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It's over! And I'm home!

December 26, 2002 ~ 9:56 p.m.

BOSTON, MA, U.S.A. � I am home. What a feeling. Mom and Dad are looking well, getting on with their lives sans son and daughter, both married, but for nine days, said son is back as if he never left. A nightdragon is in their presence again.

There is about 4 inches of snow on the ground. Apparently, from what I�ve heard, it was quite a wicked storm. Visibility reduced to about a foot, snow blowing sideways, vivid lightning � You wouldn�t think, looking around, that a major event occurred just one night before. Makes me feel sorry that I missed all the action.

In fact, I was very nervous at Heathrow airport. I was waiting on the airport to assign a gate for my flight to Boston and it was with horror that I discovered that an earlier American Airlines flight to Boston had been cancelled. I sat in the lounge trying to read, but after nearly an hour, I got back up to have a look at the board. It still read �please wait.� Just as I was about to reclaim my seat in the lounge, but with eyes still regarding the monitors, the 14:30 Boston announcement was suddenly flashing �please go to Gate 32.� I took this as a very good sign.

On the flight, I blasted my way through more than 100 pages of Tim Moore�s Frost on my Moustache, played virtual bowling and solitaire on the personal built-in video system, and ate dinner. The desert was, I assume, Christmas pudding. I have never really seen Christmas pudding before, so I can�t say for sure. It was bready, a bit custardy, had sultanas in it, and had a slightly burned, caramelized top. Underneath its hard plastic covering, it looked like blueberry crumble. I momentarily regarded it with a what-the-fuck-is-this look and dug in. Most Americans don�t eat Christmas pudding, though it certainly was popular here at one time. But now in an age when America has gone its own way, has its own culture and isn�t dependent upon anyone else�s, this traditional English feast has slid into the ranks of obscurity. Shame. It tasted pretty nice.

The lines at immigration control at Logan Airport were massive. But they were all �Blue Lines,� for non-American citizens. The pleasure it gave me to push my way through that crowd and stride easily through a nearly empty American citizens quarter is one that will last me for quite some time. Pays to be an American, you better believe it! And you would if you saw those horrid queues and then realized you didn�t have to wait there.

Saw the Bunker Hill Zakim Bridge all lit up on the drive home from the airport. I swear, if that structure doesn�t put Boston on the international map, I don�t know what else could. What a monster. A beautiful one, though. The largest cable-stayed bridge in all the world.

While eating leftovers for dinner, I heard on the news that the General Manager of the Red Sox has declared the Yankees �the Evil Empire.� Truer words were never spoken.

Got a lot of stuff to do, things and people to see, but I�ll take it at my own pace. I have a rough idea of what I want to accomplish in these nine days home, but no itinerary. This ain�t just a vacation. It�s a homecoming.

And I�m happy. I�m going to dry up (a little, not totally!) and, with this bullshit holiday season on the outs, put some much-needed perspective back into my life.

� M.E.M.

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Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.

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