not the only incredibly talented Alcott sister. May’s drawings and paintings are beautiful and somehow the fact that many --but certainly not all -- of them are drawn on the walls of her bedroom and the other rooms throughout the house adds to their beauty and the sincerity of the expressions of self that she was creating.

In Louisa May Alcott’s bedroom I saw the desk where she sat for at times up to 14 hours a day for about 7 weeks and wrote Little Women. For some seeing this probably wouldn’t be a monumental event, but I found it inspiring and breathtaking.

The study housed photographs of family members as well as pictures of Thoreau, Emerson, John Brown, Hawthorne and others. These men and their children and friends sat in those very rooms and conversed with one another as contemporaries and friends. It was awe-inspiring and made me wonder what they spoke of and how amazing it would have been to be present on those evenings of fellowship amongst such literary and historical greats.

It also made me miss my friends a bit. Although I doubt that there will ever be a room that people tour where it is said that ‘Ms. Howle and her contemporaries sat her and discussed the matters of the day and their philosophies of life while sharing drinks and laughter...,’ It made me certain that my time with my friends is as valuable to me as I am sure theirs was to them.

As I left the Orchard House somewhat reluctantly I walked toward the Concord Museum and the Emerson House. Unfortunately, the Emerson House was not open and is apparently only open on weekends. But I took some pictures and headed to the Concord Museum. I arrived only 15 minutes before the museum was to close so I talked to the woman there and she suggested that I return tomorrow.

Not yet ready to return to the Inn and starting to feel a bit hungry since I hadn’t eaten since I had my traveler’s treat at the Cleveland airport, I decided to walk the 1/2 mile or so up to Main Street and get some dinner. As I walked in to Concord, I was struck by the beauty of many of the homes I passed, many dating back to the 1800s. I took photos of many of them. I was also struck by the large number of people who drive convertibles...Of course, at 67 degrees and sunny, today was a beautiful day to take a drive through a beautiful part of New England in a convertible.

I walked in to Concord pausing to take a picture of the gorgeous Anglican Church and headed down Main. There are a number of very interesting shops and bookstores along the street, but many were closed or closing as it was nearing 6 pm. I may wander back down there tomorrow and do a bit of shopping after I visit Walden Pond. I saw a great number of gorgeous jackets in the windows. I am certain their selection of jackets is much better here considering they have a need for them for much more of the year than we do in wonderful West Texas. So, although my bag is packed pretty tight, I may just have to purchase one.

I turned on to Walden Street and weighed my dinner options. I thought about the Main Street Cafe, the Cheese Shoppe, or a little Italian place in the alley, but decided on Walden Grille & Bar.

It was a great place to eat and relax -- well, great except for this obnoxious chinless fellow at the bar, who was clearly trying to pick up the bartender, who does stand up comedy when she’s not bartending or breeding dogs...(Ok, I’m an avid overlistener and I picked up all of this without ever speaking to any of these people.) The thing that made this particular New Englander annoying is that he and his group of 3 companions were having a discussion for some reason about laws regarding marrying your first cousin -- it is legal by the way, to marry your first cousin in about 35 states...including Massachusetts. He said no fewer than 7 times how he was sure it was mostly legal and practiced in the South. He even specifically made reference to the great state of Texas in his slurs. I am pretty sure it is illegal to marry your first cousin in Texas...and I do NOT know ANYONE who has...I was appalled by his behavior, but being an out-of-towner and a bit unsure of how to show him the error of his ways without giving him a good old-fashioned Texas-style ass-whooping (or at least a talking to,) I opted to say nothing. 1) The whooping would likely have proved his point about the lack of civilized manners he thinks Texans and all Southerners have and 2) I was really enjoying my Concord Cooler AND decided that I would not engage in a battle of wits with a man who was clearly unarmed...

So, I enjoyed my drink, my dinner of Turkey BLT and mixed greens and indulged in creme brulee...As a reward for my constraint in dealing with what I just cannot refer to as that Northern ‘gentleman.’

I walked back to the Inn enjoying the excellent weather and the ringing of the bells in the tower of the Anglican Church, put on my pjs and hoodie, and sought out the innkeeper for advice about a place where I might sit and write. He pointed me to a lovely gazebo and after I played catch with the resident big black dog for a few minutes, I settled in to write this blog.

The gazebo has mosquito netting around it and is furnished with numerous chairs and a lovely tableclothed table complete with several candles.

I settled in to reflect, to listen to the gurgling water from the fountain nearby and to write. I was feeling very relaxed and very sure that despite the one unpleasant encounter that Concord is indeed a lovely place. About that time, a big grey cat strolled in to the gazebo -- and although I’m not usually a huge fan of cats his purring won me over -- and the innkeeper descended the steps of the Inn with a wine glass in hand. He offered me the white wine, which is by the way delicious, and left me to my thinking and my writing...Thinking mostly that this was a truly splendid moment and Concord is indeed a lovely, lovely place...

Although it’s quite early by my normal standards (just after 9 pm,) I’m going to wrap this up for now, head in to the Inn, upload some pics, and take a long relaxing shower before I climb into my four poster canopy bed with the lovely lace canopy and drift off to dream about the interesting adventures in store for me tomorrow in the lovely, lovely town of Concord and the tranquil surroundings of Walden Pond.

And tomorrow, as Thoreau said, I will “go in the direction of [my] dreams...and live the life I’ve imagined.”