We continue our celebration of Andy’s birthday with this post, featuring Andy VanWagenen as our Dazzler of the Day. Having already waxed rhapsodic about his attributes and magnificence here, I’m going to allow these handsome pictorial reminders of the past speak for why he has been a Dazzler in my life for over twenty years. PS – Don’t forget to wish him Happy Birthday today!
Like many retired and current police officers, Andy likes to keep his online presence rather quiet and discreet, and for the most part this space has tried to honor that, but at least once a year I insist on putting him up here and celebrating all that he has done for me, and for the world. Today is his birthday, so he deserves all the happy well-wishes and congratulations for surviving another rip around the sun on this wacky planet.
In ways too numerous to mention, Andy has provided the foundation and stability that our home has needed. For many years I relied on him for that core of safety and security – it was as much a part of his make-up as his care and compassion for others when he was an officer. While I’m the last person on earth who thought he’d end up married to a retired cop (having had more than my fair share of traffic tickets alone) it turned out to be the best thing for me. In exchange, I hope I’ve introduced him to things he never would have experienced in his world.
As a beloved member of our family, he has also been indispensable when times are tough and life gets difficult. My parents are getting older, and every day comes with greater challenges and obstacles. Having gone through losing his own parents, Andy’s experience and guidance through these moments has proved a comfort in more ways than I have probably acknowledged, so I’m taking today to remind him of that, and of the gratitude and gratefulness we all feel toward him.
As we get older, I’ve noticed our love runs in a deeper way, its grooves softened and honed by the accumulation of years and shared moments together. Where some fear and dislike comfort and safety, we pull ourselves closer to it with each advancing year, and if the last two years have proved anything, it’s how dark and depressing this word can sometimes get. Andy and I have survived partly because of the life we have created for ourselves. There have been times when it’s just been the two of us against what felt like the whole world, and on this day I want him to know how much that has meant to me.
Happy birthday, Drew – I love you.
Having recently finished up this year’s Fall Treasure Hunt weekend, I was compelled to take a rare look back at our interactions with the Ilagan twins, so I found these photos of Uncle Andy with Noah and Emi in years gone by. It’s amazing how quickly they are growing up, and how much we are evolving in the process. Just a few short years ago we could throw them easily around in the pool, and they could barely reach the counter-top of the kitchen.
Now they almost look like young adults in comportment and carriage, and I want to go back just a couple of years, not only for their youth but for our younger years. I only indulge in such maudlin sentiments for a brief moment, and then I’ll be back in the mindfulness that focuses most on the present, and all the wonder and joy that can be found in the here and now. The twins represent that passage of time in ways that are bittersweet and contemplative, providing a pause in the relentless tick of the clock.
Dear Andy ~
Twenty-one years ago we had a rather rainy summer, not unlike the one we are having this year. Great for the gardens, not so great for sunny summer fun. We were both beginning to come out from relationships that had hurt, and we were both finally learning to be happy on our own. I took the rainy season as a sign of healing and forgiveness, a way of moving beyond the past while honoring our present. I don’t think either of us intended to find a love that would last beyond a night at Oh Bar, so when your friend Patrick invited me to sit down at your table, I sat across from you and did my best to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, and the way your gaze cut through to my heart unlike any other man I’d ever met.
You seemed reasonable and fair, kind and grounded. Something about you felt calm and safe, and though I sensed you were not quite over injuries suffered in the recent past, I also sensed you had accepted life in a way that my immaturity could not yet fathom.
The more we talked, the more I fell into your blue eyes. More thrilling was the hope and sense that you were falling into me as well – I honestly felt you were so far above my league that I wasn’t even sure you meant to be talking to me.
Outside, the night felt calm and quiet. After raining all day, the clouds had departed and the world felt clean and new, the way it sometimes does after a heavy rainfall. Do you remember walking to our cars? I was going to follow you home because we both knew something special was afoot, even as I fought against falling so quickly. I didn’t expect the ride to be so long, and I didn’t mind in the least; I would have followed you anywhere.
When we arrived at your house, it was dim, but you carried that sense of safety and calm with you – something you would provide no matter where we found ourselves – Boston, Ogunquit, New York – and I understood then that it didn’t matter the precise place or location: you were already my home.
When I left, it was practically morning. Fumbling awkwardly in your kitchen, I told you I’d probably never see you again, and as would become the case many times over in the ensuing decades, I’d never been so wrong, and so happy to be wrong.
Happy anniversary, Drew.
I love you. ~ A.
When I came upon these roses at Faddegon’s, fresh from a rainy night and unfurling their petals in the morning light, I was instantly transported back to the summer of 2000, when I first met Andy. He grew roses in his garden, carefully tending and trimming them as necessary, occasionally clipping a bloom for his Mom or his living room. A man who knew his way around a garden was a good man indeed. That he took the time and care to share something beautiful with his Mom cemented the notion.
He favored the perennial rose favorite ‘Peace’ and tried his hand at ‘Mrs. Lincoln’. There was also an extremely fragrant tiger variety that was a deep pink, marbled with fuchsia – its beauty matched only by its exquisitely potent fragrance. I remember walking into his living room one evening and wondering at the delicious perfume – all produced by a single bloom in a little vase.
His prowess with roses was impressive, as it was one of the plants that always eluded my green thumb. He knew when to apply the fertilizer, when to protect the crowns for winter, and how to bring them all back to life each spring. Equally adept at preventing problems, he kept the aphids and beetles away, and managed to elude powdery mildew and rust, things that even the most skilled gardener can’t always keep at bay.
I was content simply to enjoy the fruits of his labor, as every few summer nights a new rose would appear in a vase by the couch, gently perfuming the air, reminding us of the beauty of the world when you put in a little work.
Only Andy and I, and a few select Audi associates, will ever truly understand the epic failure and subsequent journey that was undertaken and endured to reach this smiling point of happiness with a vehicle. As any regular reader will tell you, Andy is all about his car. He has a photo album of every car he’s ever owned or leased, like a proud parent or grandparent, and he religiously researches and keeps up to date on all the latest news about whichever model currently occupies the garage. It’s his passion and his hobby, and one of the three things I looked for in a mate all those years ago. (When we were young and foolish enough to demand such things in a partner, one of the things I wanted was someone who was passionate about something – it didn’t need to be anything that I liked or enjoyed, it just had to be something about which they were excited and knowledgable about – and in Andy’s case that was cars. I still get a kick out of watching him peruse his car magazines and figuring out which car package would work best in any given situation.)
His last Audi was a lemon of the most sour variety – you couldn’t eve make lemonade with how dangerous it was getting. (The automatic correction thingie almost smacked us into a truck on the Mass Turnpike.) Luckily, he reached an agreement on a new car with the local Audi dealership, so for now things are looking up after a year-long nightmare. His smile says it all, and I have a sleek new ride to work.
Our grill likes to act up, particularly during times of Mercury in retrograde, or when we are having guests over for the first time in well over a year. Or in the case of this incident, when both are coinciding in tumultuous fashion. After 2020, Andy and I can roll with the punches, but even this one threw us for a doozy that required a quick decision to be made – a decision with no easy or guaranteed happy ending.
My parents, Aunt Elaine, my brother and his fiancee, and my niece and nephew were due for a family barbecue on one of the hottest days of the year thus far, and Andy was about to begin the grilling. We hadn’t had this much family over since the days prior to COVID, and we were giddy with the reunion. Elaine had just returned from a winter in Florida, so it was doubly exciting, and having the twins over was a much-missed treat, especially when they’re growing up so quickly.
I was finishing the preparatory work on a quinoa salad when Andy came in and motioned for me to follow him, saying we had to make a quick decision. It was his serious voice, and he was keeping it low which meant that no one could know something. He brought me over to the grill, and when he lifted the side cover to the secondary grill section a magnificent but wholly unwelcome finch place stood, encasing five little eggs. The main grill had already been lit and was quickly heating up, so I advised that we take it out and put it on the ground until we finished cooking.
After debunking the theory that once you disrupt or touch a bird’s nest the parents won’t return a couple of years ago, I wasn’t bothered by moving it – but both of us realized it couldn’t stay there or we’d never be able to grill this season. We did the next best thing, not unlike how we handled this robin’s nest mishap previously, and placed it in the crux of a nearby Seven Sons’ flower tree.
The next day I was conferring with a cardinal about the finch situation as she chirped in the nearby thuja hedge, before we were rudely interrupted by a squirrel. Andy picked up the conversation later in the day – he says the cardinal chirped a bit at him then sang him a little song – a message from his mother that we had done all we could do for the finches.
Making up for missing our tenth anniversary last year may seem like a good moment for going all out and throwing down the party gauntlet, especially after a year of staying home, but it felt better to keep things quiet and intimate, the way our marriage has grown and evolved over the years. That made this anniversary weekend somehow more special – it was as much a return as it was a new beginning – the same way we are all navigating this new world.
Boston had evolved and grown as well – the European flavor of open-air cafes beside restaurants that would have never considered outdoor dining options before was its most apparent update – and as scary as change can sometimes be, this felt right.
Uniting the blooms of upstate NY home with our home in Boston, these lilacs bridged New York and Massachusetts, proving that home was wherever you brought your loved ones, and sometimes it was wherever you found simple beauty.
Eleven years into our marriage – and almost twenty one into our relationship – the memories and the history we share emboldens us to keep going, and helps us to survive such trying time we have all had of late. Winnie-the-Pooh said it’s so much friendlier with two, and on magical weekends like this it rings absolutely true.
For our last dinner of the trip, I wear ‘Straight to Heaven by Kilian‘ and we order a car that will bring us to one of Andy’s favorite restaurants, Boston Chops.
There we have a delectable steak dinner to cap off a weekend of good eats, good memories, and good times with my husband.
As we head home and retire for the evening, the rain arrives. It has held off until the midnight hour – for which we are completely grateful – and now forms a cozy reminder of the rain that arrived on the day we departed Boston eleven years ago. We hear it splash onto the windows and the air conditioner, forming a percussive soundtrack to lull us to sleep.
The next morning, in spite of earlier weather reports, the rain is completely gone. There are even peeks at blue sky through the clouds. I pick up some pastries from Cafe Madeleine and bring them back for our breakfast, pausing to look at the flowers along the way, like this snowdrop anemone, which nods its head in the slightest of breezes.
A last look belongs fittingly to the delicate blue blooms of the forget-me-not. Until we return to this beautiful city…
Our third day in Boston – the last full day we would have on this trip – blossomed in sunny fashion, and we wisely saved our walk through the Boston Public Garden for this moment. Before that, however, we slept in, and looked out sleepily at the fountain in the middle of Braddock Park. Back in 1995 when my parents purchased the condo, the fountain wasn’t even working, but a few years later the neighbors got it functional again, and it is a happy bellwether for better weather. It now trickles its soothing sound from spring until late fall, taking a winter slumber only to return when the sun is high and warm.
On this morning, we made our way to the Public Garden, to the place where we made our wedding vows eleven years ago. It was on a day quite similar to today – bright and sunny and just warm enough to not merit a jacket.
This wedding cake shrub is a favorite – as much for its name as its perfectly timed blooming period. It was there on our wedding day too, and we posed in front of it with our gathered friends and family. Today it brought back those memories, and at such moments we were reminded of how wonderful the world and its inhabitants can be.
Perched high in the air, fruit tree blossoms dangled like cream-colored bells, ringing silently in the slightest breeze. The tulips were just slightly past their prime, but a few were hanging on to give us a show.
In a more secluded corner of the Garden, a coral-colored quince bloomed in its shady nook, near an angelic fountain that lended more flowing water to the calm at hand.
There is magic to be found at all times of the year in the Public Garden, but we are partial to spring, and this spell of May in particular.
While the city thrashes about trying to drag its ponderous history into a new world, this little refuge of beauty and simplicity, majesty and wonder, retains its enchanting essence.
At the entrance to the Garden, which was now also our exit, a few bleeding hearts hung their exquisite blooms as if bidding us adieu until the next time.
Reluctantly departing such a pretty scene, we ambled back to the condo, and on the way we watched this little bunny scurry into the front garden square of our building. There are always signs that we are right where we are supposed to be, and this rabbit was a symbol we’d see from time to time on our visits. I rarely saw it when I was in Boston alone, but when Andy’s been here it always makes an appearance.
It was almost time for one more dinner in Boston…
Our second day in Boston was bright but slightly overcast. The flowers were all in bloom, and there was a breeze, on the cool side, which made for good walking conditions. Andy slept in and I went shopping for some snacks and whatever other silly triflings offered themselves up. Such a simple endeavor, but what a wonderful return to something I’ve not been able to do in such a long time!
Boston in spring bloom will always be a balm on the most troubled soul. These happy little faces peered out everywhere I went, a reminder that whatever state the world wound its way into, nature would maintain its beauty.
Meanwhile, music played in the mind as I walked throughout the city…
Returning to the condo, I picked up Andy for our tradition of washing the rings. Shreve, Crump and Low is still blessedly in business, so we made our way to Newbury Street to have our wedding rings cleaned. We perused the gems and jewelry, but stayed downstairs instead of straying to the more tempting second floor of watches. When you’ve just replaced a furnace, a pink-diamond-studded watch is not on any list of priorities, sadly.
Neither is this cherry red Shelby, replica or not, but I asked Andy to pose in front of it anyway, on a stretch of Boylston beside the Lenox Hotel. Boston is lined with memories of past adventures, and we added this little encounter with Miss Shelby to that lovely reservoir.
Into every anniversary we usually add something new – in this case it was our first dinner at No. 9 Park – a Boston classic that we’ve somehow never managed to try until now. Peering over the edge of Boston Common, it made for a cozy little space perfect for the windy evening. Andy began with some recommended Blanton’s bourbon in this sunny sour, while I took the bartender’s suggestion for an elderflower and citrus mocktail.
I began with this beautiful red snapper crudo, served with rhubarb, watermelon radish, and kumquats while Andy enjoyed some shrimp.
We haven’t had an opportunity to break out the blazers in such a long time that it no longer felt like a burden.
No. 9 Park sent out a round of champagne, which Andy had the responsibility of finishing – a lovely complement to our anniversary weekend.
We both decided on the octopus for our entrees, and it was tender and almost creamy – a far cry from my three-hour braising attempt several summers ago. Best to leave the octopus to the experts, as I simply have to admit defeat when it comes to preparing certain dishes.
Topping the meal off was a pair of desserts – this was my mango dish; Andy chose a pineapple one. Both were grand endings to another delicious meal. Boston was welcoming us back in ways both sweet and satisfying.
{Fragrance (and underwear) of the evening: Fucking Fabulous by Tom Ford.}
The city looked and felt differently from when we last met. In a year fraught by a pandemic, Boston had been forced to update its cobblestone-weighted history and forge a new way, like the rest of the world. Yet spring still returned, and as we made our way back to celebrate our 10th and 11th wedding anniversaries, it felt like there was hope in the cool air. Happily, we would find Boston filled with blooms and sunshine and all the typical accoutrements of a proper new season, because no matter what happened in the previous year, spring would do her song and dance.
As we pulled out in Andy’s least favorite car ever, it felt strange and wonderful to be going somewhere at last. The drive was a sunny one, with a perfect blue sky studded with the occasional white cloud, and we arrived to blooms and blossoms along every path.
The Southwest Corridor Park – our main route and access to the condo – had just begun its season of glory, with everything from the lowliest geraniums to the American dogwoods that flowered even before their foliage deigned to peek through.
Even more dramatic was this yellow-hued bleeding heart, whose pink flowers danced thrillingly against a sea of chartreuse leaves, the combination a pretty little marriage of color and light – a celebratory pas de deux emblematic of all the love that was in the air.
There was music too, sweet music that called to us from memory, and a soundtrack largely culled from the work of Cole Porter.
Andy graciously provided the new fragrance that will mark a new memory: Tom Ford’s latest Private Blend ‘Soleil Brûlant’ – an exquisite spring and summer scent that has already carved out a place in my cologne-loving heart.
After a largely gray and drab winter of discontent, the colors and sights of Boston were again a wonder to behold, and seeing them after such a long time away imbued them with an even greater freshness and potency.
We dressed for our anniversary dinner at Mistral – which was the only restaurant from our original trio of wedding restaurants that remained open. A sad commentary on what the past year has wrought, but we focused on the magic of Mistral and had a lovely dinner.
Andy tried out their Tahitian sidecar while I opted for this lemony fresh mocktail. We looked around at the other diners and felt a jolt of normalcy. Simply dining in the vicinity of other people was tinged with a giddy nostalgia.
Pistachio chocolate profiteroles capped off a wondrous meal, and I thought back to our very first dinner as a married couple eleven years ago. Many memories had been made since then, and we carried all the memories from the ten years before that, when we first met in 2000. They felt both far away and impossibly recent – the ticking of time a constant and unnoticed rhythm that fades into itself unless marked by something memorable, like this return to Boston.
It was a very sweet ending to our first day back…
{Fragrance of the Evening: Portrait of a Lady.)
Some years are quieter when it comes to anniversaries, worthy of a look-back, a quiet acknowledgment and appreciation for all that came before. This is one of those years, and so here’s a list of links to bring back that magical time in Boston circa 2010…
A Wedding in the Public Garden.
For the first time in forever, I got to do one of my favorite things in the world: plan a Boston weekend and reserve some restaurant dinner options for our wedding anniversary. We missed out on celebrating out tenth last year, so this time it’s going to be #10 and #11 at once. Originally I had thought we’d be doing a ten-year encore of that happy May day a decade ago, with the same cast of characters invited (missing Andy’s Dad) and going out to the same places. That was part of why we selected such stalwart establishments like Top of the Hub and Mistral and the Bristol Lounge at the Four Seasons.
Then the world stepped in and shut everything down, so no one was going anywhere. Worse, two of those restaurants ended up being casualties of COVID: Top of the Hub and the Bristol Lounge. So this year, we will return to Boston for the first time in months, taking tentative steps to something that resembles regular life, while celebrating the place where we got married so many years ago. The lessons of 2020 have taught me not to have great expectations, while enforcing the necessity of holding onto hope.
Without warning or notice, Andy was not quite ready the first time he met my parents. He was picking me up from their house, and I didn’t think much of it when they came to the door to meet him, which, looking back, seems entirely at odds with my usual hyper-vigilant self, but for whatever reason it just felt right and easy and completely casual, so there it was, and there it was over, and his only concern was that he’d been wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with some alcohol-sponsored message of ‘GET WICKED TONIGHT!’ on it.
In all fairness, a silly message T-shirt was not entirely foreign to Andy, who had a whole collection of them when we met. My favorite was a simple black one, entirely blank but for one tiny square in the middle of the chest that you had to lean in and look very closely at to discern the words, “You are so fucking nosy.” It was one of the cute quirks that first attracted me to Andy, and he retains that mischievous sense of humor to this day.
In these old photos he recently unearthed, you see a bit of that T-shirt collection with something that was clearly from his thirtysomething days. Accompanied by gin – loads and loads of gin.
One is bound to break a few things over the course of a lifetime. If you’re as emotionally clumsy as some of us, you’re bound to break quite a bit more – hearts, heads, spirits – and only if you’re lucky and especially careful can you claim not to have a made such a mess at one point or another. I’ve made my share of messes, though these days the things I break are objects and bad habits – both of which can be mended or, better, dispensed with entirely.
Yet a few months ago, a mug I’ve managed to keep intact for almost two decades, and one of my favorite objects, fell from my hands onto the kitchen floor and immediately broke into several pieces. The curse of 2020, Mercury in Retrograde, and who knows what else conspired to take it from me, and I despondently picked up the pieces as best as I could, chucking some of the smaller shards to keep our feet safe. I took a few photos to document its demise, before Andy came out and said he could fix it.
Andy is quite good at mending things – usually all he needs is some glue, a baby screwdriver, or some spackle and sandpaper, but I didn’t have much faith because even if it went back together I would forever be fighting the mental image of my lips getting sliced by a sharp piece of broken cup. That said, I also had visions of ‘Kintsugi’ the Japanese art of mending broken pottery, so I wanted to see what Andy might manage.
Kintsugi traditionally employs a tree sap laquer laced with powdered metal – such as gold or platinum – instead of a clear glue, to fix a piece of broken pottery. The intent is to highlight and beautify the cracks and fissures, making them part of the art and history of a piece. I love that idea – the notion of taking our faults and literally turning them into gold, into beauty, into art. In some ways, that is the goal of so much of my life.
This was just a tea cup – a cheap one at that, originally procured on a whim from Marshall’s – and Andy was able to put it back together. That isn’t always the case, as we were immediately reminded a few weeks later: our furnace broke, after a three-day ordeal of fix-its and not-so-fix-its and it’s the sort of breakdown that can’t be fixed with pretty paint and golden veining. Rather than moan or lament our unlucky circumstance, we worked in tandem to figure out the best way to tackle the problem. Twenty-plus years into our relationship, we look in the same direction, seeking out the same goal, and a solution for when dilemmas arise, especially the unexpected ones.
