Lost, again.

I lived in Boston for seven years and spent six of them driving around lost. For the better part of that gas-guzzling period, I searched for street signs that weren’t obscured by an intrusive branch or obscenely large leaf and groused about ending up at Logan airport on my way to a movie.

Admittedly, I am a self-diagnosed directions dyslexic. However, I suspect I wasn’t the only one hopelessly trying to navigate my way through Boston’s web of one-way streets, all seemingly heading in the same direction. While I have a remarkable ability to get lost almost anywhere, Boston poses challenges even for those gifted souls endowed with an internal GPS system. Ask anyone that has spent time driving around Boston. I’m confident that I’m not the only one who has wondered how they ended up in Medford on their way to Cambridge, or more importantly, why they can’t seem to find their way out of Medford. (After unexpectedly driving around Medford for several hours last year, I became rather fond of the city and decided I could be happy living there, assuming I never did find my way out.)

After I left Boston, I moved to Martha’s Vineyard, which is an island. It’s difficult to get lost on an island, even for me, which means that I have more time available to do other things. The problem, I’ve discovered, is that on Martha’s Vineyard there isn’t a lot to do in February. Lest you forget this reality of living in a tourist destination during the off-season, just go to town and the signs readily remind you.




Yes, even the restroom is closed.

It seems like a good time to start a blog.

The internet is open.