Christmas, Finally

The week before I left for Boston was difficult for me.  Four weeks into a new job that was proving to be the most challenging I've ever had.  Live news, daily.  Working under a stressed-out, in-over-his-head senior producer (probably the same age as me, horrifyingly enough) who opts for public, after-the-fact criticism instead of instruction beforehand.  No matter what I do, I lose.  I am forced to defend myself in front of my coworkers and then I appear defensive.  I forfeit and I look guilty.  In four weeks I'd been so beaten down I began to avoid looking in the mirror wherever possible.  

And the news itself doesn't help.  Layoffs.  Disappearing retirement funds.  The big three.  Bailouts.  Proposition 8 protests.  A worker dies in black Friday madness.  One hundred and eighty something dead in Mumbai.  Cholera in Zimbabwe.     

And every night I leave work and walk past Radio City Music Hall to get to the bus I take home.  And every night I walk past multi-generational tourist families and holiday music blasting from the sidewalk speakers that hang from the marquee advertising for the Rockettes.

And every night I walk past a store and see huge "40% off" signs and I see people at the register discussing complicated coupons, trying to figure out how much more they need to spend before they can qualify for the deal.

And every night I walk past empty restaurants with bored-but-nervous waiters and "retail space available" signs over brown-papered windows.  

And Gray's Papaya now has a "recession special."      

Two nights before I left for Boston, I almost died while trying to make it to the bus to leave work.  Almost crushed to death by the throngs of people pushing to see the NBC tree-lighting ceremony.  I can't remember the last time I'd seen such acts of stupidity.

I'd had a really bad day at work.  And when the crowds started pressing me farther and farther from my bus stop and I had no control over anything, I just burst into tears and decided to walk home.  

I stopped at a Chinese takeout place on my way-- garland and tinsel and big metallic snowflakes hung around the restaurant.  And classic Christmas tunes played to an almost non-existent audience.  Just me.  Waiting for my chicken black bean.  Few things sadder than a Chinese restaurant during the holidays.  Well, except a girl with mascara tear tracks staining her cheeks, waiting for her number 81 special, all alone in a Chinese restaurant during the holidays.

But two days later I found myself in Boston.  Old, beautiful Boston.  Wide streets, lined with lighted trees and polite people who would say sorry or excuse themselves if they cut you off too close.  Quincy market-- full of trinkets and chocolate covered pretzels that are always there- not just during the holidays.  People eating fried foods at the Celtics game.  People spilling onto Hanover Street and into the Italian restaurants.  No one needs an excuse to indulge, or an annual festivity to drink to.  Music and history in the streets.  Cobblestones.  Gold eagles and old clocks... New York City is mostly black and gray. Boston is brick red.  There's rolling mountains behind the cityscape.  I did absolutely nothing all day and was fully entertained.  

When I woke up in my hotel room on my last day in Boston, snow covered the treetops. Everything in the entire city seemed still.  

Merry Christmas.