Archive for the ‘Pittsfield MA’ Category

Pittsfield, MA

Sunday, March 22nd, 2009

Sunday March 15, 2009 /
Leaving Pittsfield, MA

llpoh_pittsfield_cocacola

“There’s always gonna be another mountain
I’m always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Sometimes you’re gonna have to lose
Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what’s waitin on the other side
It’s the climb”

Miley Cyrus

Jake’s Variety Rte 20 East

I wait patiently in line to pay for a Diet Coke while the cashier waits on another customer ahead of me who is obviously a local.

“Hey, sweet cheeks”” Hey, honey bear” How’s it hanging? This exchange goes on in every variety store in every small town in America every day, all day. Good hearted blonde ‘gals’ working the counter selling bad St. Patrick’s day cards, Antacid tablets, local papers and beer to hard working blue collar guys with scruffy beards wearing drab flannel shirts.

I am on my way out of Pittsfield, MA headed North on local 7 into Vermont. The trip across America begins here. I realize that totally by accident I am driving by the site of the worst moment of my life which happened almost 20 years ago to the day. I gasp when I see where I am and then ‘get’ intuitively inside that it’s over. Done. And it is now time to move on. I am literally driving past ‘the scene of the crime.’

We were assigned a bereavement counselor when my dad passed in July. Joyce would say to me that ‘hey that part of your life that included your father is over. It’s time for you to close that book and start on the new ‘book of Lynn’. Driving up Route 7 North through Lanesboro and beyond I could finally leave it all on the field and start anew. I can start looking forward instead of in my rear view mirror.

llpoh_pittsfield_stripedbug

Later on I cross into Southern Vermont picking up Route 9 East cutting through Wilmington and Brattleboro. I notice that everything is closed. Granted, it’s not peak fall foliage season in October when you cannot get a room, but today at 10:30 a.m. with country music blaring from my car radio (it’s always country here in Southern New England) every single parking lot of every single motel hotel restaurant is empty. Big, sad, faded wood Vacancy signs swing creaking in the wind.

The service was bad. Every restaurant is short staffed and the staff that is on is overworked and underpaid. Three meals in a row I encounter cranky waitresses that throw the food down on the table and never come back to refill my coffee cup.

The day grows 300 miles long and I am tired when I finally enter into New Hampshire; Dublin, Peterborough, Milton and ending back up where I started from on Friday in Manchester, N.H.

The only people that were happy and good were those convenience store workers.