In so many ways I understand the poor Inman fellow in Back Bay who killed himself after Storrow Drive went up between the back of his house and the Esplanade. He couldn’t take the noise, in the end. A., who insists on being more stoic about it, but who also doesn’t have to live here nor have his bedroom facing out to E.-St., did note that he doesn’t experience anywhere near this kind of noise level in Berlin. First, while the city does have thoroughfares, they’re not all over the place, and it’s likelier you’re off on some quieter street; and also, the streets are in much better shape so there’s less “ka-thunking” over potholes. Second, you don’t get the constant suburban cacophony of yard work implements (weed whackers, blowers, mowers, etc.). I don’t know… North America is weird.
Yesterday afternoon A. and I walked down the (quiet!) lane that leads to B.-Beach. The tide was high, we stayed off the beach, which was very busy. As we walked down the lane, I mentioned that I was curious to see how the new house was progressing: some family is living in a trailer while their new and rather large beachfront house gets built. Construction has been underway for at least a year; A. thought it was two, but I don’t think they’ve spent two winters in the trailer. Maybe they have. Anyway, as we approached it and studied its progress, A. complained about the confusing and befuddling asymmetry of the entry – or, entries: it’s actually really hard to tell where or which one the main entry door is supposed to be. He said that Edith Wharton would have had fits about this house. How I love this kid! Talk about being able to reference a universe in casual conversation…
I’ll miss his company when he’s off to Berlin again soon.