I HEARD THAT THERE’S A SPECIAL PLACE
WHERE BOYS AND GIRLS CAN ALL BE QUEENS EVERY SINGLE DAY
The mark of a good trip is best measured by how you feel about the place once you’ve returned home. Upon stepping into the usual routine and taking a deep breath before the shortened work-week began again, I found myself feeling homesick for Boston – and for the relaxed and easy way the mostly sunny days passed last weekend. This was a good trip, with a good friend. We honored the past ten years of fun trips, and forged a new laid-back style fit for someone about to enter his fifties, and for a pair of pals entering the autumn of their lives.
My intentions and vibes for the tenth anniversary of our BroSox Adventure, which I texted to Skip the night before we were set to depart, were as follows:
- Casual, relaxed, and unrushed
- Embrace the downtime, the quiet, and the rain
- Enjoy the company
- Be interested in everything, and everyone, in Boston
Those were met, and then some. On the morning of our departure day, I picked up some market items and had this run-in with one of my very first directors. Somehow it set the stage for a trip that found us looking forward as much as we were looking back.
We began in usual fashion – after a road trip with French sandwiches and a coffee stop, we made our first motions along Newbury Street, then backtracked through Eataly with food stuffs for a charcuterie dinner at the condo. Gone are the days of multiple pre-game bar hops and extravagant multi-course dinners. Skip and I haven’t been to many movies lately – we could barely figure out the last time we’d actually seen one together – and catching up without the distractions of servers and loud fellow diners was its own luxury. As dusk descended, Skip was beat, but the night was so nice I took a solo walk in case there wouldn’t be another nice night (rain had been forecast off and on the entire weekend). It was a change of pace for us – we usually don’t go our own way unless it’s a quick trip to 7-11 or something nearby – but it made sense for our extra-long weekend. A little of me can go a long way, and in his own estimation Skip has acknowledged he can be a lot.
Happily, Skip and I don’t usually veer into seriously annoyed territory despite our tendency to talk smack about each other. Over the years, Skip has become like a brother to me – a brother who actually enjoys my company and wants to hang out, no matter how infuriating and extra I might be. That is refreshing, which speaks of something sad in its own way, but it makes a sound argument for the importance of a chosen family.
Walking on a beautiful summer night is one of my favorite things to do when I’m alone, and it’s been a while since I’ve been on my own in Boston. It no longer feels as haunted as it once did.
The next morning was spitting a bit of rain, so we walked the single block to Charlie’s for a simple diner breakfast. Casual simplicity was the order of the weekend, and our only plan for the day was some cologne sampling before the Red Sox game that afternoon. While hopes were high for adding another Louis Vuitton to my cologne cabinet for my 50th birthday, there wasn’t a single one that stood out for me. Skip was partial to ‘Afternoon Swim’, which most people love, until they realize its lacking of longevity and staying power. My attention shifted to the Amouage line we sampled at nearby Neiman Marcus (and their glorious ‘Purpose 50’ bottle), and with Skip all but confirming the bold selection (“It’s… something.”) I understood I’d found this birthday’s Holy Grail. After an all-too-brief siesta at the condo, it was game time.
The past few years have not been kind to our Red Sox games – this one got rained out and several simply stunk because they lost. Win, lose, or rain, Skip and I have always managed to have a good time at the game (hello Fenway Franks!) but it’s always better when they’re kicking ass. With a 14-1 spread this was a very good time – with runs coming in regularly and the usual delights. For some inane reason, I never noticed the dance-offs that were on the big screen, or maybe there weren’t any that were as impressive as the one we saw on this day. The crowd was getting very into Chappell Roan, and suddenly the park was filled with the joyous beat of ‘Pink Pony Club’ as everyone danced along.
It was a great game, made emotionally powerful by the opening pitch, thrown out by the son of someone from Niskayuna that Skip and I know – a boy who had survived a scary bout with cancer – and as the crowd rose to its feet and the roars for this youngster grew, it felt like the world still had the power to heal.
We walked back to the condo, then headed to the South Street Diner, closing out the night in strange, vibey ‘Twin Peaks’ fashion. Normally this would be where our BroSox Adventures end, with only a quick breakfast and trip back the next morning, but we’d scheduled an extra day and night because these weekends just fly by too quickly, and there were still surprises to be had, even ten years into this favorite tradition…
