Well, the manhunt is over and I can rest a bit easier.
My son Ian lives in Boston, but he called me and said that the lock down didn't include his house in southern Boston. However, he had no work to report to. He's a manager in a transportation outfit connected to the Massachusetts Transit which shut down completely.
Knowing Ian was safe helped a lot, but part of my sorrow had to do with the awful violation of the Boston Marathon. I lived for three years in Boston and remembered well the marathon finish line, Heartbreak Hill, and other parts of the route. The bomb pictures, especially of those injured, curdled me.
Ian's dad, my first husband, Tom Henshaw, covered the Boston Marathon every year like clockwork. He introduced me to the race, and he arranged for me to interview the wife of one of the marathoners. Then he helped me sell my story about the wife to the Associated Press. In an odd way, I feel glad that Tom is dead. I'm sure this "news story" would have pained him much more than it does me.
I cried twice, once when I first heard the news and once when the police locked down Boston, my old home, the town that taught me how to bake beans.