Transitions

Miren and Lise created a scavenger hunt for Rem in the Navy Yard today. They drew pictures that he had to find, taking him from the flagpole in front of our home to the scale house and beyond. He found everything easily, too easily, but the rest of us were glad in a way, because the periodic drops we felt when we first stepped out began to fall more steadily. Instead of playing at the playground, the hunt's finale, we ran home in the rain. Rem lamented the weather's intrusion on his park and his afternoon plans.

Our new home has infused in Rem a possessiveness beyond the usual toys and books. He is all about ownership here. The stretch of carefully manicured grass that runs between the row houses and the stone boundary wall, now hidden beneath the thick, lush green of Boston ivy indulging in the June warmth belongs solely to Rem. He scowls at the occasional passersby, namely a guy who bikes to his office next door and parks in one of the private courtyards just beyond the grass. Rem reacts in a friendlier manner to our young neighbor on the other side who often joins his sisters around the swing set in the evenings.

"Oh, are you coming to my park?" he asks enthusiastically, happy for the company and the certainty that he will have access to the house when he has finished playing. (He has not mastered the gate to our courtyard or the back door.)

Old Ironsides is Rem's ship. (He calls it "my ship".) He spots it from everywhere in the city and his voice exudes a genuine exuberance as we cross the Charles River or wind around the bend on the ferry and the tall masts appear, unique among the other watercraft that fill the harbor. Once, on the guided tour, he postured in indulgent condescension as the features of his ship were explained to the rest of us. He's been on deck as a pirate, surveying the rows of guns (as well as venturing around the yard wielding a hook and a foam sword at the swarms of tourists).

Lise and Tam walk the yard with growing familiarity and some of the park personnel that Lise meets on these meanderings greet her on our walks around Charlestown and in the city. Her pace slows along the numbered piers as she searches the water for jellyfish and more exciting finds. Sailboats and the ever present ducks dot the water nearby. Tam chases squirrels near the Korean War memorial despite the short length of her leash and she may soon find success as Miren has recently learned that though brazen, these fat, city squirrels possess neither speed nor agility.

Miren spends long, lazy, summer mornings in her attic room, waking slowly, even after the quick jolt of the 8 AM guns firing from the USS Constitution. Motivated by the potential shopping diversions along the way, Miren eagerly agrees to the various tourist outings I suggest. Riding along the T or walking the crowded sidewalks of Boston, Miren spots bags from many of the stores and shops where she's determined to amass large quantities of her time. As if playing an I-spy game with herself, she calls out the names victoriously as she eyes with envy the various shaped and colored bags that I can't even pick out from the crowd.

We venture out together, the girls laughing as they learn to balance on the crowded T as it winds its way under the city, Rem staring out of the window into the darkness. I am struck by the beauty of the city, the amount of green spaces, the multitude of celebrated Bostonians in bronze everywhere. The kids know the streets of Charlestown better than I as we explore closer to home. Lise directs us through the maze of streets toward our destination or back home and Miren can get us to her new favorite ice cream place from any direction. Rem points out his barber (from an outing with his Pepere), his church and his Bunker Hill Monument.

Craig and I marvel at the ease with which the family adapted to our new home: the sea breezes and city noise, the quirkiness of a 19th century home, the Bruins...

We walked the perimeter of Deer Island the other evening and along the beaches of Winthrop under a stream of planes taking off from Logan behind us. Rem squealed with delight as the water rose and fell along the beach and the girls collected shells, happy, all of them, in the place where they were, in that space of time. A moment at once unique and yet like so many other moments strung together that comprise our own small relevant history.

Pictures 1 and 2 are in the public garden; Picture 3 is one of the views from the Skywalk at the top of the Prudential Center; Pictures 4 and 5 were taken on Deer Island