I spent a week, last week, Back East, to see family. I’ve taken this trip countless times, actually lived there many years, so I rely on people to make the visit interesting.

Here were some of them:

My granddaughter, turned one in June, who waved and said hi to fellow travelers on the train into Boston. I watched as weary workers cheered when she singled them out.

Hank, who is helping our daughter and son-in-law with their new home. He drove across country in three days. 

The hand surgeon who was skilled enough to remove a dirty splinter deep in Hank’s finger that caused blood poisoning. She said as a child she was fascinated by how hands work.

Three of our six kids and a son-in-law, now young adults, and leading good lives.

My Dad, who I visited during his brief rehab stint at a nursing home, for making a wry comment while we waited for my mother to bring around the car. A fire engine was also parked in front of the building, and he quipped, “I thought we were going to take that to the doctor’s office.”

My mother, who showed me albums filled with vintage family photos and told me to take whatever I wanted.

The pleasant woman who manned the takeout place near my folks’ home where I ate clam chowder and stuffed quahogs.

The priest who said Mass at the nursing home. Afterward I told him I remembered when he played basketball for a local vocational high schools. He was the best ball handler and his team almost beat my high school’s. He thanked me for the good memory.

My sister from California, who I got to see for several hours before I returned to Boston. My brother and his family who made the effort to spend time with me.

The drunk on the train into Boston, who drank from a bottle hidden in a paper bag and spoke to fellow riders in a Darth Vader-like voice. Yes, he did say, “Luke, I am your father.” 

Our well guy, who responded quickly, after we learned lightning hit the well house of our Taos home. Three hundred bucks and new electrical parts later, water was restored.

The woman behind the counter at a lunch place in Milton, who let me use the rest room in the kitchen and was friendly about it.

Kindred spirits, who like me had to put up with an airport shuttle that was several hours late. 

The coyote that sang outside my bedroom window and reminded me I was back in New Mexico.