The North End

I had a late afternoon meeting just outside of Boston’s North End.

Walking proved the best way to arrive on time, plus it was beautiful out – and I still find it thrilling.

Growing up in rural New Hampshire trips to the North End were an annual treat – filled with actual treats.  Cannoli, cookies, fresh made lemon slush, house cured sausage and still warm bread.

My sister’s stroller would get caught up in the cobblestones, and I’d marvel how my Mom still always seemed to fit in.  Striking up conversations with every shop keeper like she was a regular.  Like she belonged – because, in fact, she did.

And this afternoon, as I treated myself to the most delicious ice coffee for the walk back to the office,  I caught a glimpse of myself at the counter – looking wonderfully like my Mom.

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