A long way from home

I grew up in New England.

The summers, especially the "Dog Days of August" were sultry; the fall was crisp and delicious, and then the "frost was on the pumpkin" and the rains came and then the howling "Nor' Easter" storms that closed all schools, we heard the good news on the radio in the morning. Serious businessmen like my father trekked through the drifts to work anyway, never missed a day.

Boston as always thought the best of itself and everyone said that the vigorating seasons were what made people alert and industrious, compared, for example, to Mexico, where everyone slept away the day, and Havana, God knows what they did down there. But then you'd think about that, whatever they did do down there, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, the warm wind on the Malecon and the bar lights twinkling and one night when I finally went there to see what was going on I went into one the bars and there was a juke box playing Nat King Cole and a couple of girls sitting at the bar and...well that's another story. The funny thing is, my father, the serious busibnessman, once had a Cuban girlfriend. But this was the tropics, people ran away to places like that, it was hot and sticky and sweating far into the night, the weather just did things to you. Made you irresponsible.

But getting back to Boston, as soon as the days that my mother called the "dog days of August" were over, bright and sparkling September came along and I walked to school kicking the yellow and orange maple leaves. I loved that weather, the smell of those leaves burning in the fall. Halloween was just around the corner, and then soon enough the "frost would be on the pumpkin."

But all of that was half century ago at latitude 42, and aside from my nightly film festival of dreams of those sparkling times and those Kodachrome neighborhoods, my days now, and probably all my future days, will be at a very different latitude, latitude 13. Think Djibouti, or Cape Verde, or the Marshall Islands, or who knows where in Africa.


Now I live a long way from home.

Think heat.

Think humidity.

Or think Bangkok, Thailand, where I am writing this entry, waiting for the sun to go down, then I'm going out into this traffic you see here, and do some things I'll discuss later in this blog.