I’m at Logan Airport, Terminal D. I’m reading the Boston Globe and savoring a sausage, egg & cheese sandwich on a croissant, my iced-coffee is in striking distance, both courtesy of Dunkin’ Donuts. (4J-4J-4J-4J) I’ve never eaten anything more slowly in my entire life. I put the paper down as I don’t dare multi-task and risk diluting this epicurean experience. I don’t moan but my eyes do close occasionally. I imagine an Animal Planet voice-over: “Unlike other species the American Andy will neither hibernate nor copulate for months after devouring his hunt. Crikey!” (4J-4J-4J-4J)

I check the time on my cell phone and glance up at the arrivals screen. The flight from Denver has landed right on time, baggage claim at carousel #2. I go back to reading, allowing the ebb and flow of travelers to wash around me. Eventually new arrivals touch ground and bump the landed Denver flight off the screen, erasing it from history. With a heavy sigh I rise. I crumple my breakfast wrappers and start to reassemble the paper into a single block.

I’m not here to actually pick anyone up. I’m here just to be here. Well, I’m here just to get here to be more accurate. It’s called exposure therapy. You know, scared of bees? Cover yourself in honey and go play piñata with a beehive. Scared of snakes? Kill one, eat it, and proudly fashion a belt out of its hide. This is my 4th such visit to the airport this month. I started with Terminal A and went down the line, so E will be next. (4J-4J-4J-4J) Ugh. I catch myself clearly doing it this time. It’s a coping mechanism. I’m not supposed to do it but I can’t help it. I take out my black book and make a note about it.

I step up to the parking kiosk and pay in advance. The automated walkway takes me to the elevator. The elevator takes me to Level 4. My feet take me to 4J, where my car sits quietly. Good boy.

I pull out of the airport and head up Route 1A. As I pass Suffolk Downs I see the sign for it, the largest yet most obscure sculpture in the city, The Don Orione Madonna Queen National Shrine. Towering atop the highest point in East Boston sits a 35-foot bronze sculpture of the Virgin Mary facing an open plaza. I drive up winding residential streets that slowly allow my way to the summit. I park, get out, and yup, there it is. Although I can’t see them supposedly there are red lights fastened at her top to alert incoming air traffic from Logan.

Just across the street from the Shrine is the Don Orione Home for the Elderly. From what I’ve heard, the shrine actually extends four floors down into the hill housing a gift shop, a church, function rooms, and more. I’ve also heard that once a week, deep down under the Madonna, bingo is played. I am here by design. I fondle the highlighter in my pocket and head into the bowels of the Madonna.

To be continued……..

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