Finally I'm back home again, after a long week spent pondering my suitcase's repetitive selection of outfits and having insomnia in three different beds. On Saturday I was reunited with my family at Tom's gallery opening, and then we and some friends from NYC spent the night at the Parker House in Boston, original home of Parker House rolls and Boston cream pie. My sons enjoyed riding the elevators up and down without purpose and hiding our TV remote controls in the room safes and watching a Three Stooges marathon and pickpocketing personal-sized bottles of Heinz catsup from the breakfast table. This is the kind of hotel that has a Louisa May Alcott Ballroom and proffers claims that Longfellow wrote the rough draft of "Paul Revere" while hanging out at the bar with nothing better to do. At lunch we learned from a bus-tour lecturer (who was revealing the secrets of hotel history to a bored and motley group of Boston cream pie eaters) that Ho Chi Minh once worked in the kitchen as a pastry chef. Personally I think he made that up just to see if any of the bored and motley pie eaters would notice. As far as I could tell, they didn't.