Boston Marathon

Not a real marathon, but a long day. I had promised myself that if I did have some free time I’d meet up with Keith Shaw, one of my oldest (as in long term) Taig lathe customers as well as my boss. In the middle of the last decade he innocently asked me if I was interested in doing some 3D modeling for a Braille Display project he was working on for Tactile Display Corporation. Many years of fun were had working on a variety of designs. So plans were made to meet up for a quick lunch.

I love this sign on the way to the trolley stop in Milton.

Here comes the trolley.

My sister considered the prospect amusing so she chaperoned me. We met Keith outside of Central station. Wandering around the high tech buildings, I was entranced by this display in the Broad Institute..

I decided my that my dislike of Gehry is probably unwarranted.

Worried for an instant that my sister was going to check me in.

This is where they make the Tootsie Rolls.

Not an inspiring place to work, we could make out employees in the break room.

After a bit of hunting we found a $7.95 all you can eat Indian buffet, Shalimar of India. It was head and shoulders above our local Indian restaurant’s buffet, which is pretty sad.

Keith enjoyed the meal.

After lunch Keith decided that it would be fun to trespass visit the Francis Bitter Magnet Lab, where he had worked for many years as a young PhD. He led us through the warrens of graduate students until he finally tracked down someone who both remembered him and would allow us entry to see the NMR Spectroscopes.  Impressively anonymous machinery.

One of the control cabinets was open and they were ventilating it with a large household box fan.

I started to walk towards the machine and was told to stop where the tile changes colour. At the border I was being exposed to 5 Gauss. It felt enervating, although likely that was a psychological effect as it isn’t that large of a force. There were pacemaker warnings all over the building though.

The red nozzle is where the Helium vents when something goes wrong.

Etched plates…

The original plan was to stop at that point but the day was warm and beautifully sunny, so we embarked on a long hike that my sister only ended when the International Red Cross got involved. Something about the Geneva Convention on the Treatment of Brothers or somesuch nonsense.

Crossing the Charles.

That bridge is new to me.

Me & my baby sister. She’s smiling because of the pain she’s planning on meting out.

Keith and I. I guess the belly does say that I need to take a long walk.

The Hancock with moon above.

That’s some science fiction scenery.

Boston is charming.

Hey look, Betsy is on the phone…

A crane.

Park Street Church. For those following at home, we’ve already walked from Mass Ave. in Cambridge to Boylston St. and along it to the Boston Common.

The giant kettle.

The Holocaust memorial with the Oyster House in the background. I’m not sure about the symbolism.

Wrong. It’s Boston Garden. You can’t sell my childhood memories that easily.

Betsy in front of the Bobby Orr statue.

My Dad had to miss the game, even though he had tickets, as Betsy was born that day.

We saw Keith off at North Station and got on the T to visit Jackie and Mike again. My feet were tired even though the total distance of the walk was only about 4 miles. Possibly it had to do with the new pair of shoes I had purchased for the trip, the large Indian buffet or my general lack of fitness.
Next post will be the trip back West...

Random Pictures Out East

I arrived from South Station by taxi. The driver was a friendly Egyptian Chemistry student who told me all about his plans to return to Egypt and work in the oil industry around the Red sea. Things at home were a bit frantic at points, and obviously sad. But the following pictures will show my home town of Milton, some of Boston and family and the final trip out to Williamstown for the burial.

Holy Trinity Orthodox Cathedral. My dad converted to the Orthodox Church of America in his 50’s. There were two services there, one Friday night and one Saturday noon. I can’t really do justice describing the “panikhida”, but it was intense and beautiful as well as brutally honest and of a marathon nature.

After the Saturday service most of the extended Carter family met up at my cousin Tamara’s house in Cambridge. She and her husband Philippe were excellent hosts. Above I pose with my cousins Chris and Peter. It’s been a long time since we were together. I’m wearing a St. Mark’s school tie in memory of my dad. The service featured the St. Mark’s hymn in accordance with his will, he worked for many years on the board of the school. Peter, Chris and I all attended, as did Michael below and many other Carters throughout the years. Preppies.

My dad’s brother Michael and his sister Alice.

Tamara, Liza and Betsy.

I think I’m trying to scare a small child.

After the gathering Betsy and Ken and I went back to her childhood friend Jackie’s house in Boston. That’s Jackie’s excellent husband Mike looking at their new dog. That’s one sweet dog.

Jackie has mostly forgiven me for shooting her with a pellet gun when we were teenagers.

Betsy’s friend Lyca came down from Canada to support her. Notice the comfortable furniture. I haven’t had such an enjoyable and relaxing evening, in the sense that I had zero responsibility for children, in a long while.

Ken, Betsy and Jackie. Ken is a great brother in law.

Lower Mills, Milton. The Baker chocolate factory has been converted to condominiums.

Hutchinson’s field.

Looking down the Neponset.

Taking a picture of Ken taking a picture of the marshes.

Our old family cat’s gravestone.

On the way to Williamstown for the burial.

Betsy eating an orange in the limo.

Berkshires.

The rectory. Notice the horrible modern addition attached to the back.

It’s owned by Williams College now.

My Great Grandfather John Franklin Carter, 2nd rector of St. John’s church,  brought up his family of seven children in the rectory, later it was divided into apartments and my grandmother lived there until her death. It was always home port for his numerous offspring, my dad grew up for much of of his childhood there, and was able to attend Williams college because of his residency in the town.
For those who have a passing interest in turn of the century Williamstown I heartily recommend my Great Uncle John Franklin Carter, Jr.’s book “The Rectory Family”. I spoke with the current rector, Rev. Peter Elvin and he confirmed that it is still required reading for all rectors of the church!

The rear rose window and panels of are dedicated to my Great Grandmother Alice Carter’s memory.

The front panel is dedicated to my Great Grandfather.

Always nice to see your name in lights.

The rose window.

The church.

This is what passes for a main drag. I started to understand why my dad left for the bright lights of Boston.

Betsy on her phone.

Again, on her phone.

The lobby of the Williams Inn.

Remember this old style of room key?

It really was a confluence of vintage and tacky…

The morning of the burial I had breakfast by myself in the dining room.

Civilized.

Real maple syrup and Cabot butter.

It snowed a couple of inches in the night. So I walked around and took some more pictures.

Everything looks better in the snow.

Except a parking lot butted up against a church.

The burial service was held at the family plot in Westlawn cemetery, just down the block. Afterwards I walked back to the inn with my sister and cousin Deb. It was picturesque.

Ron picked us up in his limo for the ride back to Milton. He drove my dad a lot after he stopped being able to drive himself. A great guy and good driver.
More pictures to come of the next day’s walk around Cambridge and Boston…