Category Archives: Holiday

A Quiet Boston Children’s Holiday Hour (Without the Children)

We knew this year’s Boston Children’s Holiday Hour would be a quieter one, and we welcomed that. The twins couldn’t make it, neither could Simon, and the youngest of the bunch that could appear, Milo, teeters on teenage-dom, so this little tradition may be in need of a name change or revamping in its next iteration. Happily it was still a joyful moment with dear friends gathering in the condo for a holiday ritual that always feels like a warm and bright spot amid the more tumultuous seasonal revelry.

Chris arrived late on a Thursday, so I went over early as well just to get things ready and to spend time with one of my safe people. I’d last seen him at Dad’s service, so I was anxious to make a new memory, and we went about the city for a couple of days on our own before the crowd assembled. 

The next day I met Kira for lunch in Beacon Hill, a bonus get-together following this holiday stroll which had been such an enjoyable romp. Our impromptu lunch of Thai food was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the season, a reminder of what really matters in all the madness. We walked along Charles Street after lunch and checked out a few of the shops, then I made my way toward the condo through the Public Garden. 

The weather had been gracious to us, unlike the nasty storm that greeted our festivities last year. It was cold, but there was no rain, such as the deluge that marred the last time Chris and I were in Boston together. We met back up at the condo then headed to an exceptionally-fun dinner at the North End, where we had once had a wild dinner with his Mom a couple of decades ago. When you can talk about time with friends in terms of decades, you know you’re talking about a good friend. 

The next day was the official Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, which has always turned into four or five hours, and gratefully so. Suzie, Pat, Oona, Milo, Tommy, Janet, Mady and Logan soon arrived – we hadn’t been together since an all-too-quick dinner this past summer. A lot had happened since then, but we were still here, still alive, still celebrating the kids who were no longer quite kids, and still not adults, so there was still time. 

Another holiday season had come and almost gone. A Boston night enfolded us in its mystery and calm, strange clouds passing overhead, and the next day Chris departed at the crack of dawn to catch a plane. I headed back home a couple hours later – back to Christmas, back to family, back to what remained of the calendar year. 

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Christmas Counterprogramming

This has been a heavy year, and a heavy Christmas season. It feels incongruous with what Christmas has traditionally personified, but that’s all part of it. How could we ever experience the warmth and comfort without the cold and ache? Sometimes it’s not enough for the weather of the winter to be that dark and dismal – sometimes we have to feel it in our hearts

As a frivolous antidote to such themes, I offer the following list of links to happier blog posts and memories, many from sunnier summer days, some from childhood, and all from a happier place than it feels like we’re in right now. Not everyone is happy or surrounded by loved ones on this day, so to anyone feeling lonely or simply not in the Christmas spirit, may this little list of look-backs provide some solace. Merry Christmas.

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A Cemetery Visit for Christmas

My father was never big on Christmas. He was always present, but we all understood it wasn’t his thing, and as his first Christmases with me would be happening at the same age that I am now, I can finally understand the lack of engagement and excitement about the season. For someone who’d lived through the Japanese occupation of the Philippines, then immigrated to this country to seek a better life for himself and his family, Christmas must have seemed like a silly exercise in gaudiness. He seemed most at home during the solemn moments at Christmas mass, when he would bow his head and I would wonder at what he might be thinking or ruminating. 

That didn’t mean that Dad was not on my mind as we readied to prepare our first Christmas without him, and after dropping off gifts at my Mom’s new house, I found myself doing a U-turn to head back to the cemetery, just to visit his resting place before the holiday. Like my last visit to the cemetery, I hadn’t planned it, I simply went. Out of respect, out of loyalty, out of obligation, and mostly out of love, and missing him. 

The day was cold – overcast in dismal shades of gray, and cut with a biting wind. I paused at the bottom of the cemetery and got out to walk beside the stand of cattails and wildflowers that were in bloom only a few months ago. They were brown and dead now, and still somehow beautiful. I’d picked a make-shift bouquet last time I was there, but no such trifles would be procured today. Dad was never one for such decoration, even if it was Christmas. 

I got back in the car and drove to the site. Atop a stark hill, it sat near a road along which the occasional car would travel, reminding me that we were never truly alone. That didn’t stop the loneliness. 

Looking up at the boughs of a nearby evergreen, I saw the pendulous future hanging in the pinecones, dangling like ornaments and decorating the cemetery in the only manner fitting to such sacred space. A multitude of future trees held their promise and possibility within – so much hidden life among so much quiet death. 

I couldn’t feel my father lingering there, and I didn’t blame him. He would have hurried out of the cold, even if he’d made it his home far from the warmth of the Philippines, even if he was the one to snow-blow the driveway after every storm. 

Later that day we would find out that Dad’s next-to-last surviving brother, who’d had similar struggles to Dad, and for years longer, had died. A sad and somber year takes another beloved soul. Perhaps he will join Dad wherever they might be, and have a Christmas reunion. 

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A Christmas Eve Safari

Nostalgia is not familiar territory for me, but at this time of the year it feels like a proper bit of indulgence. So it was that I stumbled fatefully into the back of the cologne cabinet, and down a memory slide that brought me all the way to the holiday season of 1993. After graduating from the typical guy’s starter set of ‘Cool Water’ and ‘Curve’, the classic ‘Eternity’ by Calvin Klein, and a brief foray into the rightfully and quickly discontinued ‘Zino’ by Davidoff, I’d landed on ‘Safari’ by Ralph Lauren for the holiday season, and my first return home since leaving for college that fall

It is said that most fragrances don’t last beyond a decade or so, but I’ve not found that to be true. It helps that my bottles are stored in a dim cabinet and kept relatively cool, so there isn’t much of the wear and tear that usually breaks down cologne. Still, thirty years is a pretty substantial stretch, but somehow ‘Safari’ still help potency, and as I sprayed it on, I was back three decades ago… back to a happy time, to a hopeful time, even as it was fraught with the romantic drama as befits an 18-year-old freshman in college

With proclaimed notes of eucalyptus, lavender and vetiver, this is a traditional cologne accented by opening sparks of bergamot and lemon. It manages to be both fresh and rich, and the original batch is still holding onto its power. Accordion to recent reports, the newer ‘Safari’ bottles are a bit more watered down – the usual story on most fragrances these days. Potency is out and light is in, and that’s a bummer. Thankfully, I have two bottles with a bit left in each – enough to see me through the next thirty Christmas seasons if necessary. 

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Christmas Brotherhood

Once upon a happier time, my brother and I would pick up the family Christmas tree from Bob’s Tree Farm, winding through the back roads that lead out of then back into Amsterdam. It was something we started after I left for college, a small way of finding our way back to each other after the disturbing traumas of an average adolescence. Later, when he had kids, we would bring them along for the ride, and incorporate a dinner at the Cock & Bull. 

A few years ago we had a big fight on the night we went to get the tree, and haven’t been able to pick up the tradition again. It was, like so many fights among brothers, something that started off in silly and trivia fashion, then quickly blew up into something that must have triggered both of us, bringing up all 40 years of being brothers. There’s a lot of misunderstanding and hurt that happens over such a long span of time. A lot of love and familial history too. Somehow, we’re still ok, as ok as any brothers can be I suppose. I wish we could be closer, but I understand why we may not be – at least, I think I’m starting to understand. 

I texted him a few weeks ago to see if he wanted to go our for a dinner at the Cock & Bull with the twins again, as a way of reigniting our Christmas tradition. I never heard back, and I assume his calendar is booked with other events and obligations. Nobody texts back these days, and it’s simply something we can’t take personally. 

Our history came up at my last therapy session, and my therapist had asked whether we had been compared to each other while we were growing up. My memory on this was that my brother was often compared to me, particularly regarding grades and performance in school. It was a regular thing, and when you are on the ‘good’ side of such a comparison, you don’t take much stock in it. It didn’t feel bad on that side of it, but I never gave much thought to my brother’s reception of such comparisons. I do know it happened a lot, and looking back it makes sense that it might have left a mark. 

My therapist then asked if we had the same circle of friends, to which I replied we did not and never have. She said that might explain some things, as people who have been compared unfavorably with others tend to move away from those to whom the comparison has been made, finding their own circles and their own life away from the origin of such discomfort. 

A greater understanding and perspective clicked for me then. All these years of feeling like I had to instigate every get-together or engagement with my brother may not have been in my imagination, and while I still don’t believe it was overtly intentional on his part, perhaps this is part of an underlying reason why he seems less than interested in hanging out with me. After thinking of it that way, I can’t blame him. 

This isn’t the time of year for blame anyway, especially among families, and especially after losing our Dad. I don’t feel resentment for my brother’s apparent disinterest, and I can’t feel badly now for how we were raised. In many ways, neither of us had control over any of it, then or now. All I can do is be there if and when he needs his brother, and keep trying to be a better brother than I was the day before. 

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Christmas By Fanny

Do a deep dive on Fanny Cradock on YouTube and feel ten times worse about your Christmas cooking and planning. This is the sort of person who would have scared the bejesus out of me as a child, almost as much as she would have enthralled me. These days she simply provides fascinating holiday fodder in a season that needs a little blunt trauma to take the edge of the saccharine sweetness of it all

“May I say how much I admire the housewives of Britain, in these appalling present conditions, for their courage in trying to give their families another super Christmas,” she says with haughty grandeur.

Her personal story is tinged with controversy, and in today’s cancel-happy culture, she’d likely be smeared and dragged and left for obscurity. Instead, she lives on in these video clips, at the most wonderful time of the year, when we most need a frightening specter.

“I have always been extremely rude, and got exactly what I wanted.” – Fanny Cradock

Tell it, Fanny. Tell it.

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A Holiday Stroll 25 Years in the Making: Part 2

The morning of a holiday stroll usually dawns in quiet and somewhat-surprising simplicity. After building it up in my mind since the last one, it usually feels less exciting than memory serves – not anti-climactic like Christmas, but more seriously resonant, as though there was something slightly somber at work. Spending time with good friends is, after all, serious business – and when you’re friends have become your chosen family, it means even more. 

On the day of this stroll, Kira and I woke early to have breakfast at home – an egg nog bread pudding that turned out to be divinely sinful, or sinfully divine depending on how you like to look at things. (It’s just a regular bread pudding recipe switching out the milk with egg nog – you can cut out some of the sugar based on the sweetness of the egg nog if you’d like, but since it’s the holidays I left it all in – the sweeter the better!)

Walking that off was a requirement, so we headed out on our own little stroll through Southwest Corridor Park, where the holly was showing off its own holiday efforts. 

We procured some food stuffs for the arrival of JoAnn, and on the way back stopped at the lobby of the Lenox Hotel. 

This hotel always reminds me of a happy birthday celebration that Andy and I had in their Judy Garland suite. There was a gift lion we named Lenox in our room for that 40th birthday stay, and a larger version of him now sits atop the fireplace mantle, warming himself as any lion would on a cold Boston day. 

We returned to the condo, supplies in hand, and set about to putting together a bit of charcuterie and this merry mocktail for the three of us to enjoy, as none of us drinks liquor anymore. My how times have changed…

The eager excitement of waiting for a dear friend like JoAnn lent the afternoon a glow of anticipatory delight, and as I saw her approach, Kira went down to let her in. Once we had settled into our seats around the table overlooking Braddock Park, the new Cher Christmas album went for its first spin, and as we listened to the music, we reminisced over our twenty-five years together. The three of us met back in the fall of 1998, and somehow found ourselves in this very same city a quarter of a century later, reunited and celebrating the holidays more like family than friends. Our stroll to dinner felt almost like a foot-note to the giddy magnitude of simply being together and talking again, but it held its own enchanting sway (a green woolen cape added to the traditional notion of a stroll). 

Sharing a history with such good people gives warmth to any season, but being able to be with them for the holidays warms my heart in a way that I especially appreciate this year. A lot has happened since we first started hanging out at John Hancock so many years ago, and somehow we’ve been able to maintain our friendships despite time and distance and all the things life had in store for each of us. 

Our holiday stroll weekend, set once again where it all began, was reaching its end. We were together again – and together we remembered the way life had been – and we could laugh before letting it go.

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A Holiday Stroll 25 Years in the Making: Part 1

A quarter of a century ago I met Kira and JoAnn, and as we celebrate and commemorate that happy anniversary of friendship (lifelong friendships are hard to come by these days) it felt like a good time to return to the basics of our holiday stroll. Our history has been well-documented here, and recently I’ve been waxing nostalgic for those early days at John Hancock in Boston, when we were young and foolish and having the time of our lives without even realizing it. Still, I wouldn’t trade where we are today with where we were back then – it exhausts me to even think about all those antics, all that drama, and all the unnecessary tumult of the time. Even then, all I wanted was calm, and meaningful moments with friends. After twenty-five years, we may have finally figured it out. 

Much like Christmas, my favorite part of a Holiday Stroll is usually the night before, when Kira and I convene at the condo to settle in, finish up any decorating and preparation, and find something for dinner. On this night, we made a quick trip to Chinatown for a warming bowl of pho. 

In the past, our evening walks would have wound around a few hotel bars and lobbies, meandering until we returned hours later, chilled and often wet from whatever precipitation decided to fall. On this night, there was none of the above, and we came back early to enjoy our time together in the comfort of home

I gave Kira her presents and we sat down on the couch to unwind. Around us, the Christmas decorations glowed, giving off their warm light and protecting us from the cold and dark night.

As the years pass, and scenes shift in a city as dynamic as Boston, I realize the importance of having a stable home base. It is at these times that the coziness of the condo reveals itself as a destination unto itself. All those endless nights seeking out entertainment elsewhere, searching for the right place to be at the right time – it was always here. 

We put a sweet potato in the oven in preparation of another holiday tradition – watching ‘The Man Who Came to Dinner’, which has an ice-skating scene where the characters eat a couple of ‘Hot Sweets’. Whenever that scene comes on, we stop and head into the kitchen to have our own hot sweet moment. On this evening, we had our sweet treats and spent a bit more time on the couch, letting much of the movie go by, happily lost in regaling old memories and catching up like old friends who have been apart for too long tend to do. When we crawled back into bed for the remainder of the movie, Kira promptly fell asleep before it finished. 

The Eve of a Holiday Stroll is a magical time, and I’ll always pause for a moment when Kira is already asleep, tip-toe out to the living room and sit for a moment in quiet and solitude, looking at the Christmas lights and taking in the calm. JoAnn was arriving the next day for our proper stroll, which we had pared down to a simple walk to dinner… 

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A Somber Christmas Moment

While I’ve been outwardly going through the motions at work, on this blog, and at most social events I’ve attended of late, underneath it all I’m not feeling the seasonal happiness that Christmas, at its best, often affords. Given that this is our first Christmas without Dad, I’m not forcing myself to find mirth and glee in anything right now, nor am I shutting myself off from any happiness and good-will that might present itself. I’ve been in a state of blah, seeking out cozy moments of quiet, and more often than not of solitude, or spending time with Andy watching silly Christmas movies (he’s the one who introduced me to the wonder of ‘National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation’ and ‘It Happened on Fifth Avenue’). I’ve also done my best to put a seasonally appropriate spin on these blog posts, sprinkling some added sparkle and pizzazz to whatever I’m recounting in an effort to conjure cheer and enchantment. 

Andy has been helpful to that end, indulging in holiday traditions as they come up, but not pushing us toward things we don’t want or need to do. I like to remember our first Christmas together, in which we hung stockings I’d made with our names on them over the fireplace that Andy had at his old house. We were still new to each other, and finding our own Christmas traditions would take years – years the I happily took to make our way together.  That first Christmas was also the Christmas I met his parents for the first time, which resulted in this never-to-be-forgotten introduction to his Mom’s highball

We have many holiday memories of my parents and family as well, and most are happy ones, which I will rekindle whenever I feel myself losing the way of the season. Those come loaded with bittersweet accents now, as the group we once were dwindles with each passing year

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Deer Watching Candles, Still and Silent

The holiday candle collection has been erected in the attic. It is here where I do much of the writing for this blog, and here where I find light and stillness and calm, even in the mayhem of the holiday season. I am behind on the shopping and gift procurement for friends and family. To be honest, I’ve already lost track of what I got for anyone, and I’m now at the point where I need to figure that shit out immediately if I am to get anything else via online shopping. It’s too close for my Virgo comfort, but this year I’m going easy on myself. 

The weather has been kinder this December, if slightly more disturbing, and its the latter element that overwhelms. There should be more of a chill to the days right now. We are almost at the start of winter. It doesn’t feel like it. Still, the days go dark very early, and we keep the light as best as we can

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A Boston Office Party

My first office job, as a research analyst at John Hancock Insurance, may have been procured through a chance meeting at the local sex club, but by December of 1998 I’d won the hearts (or minds) of management over, had made several new friends (some of whom I’m still quite close with) and started dating a sweet boy who worked in Crabtree & Evelyn while he pursued an acting career at Emerson. It was as far from a sex club as one could get, and I embraced the possibility of something quieter and more stable as I approached the midpoint of my twenties. 

Making my way into the office world, I’d been promoted to a higher-level position, where I was asked to review work rather than do all the research myself. The idea of an office career presented itself, but I was too young to invest in something so safe. Instead, I retained all my wildness, bringing it into the office in my own sartorial manner, joining my co-workers for bar-hopping nights of madness, entertaining overtime Saturday afternoons with martinis and joints and not making it back to the office more often than not. Best of times, worst of times, the usual province of a recent college grad – aimless and hopeful and somehow both too silly and too serious for my own good. 

Living in the condo was ideal for a single young man – or a single young man and his boyfriend who occasionally spent the night. It was small and cozy, and entirely too tiny for a party of more than a few, which made the holiday gathering I was planning an absolutely ridiculous idea. 

It quickly became the talk of the office, and it demanded Christmas decorations, a fully-stocked bar, and a few viewings of ‘Auntie Mame’. By the time the night of the party arrived, the excitement and anticipation had become a juggernaut of their own – all I had to do was gently tug at the reins of the evening, toss back a couple of cocktails, put on a pair of feathered wings, and open the door for the guests. 

That holiday party was, from what little I can recall (and from the many pieces of it that had been told to me over the days and weeks that followed) a wild and debauched night. The guest book from that evening is filled with hilariously drunken ramblings from people I’ve known for decades, along with a number of people I don’t remember in the slightest. Looking through it for the first time in years, I am touched by how young we all were. A couple of people in it have already passed away. One of them – a fellow named John – wrote the following:

‘Alan – I promise you nothing, and in ‘nothing’ I promise you my respect and love. I would never discount anything that didn’t come at too high a price. I’ll never be able to afford you and it has nothing to do with how much I make. Keep being you. Love, John— This was probably more sentimental than I intended – please disregard.’

In ways too numerous and varied to fully and accurately convey, that encapsulates this section of my life, and this party in particular. As I mentioned, we were so young – so very, very young – and in that youth were the twin opportunities of protection and ruin, both waiting to exert their own pull, with all their accompanying traps and tricks and treachery. 

For all the fun that was on record and in the memory of others, the only thing I really remember from that night is walking into the bedroom as the party was dying down, finding my boyfriend almost asleep in bed, and wanting nothing more than to be alone with him. 

There were two more people who signed the guest book that evening – two new friends who would play a part in the years to come: JoAnn and Kira. We didn’t know then that twenty-five years later we would be taking a holiday stroll together… 

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Holiday Smorgasbord

A cacophony of a holiday post is at hand, so if you’re looking for a sensible narrative keep clicking. If you’re looking for a bizarre stream-of-consciousness bit of sprawling kookiness, you’ve come to the right place. In keeping with the twentieth anniversary of this website (meaning that twenty years of holiday posts have been written, half of which are lost to wherever deleted blog posts go. Re-reading some of this shit that’s been posted here makes me realize that’s not necessarily a regrettable thing. Here are a few holiday posts that go back to 2010, such as this one about my favorite holiday decoration or this one about a twisted sleigh ride

‘The Little Drummer Boy’ still brings nervousness to my heart because of this Christmas morning memory. A sundae treat with my brother and the twins feels far away these days. 

We didn’t know it then, but one of our first holiday strolls was born on this snowy morning in the Boston Public Garden. The Holiday Stroll is a precious thing. 

A foggy journey through the backroads of December led us to the Cock & Bull

Windows for the rich.

THAT Christmas song.

THIS Christmas song.

The holly AND the ivy.

Tablescaping.

Christmas sniffing.

An outfit inspired by Barbra Streisand herself

Madonna’s holiday Masterpiece.

Winter slumber wonderland.

This Christmas Eve will mark the first that I don’t get to see this nostalgic view.

Remembering a day with Dad.

This waltz has become one of my favorite Christmas songs.

This was just OUTRAGEOUS!

Our very first Boston Children’s Holiday Hour.

Diamonds & Pearls‘ will always be a holiday song for me.

A Christmas frag that brings back happy memories

A classic Christmas dish.

One big-ass Christmas ball to block all the nudity.

If Andy sent out Christmas cards, this should be one.

The first time I met Andy’s Mom was this Christmas Eve.

Retail Christmas memories.

The world in an ornament.

The first and only Christmas tree we’ve ever grown.

15 at 15, which was five years ago.

Secret holiday tea recipe.

Holly and friendship.

A moment of melancholy beneath the Christmas tree.

Lastly, the pic below is this year’s variation on this variation from a decade ago

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The Holiday Card 2023: About Time

A pictorial treatise on the passing of time – note the consultation of a pocket watch while waiting for a locked portal – this year’s Holiday Card arrives largely without fanfare or hype. Some years are quieter that way. Not that I didn’t put forth any effort for this one – I still got into a wig and the make-up and an extravagant satin robe and witchy hat – and Suzie followed me around this tomb right before Halloween to take these shots. Then we went to Marshall’s and got Chipotle, or was it Moe’s? Anyway, don’t let that diminish whatever magic we might have conjured here. 

As I was saying, this was all about time, and this past year the passing of time parallels the passing of several people very dear to us. A few of my friends have lost loved ones as well, so a number of cherished people in my circle have been going through some sorrow. That changes the march of time too – elongating it in some respects, condensing and shrinking it in others. Grief, along with the process of grieving, works according to its own timetable – it will not be hurried or rushed, or lengthened for that matter. 

While the wig is not my hair, the color is veering closer to it. Laugh lines are closely aligned to cry lines, and both are deeper these days. The flesh on the rest of the body is fuller, fluffier to put it in a friendlier slant, and I find myself more lethargic and static, staying still rather than being in motion. A slowing down feels right at this moment – a pause of contemplation to give a respectful nod to our past, an honoring of time itself. 

A moment of reflection should include the option of looking back at previous holiday cards. I’ve only clicked a few of these, since looking back can get tiresome, but there are a few that still tickle me. 

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, while ye may, go marry;
For, having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
- Robert Herrick

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Strolling into a New Season

Today is our scheduled holiday stroll, which finds both Kira and JoAnn joining in for this year’s festivities after a couple of years away. Last year Andy joined me for the stroll, which was a lovely twist, and may happen again, but this year it felt right to return to basics, and the very first holiday stroll was just Kira and I walking along on a snowy Saturday through the Boston Public Garden.

Since that first one, our strolls have evolved, changing into full-blown weekends with detailed itineraries, spinning off into Children’s Holiday Hours, and somehow retaining a bit of holiday magic no matter how old we get. Here’s a collection of previous strolls while we create memories of a new one. 

Holiday Stroll 2012
Holiday Stroll 2013 ~ Part 1Part 2
Holiday Stroll 2014
Holiday Stroll 2015 ~ Part 1Part 2Part 3
Holiday Stroll 2016 – Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Holiday Stroll 2017 ~ Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Holiday Stroll 2018 ~ Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Holiday Stroll 2019 ~ Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Recap
Holiday Stroll 2020: Canceled!
Holiday Stroll 2020: Recalled to Life!
Holiday Stroll 2022: Part 1 and Part 2.

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Decembers Past & Present

Arriving at the first of December, we careen to the end of the calendar year, and the final month commemorating the 20th anniversary of this website. To that nostalgic end, here’s a linky look-back at some of the Decembers that have already happened here. After the past few months, I’m in no position to predict how the December of 2023 will play out. With a weary and wary heart, I will do my best to quietly enjoy the holiday spirit when it appears, and to try my very best not to get annoyed when it doesn’t. Scroll below for more December mayhem from the archives of this ancient site…

Going back to the furthers vestiges of a website that used to get updated and wiped clear every two or three years, 2010 is our first flicker of archived dates for December. At the time Ryan Reynolds was apparently single and naked. That’s thirteen years ago, which makes for a substantial list coming up.  

December 2011 offered the usual charms this site has become known for: underwear, Madonna, childhood memories, and VPL.

Rewinding all the way to 2012 brings us back to things that feel long gone – like holidays where children flitted about while blissfully unaware of their phones, television sets that were bulkier than any bulge caught in their reflection, and the typical hints at male nudity that once fueled clicks to this site. 

Jockstraps, parties, vacations, David Beckham in his underwear and More gave 2013 its oomph – and that was a full decade ago. 

By December of 2014, the site found its escapist groove with visits to Maine, Broadway, Cape Cod, Boston, Florida and Minneapolis – and a revisiting of a favorite mantra: you flush it, I flaunt it.

Some almost-naked Zac Efron GIFs were enough to put December 2015 on the map, plus some cologne, Sunset Boulevard, and booty-teasers.

By December 2016 we were all growing up, most notably the Ilagan twins, who were no longer the babies they once were. Not to worry, everything was still as if we never said goodbye. 

The gray hair started coming in circa December 2017 (ok, maybe a little sooner) and time just kept on ticking. 

Filipino family dinner fare, Tiny Threads, and Tom Ford kept things on track for December 2018.

In so many ways, December 2019 feels like the very last month of innocence. Revisiting posts from that time period just prior to COVID is like a portal to another universe since so much has happened since then.

Thick in the muck of COVID, 2020 changed everything, even December, shattering every single tradition to which we so desperately clung, as if we could hang onto youth, or the past, in any meaningful way. 

By December 2021, we were still attempting to find the dazzle and sparkle at the end of the year.

That brings us to last year, and December 2022 brought us back to where it all began: family and friends, and a bonus of God-parenthood. 

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