The best years of my life.  A city where I had yearned to live in since my first year in the US.  My parents took us to Boston and surrounding areas.  And yes, Harvard to inspire me to attend one day (not a snowballs’s chance).  After several near misses (for law school and post-law school employment), I finally get the opportunity to live there due to a doctoral program.  By the grace of God, a last minute snag gets resolved and off I go.

Driving up the New Jersey Turnpike in an oversized truck with baby turtles (the surviving one is now 17) on the hood, narrowly avoiding overloading a small bridge, crashing the gate of the dropoff point.  Moving into an apartment on top of a Greek pizza shop.  Riding the T for the first time as a resident, crossing the Longfellow Bridge over the Charles.  Walking the Freedom Trail every time family and friends visited.

Those falls where the leaves were so beautiful that I thought my heart would break every time I saw them.

The brutal winters where I learned to never complain about the Maryland ones ever again.

And Fenway.  The first time entering the holy sanctuary.

Magical.  Just magical.

A period of my life where there was great hope and possibility.  Learned, read, taught, lived in Europe, met amazing mentors, Red Sox Nation, Patriots Way, Celtics Ubuntu, etc.  Every Boston team won a championship during my eight years there.  Close to mountains, beaches, forests.  A big small town where the girl was born.

Love that dirty water.

Home.