Category Archives: Boston

09
September
2023
Tags: Boston, Family
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Boston Twinning at the End of Summer – Pt. 1

Last year the twins and I made a last-summer-minute visit to Boston for Labor Day, and it went so well that we decided to do it again. Such a move to recapture former glory is always risky, and given the way the world has gone of late this one felt especially perilous, but for the most part we managed to have a good experience. Time spent with family feels especially important these days.

We arrived a little before noon on Saturday, in an unplanned sweet spot between the crazy Friday traffic and college arrivals for the new school year. The day was sunny and warm – summer looked to pretend she’s been a doll all this time when we all knew better. Our first order of business was to pick up some snacks from Eataly then return to the condo for a siesta before dinner. This was the first time I have been back in Boston since Dad died, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Noah and Emi acted as a buffer and comfort for this entry, taking my mind off what might have otherwise been a more contemplative experience. 

After procuring some food, we spent some time eating and talking over the things that concern thirteen-year-old kids these days, and then it was time to take a leisurely walk along the Charles River. This may be its most resplendent time – and it was this time of the year when I made my very first walk along its beautiful banks. The twins rambunctiously walked/ran ahead and behind, and somehow we made it to the Hatch without incident, where we crossed back toward downtown. After meandering through the Public Garden in the Golden Hour, we skirted Boston Common and made out way to Chinatown as the sun was going down. 

Dinner in Chinatown was Noah’s idea and request, and we found a place which had one of the best bok choy dishes any of us had ever had. Simple joys shared with loved ones take on a special sheen when experienced in a new/old city. After stuffing ourselves silly, we walked all the way back to the condo in the hope of burning some calories. It was a beautiful and comfortable night – and summer smiled on us as we turned in for the night. 

Right before I woke, I had this dream, and first visit, from Dad. If I was unsure about whether I’d still feel him here, it was confirmation that I always would. After drying my tears, I felt comforted and ok – in fact, better than ok, and my good mood inspired the day as I woke the twins and we headed over to Cambridge for a brunch of ramen noodles at Porter Square. From there, we walked to Harvard Square taking a familiar route I’d traversed many times during my years at Brandeis. We spent some time going through the Harvard campus, perhaps sewing the seeds of a future college goal with the twins, perhaps not. 

Our server at Tia’s was a buffoon, delivering Noah’s dinner ten minutes after Emi and I had received ours, but it resulted in an exchange that the twins loved so it was worth it:

Server: “Our kitchen is as bad as the New York Jets.”

Me: “I don’t know what that means.”

Next table over: [Smirks and snickers]

With another half-hour to go before we were due at the tour, we found a fun fountain that had a few kids running through it, as streams of water would randomly and without warning shoot up at various heights, illuminated by colorful lights. The twins watched, completely transfixed, as kids mostly younger than them dashed in and among the lights and shooting water, trying to dodge getting wet while thrilling at every splash and unsuccessful avoidance. On the cusp of aging out of such adventures, they wanted to join in as much as they wanted to appear that they were supremely uninterested in joining in – the adolescent push and pull of conflicting emotions and wishes – and if we weren’t due to sit on a tour bus for the next hour and a half I’d have encouraged them to run through it and enjoy these last days of summer and youth. 

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01
June
2023
Tags: Boston, General
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A Summer Season Starts Early ~ Part 2

Late on an almost- summer night, this video played in the bedroom of our Boston condo. The air conditioner hummed in the window, the room was dark except for some light from the bathroom, and there may even have been a fan circulating providing additional air movement.  The video evokes a childhood memory of summer camp, of two kids sneaking out past curfew to play in the lake, and the sweet melody and sentiment were primed for summer. On the bed, I kicked off the sheets and tried to stay cool.

That summer I spent a great deal of time in Boston, working at Structure and roaming the city streets when the sun went down and things turned slightly cooler. Not quite old enough to drink liquor, there were no bar scenes or cocktail corners to frequent, and so I spent much of the nights simply walking and peering into places that felt alive, spurred on by some unseen impetus to roam and find something – anything – to help me discover my place in life. This sweet song, a rather innocent ode to romance, did what it was supposed to do and made me feel like the perfect match was just around the corner, or somewhere in my past, just waiting to be reunited in some Hallmark kismet moment. Obviously, that wasn’t how things played out, and as I clicked off the television and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water, I didn’t feel any closer to finding someone. Looking out onto the street, I raised the window for a moment, feeling the wall of heat and listening to the trickling of the fountain outside.

Retail work provided daytime distractions and when I returned home at the end of each day, there were hours of daylight left with which to occupy and entertain myself. I’d taken up jogging around the South End, as much to get out and feel participatory as to stay in shape. I’d pass the neighbors on their brownstone steps, with their fancy plates and dinners and glasses of wine, enjoying the privilege of eating outside in an act that would have been unthinkable in the ice and snow of a mere three months prior. How drastically the New England world can change in just a short time, I thought.

Whizzing through the crowded sidewalks of Tremont Street on a pretty summer evening, I averted any gazes as much as I internally invited them. If I thought I could meet anyone while running quickly by them, it was a testament to my own self-fulfilling failure in finding someone. Clearly I was not ready for any such thing, despite the simplicity this song so deceptively dangled as a possibility.

I spent a few more weeks in Boston, before retreating to my parents’ home with central air and a swimming pool, and even fewer romantic prospects. The heat continued, along with the longing, and it was the latter that would refuse to diminish even with the arrival of fall. 

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20
May
2023
Tags: Boston
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Pre-Retirement Planning & Preparation – Part 2

When left with the luxury of a day to enjoy, I tend to slow down and savor the simple minutes. Even when looking back on otherwise-busy weekends, it has been the downtime and in-between moments that were often the most memorable. On this morning I made a stop at the South End Buttery, one of the local haunts that I’m auditioning for the sorrowful vacancy left by the closing of Café Madeleine. It’s actually been around a lot longer than that beloved Café, and has some delicious scones – it’s just a little further from the condo. A regular haunt is a comfort when one is used to structure and routine. When I worked at the Structure store, and later John Hancock, I would make Finagle-a-Bagel part of my morning schedule, but that got pricey to do every day. (I imagine it’s even more ridiculously exorbitant now.) But a coffee at the Buttery would be doable on a daily basis.

From there, I wound my way through the South End, and the morning was so magnificent – the way May can be at its most beautiful – it was a thrill just to see the flowers and tiny squares in bloom. I thought of how charming the scene would be at other turns of the year. By the time I meandered along the edge of Boston Common and skirted the Public Garden, it was early afternoon – a favorite pocket of the day to be back at the condo when the sun began streaming into the bedroom – so I headed there.

Back on Braddock Park, the tea kettle whistled and I sat down at the table in relief. I haven’t been in Boston much, or anywhere for that matter, and my distance-walking legs were not what they used to be. It felt good to sit and be still, and I realized that yes, this was something I could handle, and embrace. I hadn’t had to crack a book or scroll through a phone or find any method of amusement because I hadn’t come close to being bored, nor was there any sense of needing to occupy the time or fill it with activity, despite the pace to which I’ve grown accustomed.

I also hadn’t cooked or baked anything in the kitchen for a while – another thing I’m looking forward to doing in Boston more when there aren’t a hundred new restaurants to try. All of these abstract ideas took more solid and defined form in my head, and I allowed myself a brief indulgence of the planning process that will ensue in more concrete form in a few more years. Time will pass all too quicker than I want it to, so I’m putting these thoughts back in their pretty box for now, content to focus on the moment at hand and fully inhabit the present. And so it is that I end this post, and this little jump to the future, and return to life as it currently stands. I don’t want to wish any of it away.

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20
May
2023
Tags: Boston
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Pre-Retirement Planning & Preparation – Part 1

Calm down, I tell myself, just calm the fuck down. My retirement eligibility won’t kick in for another eight or nine years, but having made it through more than two-thirds of my working career part of me understands that it’s not too soon to plan that far ahead, particularly when it comes to such a major life-shift. And retirement is something I’ve longed for since the day I first started as a Data Entry Machine Operator in a year that still had titles like ‘Data Entry Machine Operator’. I’ve always joked that I’d retire yesterday if it were a financial possibility, but at this point working has become part of the fabric of my existence, and I’m not entirely sorry that it has become so.

There is noble work that my agency accomplishes, and I’m proud to be part of the HR force that supports everyone doing that important work. Still, I’m starting to feel the earliest tinges of burn-out, and I’ve noticed the slow slump of either age or cynicism that seeps into my walk into the office in the morning. It’s the state worker slump, and no one is immune. In a few years it will be time to retire, so when I was recently afforded some unexpected time alone in Boston, I decided to plunge into what a day in retirement mode might look like.

Part of my retirement plan is to spend more time in Boston during the week, something I don’t get to do right now. It would allow me to simply be in Boston – and by ‘be’ I mean to simply live and exist – without having to jam-pack a billion different things into one wicked tiny weekend. I did that once in my youth, and I’ve missed it. That would also give Andy a break from me when I get a little too extra. (One thing that being home together during the early months of COVID revealed was that we very much appreciate our own alone time.)

Most of the weekends I currently spend in Boston are filled with shopping and eating and the occasional show – and all of those require money. Fine for the visits that happen just a few times during a year, but not something sustainable for retirement purposes. What would I do when the paychecks dwindled and I had nothing but hours to fill? Would I get bored or long for something to do? I set about in the morning to see how it might feel, and how I might navigate or plot out what will hopefully be the rest of my life. As I opened the door and stepped outside, I studied the shadows of the handrail on the steps – this shadow has followed its same trajectory for over a century. I felt myself approaching some sort of realization of the scope of time, then backed quickly away from dwelling on it. This was not the day or the moment to start tackling that kind of philosophical conundrum…

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13
May
2023
Tags: Andy, Boston
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The Anniversary That Was

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in twenty years of blogging, it’s how to paint a pretty picture even when the source material is flawed and far from idyllic. I’ve taken gray days and made them shine, turned rainy vacations into sunny-spirited romps, and transformed the rattiest of outfits and surroundings into the stuff of sparkle and pizzazz. There is so much negative stuff everywhere else I try to offer an alternative of tranquility and serenity here, occasionally coupled with a laugh or ridiculous complaint. But there are darker and more somber and serious moments here, when real life interrupts how pretty we might want it to be, and sometimes that creeps into even the most happy of events, like our wedding anniversary. 

Rather than pretend it was all hearts and flowers and chocolate candy, I’m at the point where it’s a disservice to anyone looking for some real resonance or meaning in what I post here to feign some impossible idea of perfection or even a vague notion of prettiness when the heart feels anything but pretty or happy. 

A full Flower Moon and Mercury in retrograde motion made for a startlingly dismal crux of emotional crisis, and so it was that I arose on the Saturday of our anniversary weekend in Boston alone and without Andy. I wish I’d taken the astrological mayhem into account and backed down when our argument began to escalate, but sometimes we lose sight of things and get confused and accusatory in the moment.

As I puttered about the condo, and a beautiful spring day unfurled outside, almost exactly like it had thirteen years ago, I remembered something that Andy said to me early on in our relationship: “You’re not the man of my dreams but I fell in love with you anyway.“

He’d proclaimed those words in the impassioned heat of an argument and reconciliation, and if we could still be so fiercely affecting one another twenty-three years after we first met, then certainly that was a sign that we still vitally cared. 

Walking around Boston, I passed our favorite haunts, remembering all the moments we’d had here. With the tumult of the full moon behind us, things seems sillier and less portentous in the morning. The vast scope of a life shared offered perspective on a single fight, and the power of the bond of marriage bound us together even when we might disagree. 

I texted an apology to Andy – a rare but not entirely unprecedented act when I knew I had a hand in what had gone wrong. I said I was sorry, and then I wrote that we shouldn’t be alone and away from each other on our anniversary. My heart hurt with hope while I waited for a response.

It came a few minutes later, and he said he would come to Boston the next day. Then he sent his own apology, which may have been the best gift ever received for an anniversary. Thirteen years into our marriage, we are still learning, still trying to be better husbands. 

We had our fancy anniversary dinner at Rare, and the next morning we took our traditional stroll through the Boston Public Garden after having our wedding rings cleaned. Happiness had returned, like the waterfowl that honked and squawked on the water, and our hearts felt lighter than they had in days. The world had been righted for the moment. We’d had a less-than-ideal anniversary weekend, and it wasn’t a complete disaster. We survived, and the morning was beautiful.

Maybe there are those couples who have it entirely together and every moment is wonderful and dreamy and perfect. We are not one of those couples. We have to bicker and argue and be angry and upset and work it all out every once in a while. We have to let things go even when we are certain we are right and the other person is wrong. We have to forgive and acknowledge and accept, and decide whether it is still worth it to keep trying. Underneath it all is a foundation of love and care and commitment, and hopefully that is strong enough to see us through to get to more of the good stuff – the majority of peaceful and happy and calm days of living that makes the difficult parts as worth it as they are meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Thirteen years into our marriage, and almost twenty-three into our relationship, we still have mostly good days and happy times. Laughing our way through the silliness and insanity of life, even and especially when our own foibles trip us up, even when we are the ones getting in our own way – that’s a wonderful gift to open up every day, so here’s to lucky #13 and all that we’ve already been through.

A curtain of willow branches closes out the morning and our time in the garden, and the rest is between me and Andy…

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13
May
2023
Tags: Andy, Boston
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The Anniversary That Wasn’t…

After almost twenty-three years of having a partner – thirteen of which we’ve been husband and husband – I rarely had occasion to see a Broadway show alone. That’s one of the comforts of being with Andy that I’ve never taken for granted. So it was unorthodox and unfamiliar to be attending a Friday night performance of ‘Beetlejuice’ at the Citizen Opera House in Boston completely on my own, with an empty set holding only my Burberry coat and the Playbill. It was even more strange, and ultimately sad, to be there on my own at the start of our anniversary weekend. 

Before I met Andy, this would not be such an unusual circumstance. One of my favorite things to do when I was going to Brandeis was to escape the mind-numbingly dull trappings of campus life and take the train into Boston to see the newest movie release. The shows before noon were usually at a discount, and I could make a large popcorn into a very satisfying brunch and not worry about eating again until dinner. Sitting there with a small spattering of attendees, I felt relievedly alone and isolated, left to my own devices and happy to be so unbothered. There, in the dark, I didn’t worry about the social anxiety that plagued me in the light of day, when people made encounters at best wearying and at worst highly stressful. I didn’t realize at the time that it was ok to embrace such solitude, that it was ok to be alone, yet as much as it was a relief to me, it also came with its own set of neuroses. 

Sitting by myself in the Opera House, as the purple and green lights slowly raked the audience while menacing Tim Burton-like music made a macabre joke of my situation, I remembered those movie days but found no comfort in the memory. My husband was not with me. I’d driven to Boston alone. It looked like we would spending our wedding anniversary weekend without each other. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, if anything can even be planned as ‘supposed to be’ anymore. I’d scheduled our anniversary weekend in Boston – an annual tradition from the time we were officially married on May 7, 2010 (with the exception of the COVID year 2020, which we still honored, albeit it in our upstate NY backyard) – with reserved dinners at Mariel, No. 9 Park, and Rare. The surprise gift was a pair of tickets for the musical version of a movie that Andy loved – ‘Beetlejuice’ – which was playing that very weekend. Planning went back months to get the tickets and dinner reservations, and I thought everything was set, until the morning we were set to depart, when Andy decided to pick a fight before we were even out of bed. 

Andy usually gets in a mood right before we go on any trip or vacation – he’s always been that way, and I’ve learned to accept it and go with the flow so as not to make it worse. On this morning, with all the stress and awfulness of the world, I foolishly decided to engage and argue. Now, this was a mistake on several levels – the main one being that I’d entirely forgotten that there was a full moon and Mercury was in retrograde.

For many years, I’ve made it a point never to argue or fight during such tremulous times; it never ends well, and usually ends up in a bigger blow-up than would ever be warranted under saner circumstances. I forgot about that then, and in the end I wound up driving to Boston on my own, while Andy stayed home. Even the reveal of tickets to the show as his gift wasn’t enough for us to calm down and disengage, and so it was that I found myself sitting beside an empty seat, utterly unable to enjoy the spectacle and riotous laughter as ‘Beetlejuice’ made for a fun theatrical romp for everyone other than me. 

After the show, I walked back through Boston Common, winding my way to the Public Garden where we’d been married thirteen years ago. It was where I always ended up when I found myself in doubt or worry, and on this night, as the heart was heavy, and the head wondered where we had gone wrong, I followed the full moon and realized what we had done. What I didn’t know was how deep the damage had gone, and whether we’d find our way through it. What I did know was that the world was always off when we weren’t getting along, and the notion of a life without Andy was something that filled me with dread and sorrow and an emptiness I understood would never quite be fixed. 

Pausing on the footbridge of the Boston Public Garden, I watched as the clouds parted, revealing the full Flower Moon – that meddlesome, beautiful bringer of mayhem and madness and aptly-named lunacy. I checked my phone for a text or call from Andy, and there was none. 

Beneath the full moon, the garden was gorgeous. Haunted and forlorn, but gorgeous… 

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07
May
2023
Tags: Andy, Boston
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Our 13th Wedding Anniversary

Thirteen years ago today Andy and I stood in the Boston Public Garden and proclaimed our love for each other in front of some of our closest family and friends. The year was 2010, and we had been together for almost ten years, so a wedding felt like a formality, but as with most weddings the words transformed the day into something more meaningful and life-altering. I didn’t understand or believe it would happen to us, and after being denied such a simple rite of passage for so long, it meant something more to me and Andy. That’s the reason I always make such a big deal of our anniversaries – and why I look back on this day more than any others. 

Most of them were enshrined in this comprehensive anniversary post from 2020, when the world was at a standstill and our tenth anniversary was held at home rather than our usual return to Boston. When we started moving forward again, we made up our tenth (and eleventh) in this series of posts. 

Boston Wedding Anniversary 2020/2021: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Boston Wedding Anniversary 2022: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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05
May
2023
Tags: Boston
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All This Loving on Boston

A view from the walking bridge at the Boston Public Garden, this shows a swan boat out on its typical trajectory, rounding the island that forms a home for all sorts of waterfowl. This seems a wonderful as weekend as any for a visit to Boston, and so I’m listing a few links that exemplify all the Boston love I’ve been feeling of late. It is a most magical time in that fair city…

Our residence in Boston actually began over a quarter of a century ago, which for a city as old as Boston is a mere drop in the bucket. 

The city has been through a lot since then, and it remains in constant change and flux, which is part of its ever-growing appeal. 

Having a home-base in Boston has been a blessing for us. It is both respite and get-away – a perfect little escape, and possible retirement pad. 

Boston was where I found my first job as an adult on my own (in retail, of course, and I absolutely adored it).

A home-away-from-home has grown into a home in its own right. 

More links on Boston love can be seen here. It’s Friday and the weekend is at hand – get out and play!

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16
March
2023
Tags: Boston, Gardening
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Spring Sneak Peek in Boston

There would only be one good afternoon of sunny, almost-spring weather in my quick weekend visit to Boston, so I made the most of it and walked leisurely through the Southwest Corridor Park. The gardens were just beginning to come alive, and I found this grand swath of snowdrops to herald the upcoming season. 

Given the lack of perspective in these photos, it should be noted that their stature is diminutive, but they make for that in their multitudes, while also demanding closer inspection. Greater pleasure is always gleaned when you have to work for the beauty you find in the world. 

Happy harbingers of spring, the snowdrops here are accustomed to wintry weather, though I’m not sure what this recent storm has done to them. If it’s a quick dusting, they usually bounce back in a day or two; prolonged snow cover or freezing temperatures will take them out until the next year. Mother Nature isn’t always compassionate. I’m grateful to have found and appreciated these when I did. 

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16
March
2023
Tags: Boston
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Entering Boston the Back Way

Usually I enter our Boston place from the front – walking along the main street from a visitor’s parking space that’s hopefully-close and doing the sensible thing of sticking to the sidewalk. Once in a while I’ll find parking a street or two over, and find myself closer by going through the back alley behind our condo. These little alleys are the secret side of Boston. They’re not through-ways so the only people driving into the dead-end spaces are residents, or garbage pick-up, so it’s rare to see regular traffic there. 

This is where the real lives of Bostonians play out – the balcony dinner parties, the bedroom window peeks, the precious outdoor lots and parking spaces that only some select units can utilize. It was also where I chose to enter for a quick weekend visit to survey the place for spring.

Treading the gravel-lined driveway, I looked up at our condo from a vantage point I rarely use. It was the back-end of business in Boston, the behind-the-scenes machinations of those beautiful brick and brownstone buildings that line our historical streets. It felt hushed there, like I’d stumbled upon some reverential sacred spot where secrets were revealed and kept, and hints of spring in the afternoon sunlight added to the enchantment. 

A magnolia tree behind our building provided support for a few vines of ivy, still evergreen in this relatively-mild winter Boston has had, and I made an internal promise to come back more when the trees started blooming. In the brown gardens nearby, a friend from the past rested in the sun, perhaps as grateful as me for the promise of spring in the air. 

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28
February
2023
Tags: Boston, Gay Blog
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Boston Love on the Blog

Boston has played a major part in this website over the past twenty years, forming the backdrop for many a documented excursion, and the inspiration for many blog posts. It’s still my favorite city in the world, and it’s the place where I can find peace, happiness, excitement, glamour, stillness, calm, joy and adventure. I was scheduled to revisit it this past weekend, but plans were changed due to a stomach flu, so a re-do is in the works. Until then, this linky look back at some enjoyable Boston stays will have to sustain us. 

Boston has always been home to me – even when we were just visiting as children, its size and streets and charm felt cozy and comfortable, thanks mostly to the guiding force of Mom, who took us around and showed us how manageable a city could be. Back then, we stayed mostly to Copley Square, and the safe confines of our hotel. Eventually, I grew out of that sheltered space, and ventured forth into the city on my own. It’s been one beautiful journey after another, and I wouldn’t change a single step. 

Boston was the first place where I ever kissed a man, and despite how that all turned out, I have found a way to cherish that memory. 

Boston was where I met and forged a friendship with Alissa. We returned there to meet again and again over the years, and whenever I tread the South End streets near where she used to live, she comes back to life. 

Boston is where I found my first real job, in retail of course, which was the start of a beautiful romance. 

Boston is where I met JoAnn, which sparked one of the most hilarious moments in my life, right on the steps of Trinity Church. 

Boston was where I reconnected with Kira, who formed a major part of my days at John Hancock, along with JoAnn and the whole OG Hancock crew. She is entwined with my Boston history, happily so, no matter life may bring to us. She also helped me start the Boston Holiday Stroll tradition, something we kept going for quite a few years. Andy has picked up where she left off, and it’s still one of my favorite holiday traditions. 

Boston is home to several happy holiday traditions, highlighted by the Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, which is one of the more uncharacteristic events I’ve hosted in my Boston home. Thankfully, I’m a pro around the kiddies these days, and I can handle however many hours it might run. 

Boston was where I was supposed to be on the day of the Marathon Bombing. I was literally about to get in the car to start the drive when messages started coming in asking if I was ok; I unpacked my bags to the news of the lockdown and manhunt for the bombers. 

Boston is the home of the Red Sox, the only sports team that has ever inspired any sort of passion in me, thanks to the way my Dad raised me and my brother. We were a Red Sox household, and that allegiance has never wavered (even when I was the lone sixth-grader in upstate New York rooting for them against the Mets in that bummer of a 1986 season – yeah, I still remember). That played the historical backbone to the BroSox Adventures that Skip and I have enjoyed for many years, a tradition that forms what is always one of the most fun weekends of our summer season. 

Boston is also a place for drama, and as we get older I find myself in more, and less, of it. Lessons have been learned, and lessons have had to be re-learned, and still the city provides a backdrop and balm for whatever is going on in the tumult of all our hearts and heads. 

Boston is where I love to rendezvous with an old friend, such as this salty old man who has been along for the rollercoaster of friendship with me since 1995. We blame Suzie for introducing us, and Suzie has been in Boston numerous times, lending her own quirky enchantment to the city and finding new ways to dream. 

Boston is a home I’ve had for almost three decades, standing solidly within the brick walls of our condo, obliterating the attacks of every winter storm or stifling summer day, providing respite and reprieve from an ever-frightening outside world. 

Perhaps most happily of all, Boston is where Andy and I got married – on a bright sunny May day in the Public Garden, surrounded by all the spring blooms and swans and love that anyone could want. We return there year after year – sometimes it rains, sometimes the sun shines, and often it does a bit of both – and it grounds us again, reminding us of that day, that year, and all the years that we’ve had together. 

Boston is Love. 

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09
February
2023
Tags: Boston
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The Lion That Never Sleeps

Standing sentry at the entrance to the Copley Fairmont in Boston’s stately Copley Square, this golden lion has been greeting visitors with nobility and grace for as long as I can remember. Lions are plentiful in Boston, and I love spotting them scattered throughout buildings and architecture, from the top of the Old State House to the pair of peaceful stone giants framing the staircase of the Boston Public Library. There are less famous lions, and one of my favorites is in this front corner of a private residence in the South End. 

All of these lions remain stoic and silent, a lesson in stillness and power. While the winter rages and the summer burns, they stand unbothered and unburdened by the maelstrom around them. In that respect, I long to be like these lions.

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20
January
2023
Tags: Boston, Family
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Make-Up Weekend in Boston ~ 2

My favorite museum in the whole world (sorry, State Hermitage) is easy the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, famed as much for its founding lady as it now is for its infamous theft. Both proved of interest to the twins, so I spent the few days prior to our visit preparing them with the story of that heist, in the hopes that some of the beauty, art, and story of Gardner herself would come along with it. 

I still remember my first time at the museum. It was on a bitterly cold day in winter, and it would have been just a few short years after the crime. As her will decreed that nothing in the museum should be changed or moved, the empty frames remained empty – ghostly reminders of the robbery and the questionable avarice of human beings. I remember being more struck by them than my much of the painting that remained – a sad comment on humanity all around. 

Emi and Noah took it all in – Noah had researched where the rooms with the missing paintings were located, and we went through each with meticulous and careful examination; Noah took photos along the way, including the above one of Emi and myself by the courtyard. 

This remains my favorite place in the museum, no matter how obvious it might be. There is such a sense of peace and tranquility that steals over anyone caught in its spell – it is utterly transporting, especially on a January day in Boston that would sputter a mix of rain and snow for its entire duration, compelling us indoors and draining the joy of a walk in the city. The twins asked if we could visit the neighboring Museum of Fine Arts on some future visit and I said we absolutely could. 

After a lunch at Eataly and some shopping along Newbury, we found a respite in the early but already dim afternoon within the marble brilliance of the Fairmont Copley Plaza. During out pause there we discussed the day so far, along with plans for the remainder of the evening, which would find us seeking out a bowl of pho at a sub-par place that was disappointing for a first pho, so I promised to bring them to a more worthy spot before the winter ends. 

Back at the condo for the evening, we decided against a movie, and I taught them the game of chess, which they both picked up much more quickly than I remember picking it up. While my friend Billy first taught me how to play, it was my Uncle Roberto who honed my skills and made me into a fierce contender. It felt only right to carry on that tradition in the role of Uncle I now occupy, and I was happy to see their skills improve before my eyes as they held their own against my own arsenal of experience. They will make formidable chess foes in the very near future. 

All in all, it was a fun and surprisingly educational experience, and I realized that I may connect best to the pre-teen/early-teen age demographic, perhaps because that’s where my head still resides. They went to bed beneath a  rainbow of taffeta curtains I had just taken down from the holiday decorations, because that’s how Uncle Al rolls. 

The next morning we decided on brunch at Boston Chops, then made our reluctant return home. All winter weekends should be so lovely.

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19
January
2023
Tags: Boston, Family
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Make-Up Weekend in Boston ~ 1

By the time we arrived in Boston on a Friday evening in January, it was already dark. Our playlists had all been played, and there was one last visitor’s spot left for parking on our street – a happy sign that we were right where we were meant to be. We grabbed our bags and hoofed it to the condo, where I adjusted the thermostat to something cozy, and we settled in to the warmth and the light of the space. 

This was our make-up weekend for having missed out on this holiday gathering, and as I switched on some Christmas lights and lit a few cinnamon-scented candles, I vowed to make this our official last holiday act of the year. The twins set about to opening their gift bags, which had a moviwe for later, and some silly treats for then. I sat down and took a deep breath, then looked for some dinner options. 

As with most decisions these days, dinner was a negotiation between the twins – with strict parameters and compromises, lines of demarcation and concessions, and the sort of trade-offs one would usually expect from countries who had been at war for centuries. I just wanted some warm food, and as soon as possible. They finally settled on the South End Buttery, to which we hustled in hurried and hungry form. The cozy little corner restaurant welcomed us in from the cold, and we soon enjoyed a dinner and went over the plans for the following day.

On the way home, and in search of a sweet treat, we took a detour to the Newbury Hotel, site of a glorious hot fudge brownie sundae the last few times I’d been in town, so I brought them there for our sugary night cap. The sundae was on the menu, so we each ordered one. It would be a weekend of splurging and indulgence, and it had only begun… 

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17
December
2022
Tags: Andy, Boston, Holiday
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Holiday Stroll 2022: With My Husband ~ Part 2

The second day of our Holiday Stroll weekend began in colder and grayer form. Andy slept in, and I made my way to downtown to get the supplies for the following week’s Children’s Holiday gathering – another planned return to something we once did with some semblance of regularity, and which now felt strange and new. I shuffled along the Southwest Corridor Park and noticed that flowers and berries were still showing off. 

It recalled the Lenten roses I’d seen on our car ride home the night before – a row of them in ghostly bloom at this late date in December, somehow blooming on an evening when both Andy and I were too chilled to explore the city any further. On this day, the same chill was in the air, so I hurried along and finished all my shopping – both for the following week, and all the holiday shopping for friends and family. (Jaxon Layne was the last one I needed to find something for.) 

Returning home to find Andy ensconced on his end of the couch and finishing up his cup of coffee, I joined him for an early afternoon siesta – a favorite part of visiting Boston now. 

Dusk came quickly, and without wanting a formal or stuffy dinner scene we took a car to Chinatown and had another meal of comfort food. Miscalculating the timing, our early dinner plans ran into the matinee-ending crush of the nearby theater district, so traffic snarled and snagged, causing us to walk over to the Ritz-Carlton for a beat, where we found another fireplace that played a part on previous holiday strolls and visits.

One of those jewel-like moments that find their unplanned way into every holiday stroll, we paused there to get warm, then continued on through the chilly night, down Boylston and all the way to the Newbury. 

Formerly the Taj, this was where we spent our wedding weekend, and as such holds special significance. We are accustomed to seeing this spot filled with flowers, but the Christmas version was just as spectacular. Across the street, a battalion of geese stood sentry on the pond at the Boston Public Garden. Maybe for our wedding anniversary we will return for a night in one of the suites. 

For now, we can merely afford another night at the condo, which held its own holiday allure with this mantle of stockings (the ‘E’ is for Emi and the ‘N’ is for Noah who will be joining me next weekend). 

And while I missed Kira this time around, I might have had a more heartfelt stroll being accompanied by Andy. When he’s not in Boston, his presence is always felt – in the Public Garden, at our favorite restaurants, along the Southwest Corridor Park – and when he is in Boston, it’s even better. 

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