Preakness weekend is the quintessential Baltimore experience. For about an hour the focus of the national media is on Pimlico to watch a dozen or so horses sprint around an oval to win a million dollars. Somewhere in the vicinity of a hundred thousand people cram into the facility for a day of horse racing, concerts (how did I miss that O.A.R. was going to be there?) and all sorts of merriment. I still remember the year that they cracked down and declared it no longer acceptable to carry couches into the in-field for the Preakness (couches, really?) because they were tired of people staggering out of the infield forgetting to take their couches back home with them. It was a public service thing I guess.
This year Preakness weekend snuck up on me. In the midst of orchestrating a short notice move to Long Island It just kind of hit us. But as I have done every Preakness for the last two decades I found myself a spot in front of a television a little after six to watch the singing of Maryland, My Maryland, the parade of the horses, and the run for the Black Eyed Susans. It has always brought me a bit of comfort and a sense of home.
Last night Theresa and I were walking around Bolton Hill and realizing that soon we will no longer be living here. We are sad. Sad about the circumstances, yes, but sad that we are leaving a beautiful neighborhood. The architecture, the people, the way that people just know everyone… we will miss this place. While we tell everyone that we are making a “temporary move of indefinite length” and hope to return to Bolton Hill, we know that as we pack up that we are leaving our first home together… and that experience will be hard to replace.
bolton hill is sad to lose you as well.