Dateline Boston – To sprinkle a soothing shower of restoratively needed normalcy drops over us yesterday afternoon, Diane suggested an outing to Boston Harbor and the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum.

A Republican at the Kennedy Library?

Enthusiastically, yes.

Every Republican and non-Democrat in America should follow in our footprints.  Treat yourself to a welcome appreciation of one of the great personalities – not Presidents – of the 20th century.

On a chilled overcast day, template for the week, we thirsted for a breezy pace change. Somewhere dramatically different from the emotional heat wave the day before. In his whitely lighted eighth-floor office at Massachusetts General Hospital, a scholarly neurologist mapped a course for us to rigorously contest Diane’s amyotrophic lateral sclerosis in the coming months and years, please God.

Socially, this was a new-fangled kind of excursion for us.

On the Tuesday morning flight here, we talked about how confused about our attitude. Normally when we leave home, it is for an unadulterated holiday. No one has to check a mirror or his pulse to determine the appropriate attitude.

Detouring Into Brief Sunlight

[img]2624|right|Diane at the Kennedy Library yesterday||no_popup[/img]On this rocky, partly mudded journey with foggy remedies for the desired outcome, we desperately have been attempting to lengthen, strengthen Diane’s crooked course through this daunting dimension of her life.

Our quaint residential hotel, in the bosom of a richly historic neighborhood that feels like a toy for those in need of temporary comfort. The ancient streets are itchingly narrow, no wider than Jackie Gleason’s waistline, so slender you are equally safe treading the brick sidewalks or roadways. We are engulfed on all sides by charmingly handsome tall red brick buildings, prompting Diane to remark “I expect people to come out in 18th century costumes.”

Her walker was Diane’s constant companion until we reached the Kennedy Library where she apologetically traveled by wheelchair.

This was new style experience, possibly a foretaste of the long term.

Visiting replays of JFK’s golden oratory was a nugget-drenched bonus.

Wherever JFK stopped, with or without scripts, regardless of the audience’s topical interest, his warmly engulfing rhetorical artistry would have made everyone in the Roman Senate blush.

Spending an afternoon with Mr. Kennedy not only was a return to our youthful years but, gratefully, a quenching distraction of mammoth proportions.