Sylvia's Journal

Ha, this zero mailbox thing is working, everything under control so far as I do periodic sweeps through my Outlook and process each email – yes, the magic word is process: delete, reply, forward (and delete or task) and file. I felt on top of my (empty) inbox world till about 4 PM when I joined the rush hour traffic and inched my way over the Tobin Bridge squeezed into the few open lanes. Somewhere along the way Axel and I crossed paths, he on his way to class, but I don’t know where. Back home the dog was anxiously waiting for company, attention and exercise. I selected the ‘catch-the-frisbee’ game which gave her all three, tiring the dog without tiring me; I’d had enough exercise for the day.

I was waiting for Steve and Tessa to pull into the driveway and take over the Frisbee game but I heard the train pull in and out of Manchester station, without them. As it turned out they had hopped onto the wrong train. Tessa had been so engrossed in her book (and Steve, being from Canada, cannot distinguish Haverhill from Rockport, yet) that she did not notice the stops were not in the same places as usual. After a rude awakening in Melrose (ring, ring, Tessa where are you? Uhhh, in South Melrose, what the f…, ohh shit, more bad words) and a calculation of how long it would take to get back to North Station and then back out again to Manchester, I offered to get them. Little did I know!

It took some work to figure out where they were, a place I had never heard of (Greenwood). According to Tessa and Steve they were in the middle of nowhere, no town, no shops, no gas stations or bars. Even when I was close to Greenwood, as I later discovered, no one seemed to know the place. The Google map had given me a false sense of confidence. The route to Greenwood had looked so obvious on my computer screen that I had not bothered to print it. That turned out to be a mistake.

It took me over an hour to find them after I had driven the entire length of 129 up and down, east then west and then east again; over and under highways, retracting my steps, asking people – funny how only numbnuts and foreigners seem to be out on the streets after 8 PM – retracing my steps again. I was so disorientated by the time I found them that I would have taken 128 in the wrong direction (back to work) had I be in the driver’s seat. I asked Tessa to drive us home because my foot was hurting from so much driving. By the time we got home playtime was over and it was off to bed for us early risers.

At first I told Tessa she owed me big time for this rescue mission. She agreed and offered to cook everyone their own separate private dinner for penance. But now I realize that last night was nothing compared to the rescue mission Tessa and Sita, and their men, undertook on our behalf after our accident. I think the owing will forever be on our side; so we will continue to cook the dinners.