Public Garden
And may I make bold to ask, just how closed-in and constrained can you really be, living less than a block from Boston’s Public Garden? Even in Boston’s admittedly-dreadful winter.

Here are Valerie and George Washington, probably in different years, beside the same tulips, or at least near neighbors, just inside the gate nearest our digs.
A necessary sidebar on Mr Washington. We told this story to visitors across four decades and more:
Seems a young family had a temporary assignment in Boston and lived just west of the Public Garden. Mom and dad developed a ritual of an evening walk with their little boy, who would always doff his cap on passing this statue and salute it with a cheery, “Hi, George!” Which the attending parent would find unbearably cute and relate to anybody who would listen.

As assignments do, theirs came to an end, and they undertook a final, subdued walkaround in the Garden. When they came to the famous statue, the little boy took off his hat, held it over his heart, and blubbered, “Good-bye, George.” Dad could hardly stand it, until his son looked up at him and inquired, “Dad, who’s that man on George?”
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