This Morning in Salem

These are just a few of the things I observed early this morning in Salem, not necessarily in this order.

Me running.
Empty nip bottles.
Lost signs for a kitty.
Dogs walking owners.
A Brazil flag flying at half-mast.
A Red Sox flag flying at half-mast.
Seagulls emptying out full trash cans.
The sun rising a little later than the day before.
Dueling exercise groups on the Salem Common.
A zig-zaggedy squirrel taking forever to cross the street.
Clusters of leaves and branches, evidence of this week’s wild storms.
Customized license plates revealing the personalities of mystery owners.
Commuters funneling out of side streets around town into the train station.
The Salem Public Library, making me nostalgic for the many years I visited daily.
Bittersweet so aggressive I feared moving too slow or it would ensnare me.
A beautiful peachy purple sunrise that made it worth getting up this early.
The soft, rhythmic sound of kayak oars cutting through the still water.
Like minded fitness folks running around this great little City.
My nana’s house on Collins Cove Beach, still unchanged.
Preparations for the Seafood Festival down the Willows.
Two cardinals diving, dipping and dancing in the air.
A rooster walking up someone’s front stairs (?).
Lots of spitting (oops, sorry, that was me).
One random sneaker, in good condition.
People watering flowers.
Freshly paved streets.
Secret cemeteries.
Good Morning.
Good Run.

Go Take a Walk!

I’m a runner, not a walker.

When I do walk, I walk fast, very fast. And I walk loud, very loud. Stomping along purposefully with places to go and things to do, constantly scanning the ground in front of me for potholes, uneven bricks and other accidental booby traps waiting to twist my ankle.

But that all changed when I moved to the heart of downtown Salem where I am walking distance to pretty much everything. And just as you see more of a community running than driving, you see even more walking. And the slower you go, the more you see.

So I took a walk, or more like an amble. Not to do an errand. Not a speed walk for exercise. A walk for the sake of taking a walk, strolling along as I considered the words to the Beatles song there are places I remember all my life, though some have changed.

Here is just some of what I saw.

Kids playing. Dogs walking. Fitness Walking. Outdoor fitness classes. Teens playing hoop. A large group of hula hoopers. A gold hoop earring someone is missing.

The Friendship at the Wharf. Tourists taking photos of the Friendship. Friends having coffee.

Cars circling for parking spots. Cars being ticketed. Cars parking at the garage. A painting on the parking garage. Painted electrical boxes. A man boxing shadows on the common.

Outdoor seating. Outdoor dining. Outdoor music. Haunted music. Hawkers.

A wedding, man and women. Another wedding, woman and woman.

Long time businesses thriving. Long time businesses out of business. New shops. Lots of shoppers.

Foreign visitors. Foreign languages. Out of state license plates. Stately homes. Multiple Nathaniel Hawthorne homes. Haunted houses trying to steal my soul. Preachers trying to save my soul.

Young love, old love. This city I love.

Tourists asking directions. Drivers not using directionals. Walkers not looking as they wander along in the street. Brakes slamming. Lots of swearing.

Trees changing colors. Trees I climbed. Trees that hung innocent victims.

Places I was bullied. Places I was happy.  Memories that made me happy. Memories I wish I could forget. Reminders of things I had totally forgotten about.

Trolley tours. Walking tours. Walking slowly to try to listen to tours.

Cemeteries. Injustice. Sadness. Innocent people who were not witches. Real people trying to be witches.

Kids in costumes. Grown-ups in costumes. Grown-ups who are not really grown up.

A breathtaking sunset as darkness falls over the “witch” city.

The train arriving in Salem with its cargo of zombies. So many zombies.

Maybe running is a better idea after all.

Salem Smells

It smells like the seasons.

Blossoms bursting through in the spring. Freshly cut grass and cookouts in the summer. Crunchy, wet leaves in the fall. Snow washed air and fireplaces in the winter.

It smells like a work in progress.

Dusty dirt and freshly poured concrete mixed with sweat and exhaust fumes.

It smells like food.

Sweat smells of pastry at Ziggy’s and AJ King’s. Coffee brewing at Jaho’s, Front Street, Dunkin’s and Starbucks. Bacon outside of Red’s.

It smells like the neighborhoods.

Low tide and periwinkles at Collins Cove. Pizza, popcorn and Chinese at the Willows. Coffee shops and restaurants downtown. Salty air, charcoal cooking and incense wafting around Pickering Wharf.

It smells bad.

Like skunks and garbage cooking in 90 degree heat waves.

I think of all this as I follow my sense of smell while I run through a still sleeping, slightly dark city.
I remember a high school science teacher who once explained that the reason we smell is because molecules of the substance have lodged themselves in our nasal cavity, which begged the overused insult “you have farts in your nose!” which I admit still makes me chuckle.

I think about distinct vacation smells- wild rosemary and thyme bushes in Arizona, moss in Savannah, pastry in Paris, lattes in Rome. I think about other smells like new babies and wet puppies pretty sure I could identify all of them blindfolded, as I wonder what a world without scents would be like.

I huff and puff my way back home thinking I’m the most creative person in America, if not the world.

“Did you know Salem smells?” I ask.

“So do you.” Is the answer.

And so I do.  

 

 

Don't Ask Me, I Just Live Here

Although I’ve lived in Salem for almost my entire life, I could possibly be the worst person to ask for directions in the entire city. Not because I don’t know where things are, but because I reference almost every new location to places that are long gone.

I realized this the other day as I tried to explain to a friend where a restaurant was with these easy to follow directions: “It’s right across the street from where Touraine’s use to be. You know, near the old Bowman’s Bakery that had awesome Swedish noodles every Tuesday.” I’m sure that was crystal clear considering both places have been gone for some 20+ years now.

If you understand my ancient landmark references, you are a long-time resident like me and don’t need them. But if you truly need directions, you will have no clue what the heck I’m talking about.

Where is the Salem Welcome Center? “It’s in the old Armory, you know, the one that burnt to the ground in that big fire. Right across the street from the place that Natalie Jacobson use to buy all of her clothes, not too far from where Empire’s use to be.” Where is HMA? “It’s on the other side of the overpass where that hamburger place was.”

After a blank stare, most people will simply ask, “Can you just tell me what street it’s on?”

At which point I realize I don’t have the slightest clue. Who needs to memorize street names when you know where everything is?  The only problem is, I can’t explain to anyone else how to get there.

My stand by references are: “Where the old Paramount Theatre use to be”, “Across from the old Daniel & Lowes, you know, where they would send your cash in a rocket to the 2nd floor and it would magically come back with correct change” and of course “Near the old Almy’s”.

Included in my totally useless directions have been referencing the train station to “Where Parker Brother’s was” and telling someone to meet for a run in the common “Where the popcorn man use to stand- you know, the one who used real melted butter?” I also caught myself once explaining the location of Forest River Park by saying “It’s at the end of the street near that Salem State intersection where Friendly’s use to be, you know, with the delicious vanilla Fribbles.”

At which point it dawns on me that while I don’t know the exact street addresses of these long gone places, I am clearly still emotionally connected to them. Which should come as a surprise to absolutely no one.

Realizing my directions are all based on relics and memories, I decide I need to get more up to date, and maybe even check out the street signs in my travels.

”Do you know where the new Honeydew in Salem will be opening?” I was asked. “On Canal Street” I stated proudly.

“You know, near where the old Alyce’s Ice Cream stand use to be. Boy do I miss that place.”

Sigh.

 

 

 

Zombie Phobia

In case you haven’t noticed, Zombies are all the rage.

There are Zombie races, Zombie dances, Zombie flash mobs and movie star Zombies. The opening episode for the Zombie TV series The Walking Dead was the most watched episode of any TV drama – ever. In short, Zombies are hot.

Which is bad news for me, because Zombies gross me out. And if they are doing their job, that’s how I’m supposed to feel.

Most people inherently opposed to Zombies can go on to live completely normal lives, with little or no risk of random Zombie run-ins. Not so much when you live in Salem, MA- the Halloween capitol of the world, where the popularity of Zombies have turned my hometown into The Night of the Living Dead.

Out for an evening run? Watch out for Zombies! Walking to the downtown drugstore in the dark? High Zombie alert! And my fear of a skunk attack as I’m putting out the trash has been replaced by my fear of Zombie walk-bys on their way to or from the train. In fact, it seems there is nothing I can do in Salem at night in October that doesn’t involve confronting my fear of the walking dead.

First let me clarify- I’m not a scaredy cat. I’ve jumped out of a plane, ridden the highest roller coasters in the country and even lived in a haunted apartment. And its not so much the fright factor as it is the total gross out factor.

Perhaps my aversion can be traced back to my childhood when I was much too young to watch the original Night of the Living Dead, when even in black and white I was mesmerized and disgusted at the flesh eating zombies - in particular the little girl who was found snacking on her mom in the cellar.

Plus I don’t have a high tolerance for blood and guts to begin with. I’m not a potential candidate for nursing school, and it’s a known fact that I don’t need to hear the details when someone calls in sick, never mind come face to face with someone pretending half of their head got blown off just for the fun of it.

And with all the awesome/funny/scary things you could be for Halloween, I don’t understand the desire to be someone who died a violent death, because if you’ve lived long enough, you may actually know people who died that way. So if that makes me a self-righteous Zombie fearing Halloween party pooper, so be it. 

So what is a Zombie fearing Salem citizen to do during Halloween?

Wait it out in fear of the 2^nd grossest thing I can think of…Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving.