AARP Member
Offline 
Background
Gender: Male
Location:
WATERTOWN, Massachusetts
United States
WATERTOWN, Massachusetts
United States
About Me
I migrated to the New England/Boston area forty years ago from NYC, The Bronx, to be honest. Married, to my good fortune a Charlestown bred girl, raised a family, established roots, became a rabid Red Sox, Celtic, Patriot fan, by God and still to this day am often identified as a New Yorker by the aberrant way I pronounce certain words. Evidence more damning than DNA. Anyways, I am trying to come to peace with this schizo-existence, so pardon my ramblings...and maybe, Enjoy. Peace JBb
-------CLICK ON " MY JOURNALS " LINK ABOVE or "ALL MY JOURNALS" LINK BELOW TO VIEW PREVIOUS ENTRIES
------LOOK FOR NEW POSTINGS EVERY FRIDAY... maybe ! ! !
Interests:
Hi Folks; turning 6-0 soon. Reached a point about ten years ago that pick-up hoops had become stale. I turned to bicycling for exercise and have been hooked since. Even on my first tours around the neighborhood, I was enthralled by what one can see from the saddle of a bike. As my trips became longer and more scenic, a camera became a necessary acessory. What a treat, and great exercise, too !My Photos (14)
My Videos (0)
This user does not have any videos.
My Journals (9)
I came to New England, much like the Pilgrim ancestors of yore, unkempt, unshaven and totally unprepared for the environment awaiting me. I encountered a language and a culture that was strange both to the ear as well as the eye. I recognized the native tongue but to this day have had difficulty in mastering the nuances. Everyday items had different nomenclature; soda is tonic, a hero is a sub, a liquor store is a packie, a car is a cah. When I first met my bride to be, I thought that she was a Brit, her accent so pronounced; but it was intriguing and in her visage, beguiling. The problem being that the locals, youths of all persuasions and temperaments mostly, did not reciprocate these feelings. This was 1970, you see, in other words pre-2004. If you do not get my drift, we are talking baseball here. Yankees vs. Red Sox. There was the culture shock. When challenged by the local toughs, who had been schooled by their fathers and grandfathers before them to hate NY’ers, I not only responded to their verbal threats but threw gasoline on the impending inferno by taunting them with the witticism; “Gee, NY’ers do not ever think about Boston, why so hostile?’ I am grateful that my children in growing up Boston did not pick up the accent of their father. Also, being a baseball fan first, it was not conceivable to me to raise them to root against the hometown team. First of all, that would have been sentencing them to a life of extreme labor and secondly, the Sox were a bunch of lovable losers who tried so hard and came so close so often, plus they played in a ballpark; a real honest to goodness park were it was a joy to watch a game. It was about 1975 when I fell. Rice, Lynn, Evans, Burleson, Fisk, Scott, Tiant, Yaz; it was painless. That was the year the Sox beat the Big Red Machine of Cincinnati in the World Series, 3 games to 4 ( Sox-think) when Carlton body englished a tenth inning homer to win it all in the Sixth Game. The seventh game didn’t count.
Of course that has all changed now. New owners spruced up the old ballyard, brought in talent and it is now the Yankees looking up at our butts and cursing. But those first thirty years were adventurous. My wife did not fair so well. For reasons too complex and threatening to elaborate, her father and three brothers were not immediately thrilled when I entered their lifes, unexpectedly, from left field. Her Mom with the patience of Job, intermediated and I was allowed to coexist with them. Thirty-seven years later, my sentence has been commuted but according to my father-in-law, I am still on probation. It did not take long for my dear wife to feel the effects of one who had Grown Up Bronx. One year after marrying, when ordering a hot beverage at the local Dunkin’ Donuts, she was taunted by the counter person for requesting a large “cawfee.” “No”, she had to demur, “I am not from NY; my husband is”. Must be viral and contagious. Her beautiful mellifluous intonations gone forever, swept under by the pounding surge of onrushing Bronx verbiage.
You see when you Grow Up Bronx one of the first things that you learn is to banter, the ol’ give and take, the curbside hucksterism of language that is impolitely know as “breaking balls”. It is done with tongue planted firmly in cheek; when it is not you are subject to retaliation of the physical sort and it is done mostly to assess the personality and patience of the victim. Just another way of passing time on the block. Well, in New England it was different. What you said counted and mostly you keep your yap shut; but strangely enough through those first early years, I experienced isolated enclaves of this city-wise attitude. Boston is a small city with many highly differentiated neighborhoods. The downtown itself is classic and waterfront orientated with much green space and easy accessibility to what in my view are the suburbs; the distance from Fourteenth St. to the Battery in NYC being the length and breadth of the metropolis. Except for businesses and some high-end socio-economic types not much of the population lives in the city. But surrounding Boston are towns, some actually politically connected to the city and some municipalities in themselves where there are working people living, concrete, playgrounds and grocery stores; the stuff of city life, and there you find it. The wiseguy, the attitude, the walk and the talk. My most nearest and dearest connection to this is with Leodalug, self-named (see what I mean) avatar of Growing Up Somerville. Whenever I am homesick and in need of a cold reality slap, leave it to the Dalug. No pity or mercy from him, a good “breaking” will snap you out of it better than a visit to your HMO and it costs nothing. Somerville is a town nearby Boston, not on a par with Cambridge, nor quite Medford. It has been my contention over the years in my discussions with Leo on the relative merits of growing up Somerville that the Commonwealth could save time, money and the middleman by just erecting walls and watchtowers around its perimeter. Our friendship and my life has survived all these years in spite of my viperous tongue, proof enough for me that street life exists outside the Bronx.
My work and travels having taken me all over New England these forty years and everywhere I roam I encounter it. If you wonder where did Brooklyn go with its’ dese, dems and dose check out Warwick, RI. Cheesecake and blintzes; look around Worcester, Ma. Jones Beach and Coney Island; go north to Hampton Beach, NH.
The question being; why do I find this so comforting? Maybe, I need to travel more. No, I think that perhaps it is reassuring to know that you are not alone. That there is a thread connecting everyone and that you are never that far from home. I know that we are all constituted primarily of water and that most people sense this connection to the sea, but the firm footing of the pavement beneath you stabilizes us and allows one to gaze steadily skyward and beyond, allowing us to ponder the wonder of it all…or something!
Added: May 10, 2008
Views: 22 | Comments: 0 | Bookmarks: 0
Views: 22 | Comments: 0 | Bookmarks: 0
This user has not added any friends yet.
