You Talkin' To Me?

Don't worry, I'm not losing my affinity or affection for the east coast but I was recently struck with two examples of where maybe, just maybe, Boston could learn a thing or two about openness and magnanimity from its west coast cousin. Yesterday, Jack and I were strolling to get coffee (I won't even mention the superiority of Seattle's finest blends as an example because even though the coffee is outstanding, you know what it doesn't have?? Dunkin' Donuts. And I'm sorry, there is just no replacement for DD some days) before we picked Molly up from school and we spied a guy in a digger sitting and having lunch in the cab. Jack started making all sorts of monkey sounds to get near the machine but I didn't want to disturb the guy's break. We milled around from a little distance until he smiled at Jack (who was enthralled with the tires) and I called over that I had a little boy who is a fan of big machines so were just looking for a minute. The guy smiled so nicely, said "me too" and told us that we could look all around it and he'd answer any questions (I had some but I think he meant he'd answer Jack's questions). In Boston, I think they worker would have dropped some F-bombs and thrown his Kelly's roast beef at us as we dodged traffic to get out of the way so this was a pleasant surprise.

Secondly, last night we had a block party. I was totally wary of this, I have to admit. A potluck with neighbors, many of which I've never met? Um, no, not really my speed, especially when my wing man is out of town. But, I bucked up and went and it was actually fun. It was so old fashioned friendly and people introduced themselves and just chatted the evening away while kids were inviting each other for sleepovers (okay, just Molly was inviting everyone over for sleepovers which I didn't know about until a little girl came over to her mom, with whom I was talking, and asked if she could sleep over at our house).  Again, I'm not sure I can envision my Fenway neighbors and I pulling out tables and chairs to the middle of the street and bringing coconut chicken and salads out on a summer evening.

I'll always be a New Englander at heart, but perhaps old dogs can learn new tricks... and I can learn not to assume that Jack's not going to get a Fribble thrown at him every time he obsesses about heavy machinery.

Nothing to do with anything pictures...