In the past four days, I have been sick with a strangely unidentified illness (but am now over that!), have travelled to a cutesy little town up north, have worked on my essay, and have enjoyed the unseasonably warm weather than Boston has had.
My mail count this week is--
- sent one to Australia (A.)
I haven't received any other mail this week, which is a bummer, but I'll be checking my mail box this arvo and I hope that changes the situation!
On a traveling note myself, yesterday I ventured to the beachy town of Rockport, MA. where I enjoyed some deep-friend clams, the warm sea-breeze, and a lot of holistic storefronts. Let's just say that Rockport had a whole lot of stuff going on in a small amount of space.
The cobblestoned streets narrowly separated storefronts and left the shuttered houses looking like they were straight out of 1892. Historically appealing, to say the least, but not wholly my cup of tea. For lunch, we dined at Red Skiff Seafood & Grille where my palette was pleasantly attacked by an influx of deep-fried delicacies -- clams, prawns, chicken strips, and onion rings.
We then ventured down to the pier where Motif 1 sat isolated, reminding me of a fishy, red Alcatraz. Surrounded by empty lobster crates, it was cute. (And remains a town gem.) At low tide, the stone walls of the pier were stained with colour, and the dirty, dark blue/green weeds sat prominently for all to see. The bottom on the various fishing boats and cruisers flirted with the sandy ocean floor, and a lone seagull squawked and circled, squawked and circled, squawked and circled.
The locals were goodnatured for the most part, some a little hard of hearing, which is only to be expected when they have the wonderful opportunity of spending every afternoon mesmorised by the loud crashing of waves into rockwalls at the port.
The man behind the counter at The Icecream Store, on Bearskin Neck, was pleasant enough, informing us of the Bostonian family that makes their icecream, and has done so for 100-plus years, as he filled up a waffle cone with "wild black raspberry" icecream.
Paired with a walk back to the car in the 89 degree weather, that icecream was nothing but delicious.
But now, we're back in Boston, and I'm stuck working on my 14-page essay on the American playwright, Edward Albee. Interesting guy. Seems to be a big fan of sex and destuctive marriages. It's real fun to analyse.
But as they say -- it's gotta help me somehow.
My aim is to finish this paper (for the most part) before three pm, so that I can spend the rest of the arvo writing letters. We'll see.
Ms. Always Traveling
P.S. Photos later!