Category Archives: Holiday

Dispelling Bleakness By Any Means Necessary

Despite the title of the song at hand, there is nothing bleak about the scene at my Mom’s new home. For our first family holidays in the new digs, I wanted to soften the wooden frame of the kitchen, adding some velvet curtains and evergreen garland to lend light and warmth to the area. 

I’m not sure I’ll be decorating our home this year – it feels a little too daunting, and I’m a little too lazy. Andy usually puts up our tree and decorates it, and that will be enough. But for Mom’s home, I wanted to add some extra pizzazz to the festivities, especially this year, as we’ll be spending Christmas Eve there. 

I asked Mom to run some errands while I set it all up, wishing for her to be surprised. Christmas music played in the background, and this song gave me brief pause as I remembered family Christmas moments of the past

It will be a different sort of Christmas without Dad, but even in his absence, we feel him still with us. He’s there in the quiet moments, in the times when we would have wandered into the family room to find him watching television or plotting his next bets at OTB. He’s there in a remembered comment, or an offhand laugh, winking from a framed photo, or sending some sign in his own subtle manner. 

The holidays have aways been tinged with an underlying melancholy, in the way that they force us to examine what matters, to find the best parts of ourselves and try to keep them present for the year that follows. 

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‘Tis the Season to Sleigh

‘Tis the season for nostalgia, for memories blending into the way we might have wished things had been, with the rosy glow of hindsight and the softened edges of time blunting what may have been tinged with sadness. We are at the top of this year’s holiday hill, just getting our snow legs underneath us before plunging headfirst (if we’re daring), onto a sled we hope stays stationed beneath our bellies, careening downhill as powdery puffs of snow thrillingly seer our faces. When you’re a kid, those rides down a snow-covered hill feel endlessly long (yet still nowhere near as long as the walk back up). 

There are different kinds of sleds and sleighs, and different types of holiday journeys we must make. This year, I’m trying merely to keep my head above water, or frozen water in this case, and trying to find joy and meaning in Christmas feels a tad too daunting to attempt right now. So I’m giving myself a pass, and whatever Christmas spirit I may salvage will be a bonus. To that end, here’s a fun rendition of ‘Sleigh Ride’ by the Ronettes for some Saturday night sliding. 

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Holiday, Masturbation, Come Together in Every Nation!

So, the real line goes, ‘Holiday, celebration, come together in every nation’ and it was immortalized in Madonna’s ‘Truth or Dare’ (read: Blonde Ambition) version of ‘Holiday’, but the title of a blog post has to be more catchy than that. Now that we have officially entered the Christmas season, let’s fire up this seasonally-appropriate chestnut.

“Should we give it one more time for the states, girls? Shall we try to have a holiday?”

This song, this video, this fucking time in my life… it all just screams for an escape, doesn’t it? And for all the fuckery that has circled wildly about me like a goddam hurricane for the past forty years or so, I remain the calm eye, even as the inside begins its own swirl. Whenever it feels like too much, I think of this song, and in my mind I dance, while rooting myself like a stone at the bottom of a river. All around me, I feel the raging, the rushing, the drowning… all the madness of a world that no longer resembles anything I once knew. 

Alas, the holidays are here whether we like it or not, and acting like a stone at the bottom of a river isn’t going to make them go away (in literal terms it would likely just kill you). I won’t subject you to a lengthy list of links to all the holiday posts that have been here before (that’s what a post like this is for). I will instead leave you with all the links already highlighted in blue for you to peruse or ignore at your own time, enjoyment and peril.

PS – Do the bus-stop!

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Gathering to Find Gratitude

This Thanksgiving post is about gathering the emotional and mental fortitude to find gratitude, as that is what will be more trying this year. Of course there is always something, often many things, to which we should offer gratitude and appreciation, and I’ve always been relatively decent about expressing that. This year, however, things feel a little off, as it’s our first holiday season without Dad, and out of our old home, and all the change is proving difficult. The holidays have, up until now, provided the one moment we usually managed to come together. 

And so, a different sort of gratitude – and mostly this Thanksgiving is about giving thanks to all the years our family had in more or less intact form. It doesn’t end, it only changes and evolves. When I think about the upcoming holiday season, I expect it to be different, and sadder, and maybe all the other changes will do us some good. In many ways, I didn’t anticipate being bothered or upset by the holidays, because in truth my Dad didn’t play a big role in the mayhem of this most wonderful time of the year. I think he was sometimes more comfortable going to work or OTB than being home without those outlets being open for a few hours. Not that he didn’t enjoy his family, he simply didn’t know what to do with himself other than watch television or peruse his racing forms. In the last four or five years, his health was such that he didn’t participate much at all, which was just an exacerbated extension of the slight disengagement we all knew and accepted, and which I understand more and more the older I get. 

For me, Thanksgiving hasn’t been the same since 1990, which is when our family and the Ko family spent the last holiday season with all of us still alive; Suzie’s Dad died the following spring, shifting our lives irrevocably.

In 2001, Andy’s Mom died on this day, adding another layer of loss to the holiday, and changing our lives again. The holidays grew a little sadder, a little lonelier then, especially for Andy.

But on Thanksgiving, we’d still get together, and my Dad would still carve the turkey, and it was the one thing that seemed to stay the same until a couple of years ago. 

I will miss that, I will miss his perfectly-carved turkey, and I will be thankful for all those years we had, while looking for the ways our family might move forward. 

Here’s wishing a Happy Thanksgiving to you – embrace your loved ones who are here, and hold tight to the memories of those who are no longer with us.

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A Rosy Ending & A Holiday Beginning

This post will aim to recapture the collection of Friendsgiving adventures that I just had in Boston, while giving one sneak peek of the holiday fun to come in that grand city. Up first, is this rose bush, still blooming in the middle of November, and still giving joy to passers-by like myself who pause to stop and take in its beauty. Any flower brave enough to put on a show at this late date earns my admiration and respect, and roses in November pack a different kind of punch

My reunion with Kira provided the perfect spot of warmth as we kicked off the holiday season. Our little Friendsgiving tradition is somewhat new, and not quite an annual thing. When we can manage it, we manage it. This year was one of the luckier ones. 

It began with this preamble, which also featured roses, because everything comes around again in the end. 

With a backing soundtrack by Shirley Horn’s ‘The Main Ingredient’, our Friendsgiving weekend got off to this delicious start

This will mark the first holiday season without Kira’s sister and my Dad, and the last year of hurt and misunderstanding paved the way for healing and solace

Mysteries of fall were in the air, and the strong but welcome presence of sunlight also made for many shadows.

We found pockets of peace and calm, the way we always do, and celebrated our reunion at a dinner at Reunion.

Our wild nights ring differently now. We wouldn’t have it any other way. 

A proper Friendsgiving brunch brings a few friends together.

All in all, this was a lovely reconnection with a dear friend, fittingly made during a Friendsgiving weekend. I don’t know what Thanksgiving with the family will look or feel like, and so I am especially grateful that this Thanksgiving with chosen family has happened. 

We’ll end this with a special sneak-peek of my partner for the upcoming Holiday Stroll weekend in Boston, and beyond that is our almost-annual Boston Children’s Holiday Hour (which will very soon be excising itself since the children aren’t children anymore). This may very well be the last of its kind, and we will be endeavor to make it that much more special because of it. 

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Post-Christmas Glow

Our family had a lovely Christmas Eve/Christmas Day gathering and dinner, and we are very thankful for that. It was a reminder of what really matters, as well as a comforting thought that we need not wait for Christmas to gather and break bread together. The holiday magic lent a special glow to the proceedings, however, as Christmas sometimes seems to do. Here are a few pictures of how it went. 

Our family is anchored by Dad and our newest addition, Jaxon Layne. 92 years apart, they span three generations, and the rest of us are filling in the blanks in-between them.

Paul and Landrie felt like it was another baby shower for Jaxon – and as it was his first Christmas with us he got the bulk of presents. 

Not that he noticed much – he was just happy to roll around on the play-mat and smile at all of us who passed by. May he continue honing such simple peace and pleasures. 

Lola and Jaxon.

Generational cross-section. 

Andy tried to steal Grinchie from Emi, whose caretaking left much to be desired, but we ultimately left him behind in her incapable hands. We’ll always have Hedgie… 

This was Emi trying to repair Grinchie’s broken neck after she let him fall on the hardwood floor. 

Noah had some hefty reading to do, and a new iPhone with which to text us. I told him he could ignore my texts like everybody else does at his own peril. 

Father and son.

Father, son, and Godson. 

Merry Christmas everybody! May your year be as blessed as ours has been, and may we all continue to have health and happiness. 

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From Our Family to Yours ~ Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas, everybody! Hold your loved ones near, keep your family dear, and embrace the season of togetherness. 

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O Come, O Come…

Awakening to the cuts of rain upon roof and window, I groggily opened my eyes. The early hour was still dark, and in the air this haunting song played thanks to the radio I neglected to turn off the night before. It brought me back to the Christmases of my childhood, where this song played such a part in the church services of advent. No matter what else was going on, the hushed reverence paid to this melody struck through the space. This is what it felt like to be holy.

 

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The Eve of Drama

How strange that Christmas Eve should always feel like such a dark night. My memories of it are always surrounded by the thick veil of blackness at the edge – the way we would march into mass just as the sun was descending, and march out in complete darkness. Sometimes it was already dark out when we left for church, and even without all the Christmas lights on the houses, or perhaps because of them, the darkness felt more full, more endless, more… dramatic

What light might there have been in that manger all those years ago? I don’t recall mention of a roaring fire, or even candlelight, only that it was cold, and they laid the baby in the straw because it was all they had. Desolation begets drama, and so the Christmas story of my childhood was told to me. Every year that story would be read to the congregation of St. Mary’s, and I remember sitting on the altar in my altar boy garb, twiddling my fingers beneath the cassock and eagerly anticipating the magic of the evening ahead. It was the one church service I didn’t mind attending, as the nativity beside us glowed with its own light, staving off the surrounding darkness, reminding me of where my head should be. Jesus – the reason for the season – or so said a religious instructor I once had. I laughed so hysterically at the saying that she couldn’t help but laugh too. She recognized the sense of silliness inherent in such a belief, and I recognized the seriousness of her faith – somewhere in the middle we met, and I didn’t get in trouble for disrupting the class. 

Christmas Eve was the night we were supposed to pause and reflect on what the season truly meant, outside of the gift-giving and Santa showmanship. Personally, I got the lesson early and understood that it wasn’t about packages, boxes or bags – hell, anyone who paid attention to ‘The Grinch Who Stole Christmas’ knew Christmas meant a little bit more. Though that certainly didn’t mean I didn’t want the gifts and presents. Who wouldn’t? 

We begged and sang for God to give rest to us merry gentlemen, and we went to bed barely able to contain our excitement or close our eyes. Restless beneath the bed covers, I still ended up falling asleep well before Santa ever arrived. My brother managed to stay up one year, sneak down to the landing of the stairs, and spied on my parents putting presents under the tree. I think I knew the secret by then, but didn’t let on. He was more vocal in his disbelief. Somehow, I didn’t want to break the spell. We were always different in just about every way. 

We have arrived at the start of that special evening once again, and though it’s been a while since I’ve felt the magic I felt as a kid, remnants of it remain. Mysteries still unsolved linger in the songs here, hints of enchantments that smell of pine and cinnamon carry through the air, and hidden treats are tantalizingly hung in the upper echelon of unreachable Christmas tree boughs. Maybe the magic is in the mystery of it all, and holding onto that is how we hold onto Christmas. It’s so easy to break the spell in the harsh light of day – perhaps all this darkness is how the magic happens. 

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Bearly Christmas

Having gone through all the motions, and donned all the holiday costumes, and felt the magic of friends and family come through, I still haven’t quite gotten in the Christmas spirit this year – and it’s ok. My basic nature is to intrinsically rebel against what everybody else is doing, even when it would be much easier to acquiesce – and at this time of the year, when so many are giddy with cheer and excitement, I just feel the tug of my heart pulling the other way. Looking back over the drama and down times that previous holiday seasons have produced (social media can relentlessly remind one of that) as well as blogs from Christmases past (search the archives for Decembers that came before), I see the pattern of the problematic push to force myself into a state of happiness that the rest of the world so effortlessly seems to attain. How could such a Grinch possibly hope to find redemption year after year after year? Why repeat such a self-defeating prophecy? Once that lesson is learned, what’s the point of slipping back just so you can better yourself come Christmastime? I’d rather be better going forward than revert to previous behavior in the hopes of accomplishing some sort of epiphany every single year. That’s simply not sustainable.

I’m getting in my head again, and I don’t mind putting it out there. Some people simply don’t find the joy in Christmas – so maybe this post is for them. In the same way that some of us don’t have children, or like Skittles, or have Netflix – we march to a different little drummer boy. The more you try to sell us on the Christmas spirit, the more we rebel against it. Sometimes when I see people enveloped in the season, going about in happier moods and shouting about holiday compassion, I want to ask why they don’t act like a fucking decent human being all the other days of the year. Jesus would surely want that shit to continue year-round. 

But then I take a deep breath, and I get a little high (just kidding – I’m quoting some song, I swear…) the point is, I pause in my judgment and let the people have their fun, and their Christmas spirit. It doesn’t hurt anyone, like some hypocrisy can, and if people are happier at the darkest time of the year, all the better – just don’t expect me to join in the grinning idiotry. 

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The Kids Who Found My Christmas Spirit ~ Part Three

Up until now there has never been an impressive third act to any of our Boston Children’s Holiday Gatherings. I tend to spend all my social niceties on that Saturday, and it takes enough out of me that I rarely join in the brunch festivities on the day after. Part of me also hates sad Sunday goodbyes, so I’d rather pull an Irish exit and not have to do any of the sad stuff. A quick wave over my shoulder without turning back, a la Liza Minelli’s turn in ‘Cabaret’, is my idea of an extended farewell. 

But this year everything is different, and after being away from these friends for so long, I wanted to extend our time together. Besides, Cormac made reservations, so there would not be the chaos of an unplanned expedition (which I would have definitely avoided at all costs). And so I rose early and made it over to the breakfast place, where they had staked out an agreeable place that was playing the final World Cup game (and a dog show!) 

This marvelous group of friends had put on the t-shirts I’d given out as semi-silly gag gifts, and were wearing them to breakfast with this website emblazoned upon the front. It was almost enough to make a sentimental chap well up with tears. 

I sat down and was soon joined by Riley, who remains my spirit animal. Back in 2016 we met at Rehoboth Beach, where she offered sass, sass and more sass, and even when it was directed at me, I had to admire it, thus branding her my spirit animal. I saw shards and slivers of my own prickly heart in her defiance, and as much as I understood what heartache and trouble might result from it, I also knew it might be the gutsy glory that sees her through this wayward world. It’s already wonderful watching how she grows into who she is destined to be. 

I’d also seen similar magic in Julia, though of a completely different sort. She provided the necessary comic relief of the morning with a spilled cup of tea, something I managed to capture a bit of while taking video of all the shirts, then realizing we should probably check to make sure she was ok. (She was – no children were burned in the making of this blog post.) Clearly I’m still new at taking care of the kids at all the times. 

In the same way, I’m brand new at the World Cup, which it turns out only happens every four years, and yet no one sees fit to craft a halftime show for the world stage. Quite a lost opportunity. It was playing on the televisions, and we eventually ended up in one of the hotel rooms watching the end of it play out. 

It went into overtime, or whatever the extra minutes and sudden-death shoot-out term is, pushing Anu and Cormac’s family to the very end of their schedule in getting to the airport on time. When the final screams and tears of Argentina’s epic win died down, a shout went out and the entire room went into a frenzy of packing and cleaning, the likes of which I’ve not seen outside of slapstick movies. I took a video to capture the hilarity (I would have only gotten in the way if I’d tried to help.) It was the best ending to a weekend that went from crappy to happy in the most glorious of ways. Somehow it reminded me of the joy we felt in our early twenties – when we’d just be sitting around some dilapidated kitchen table, talking about nonsense and trying to figure out the world around us, fumbling through the best way we knew, and coming back together at the end of a day or week and finding solace and comfort with each other. 

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The Kids Who Found My Christmas Spirit ~ Part Two

The day that the twins and I were scheduled to drive to Boston was last Friday – the same day that some horrendous snow event was scheduled to take place – dropping anywhere from 0 to 20 inches precisely in the path of where we needed to go. On Thursday afternoon, there was talk of school and office closings, and I knew the only way to guarantee my presence in Boston would be to leave that night. With all my other friends coming from places as far as Virginia, Maryland, and California, I had to be there. Sadly, that meant the twins could not join as they couldn’t get away a night early. Such was the way the world seemed to be going lately, and as I drove into the stormy night, my heart was heavier than it had already been. The ride did not help matters, as treacherous weather had already started setting up in the form of rain and high winds, just as I entered the Berkshires (not even an hour into the journey). 

When the lights of Boston finally crept into blurry and hazy view, my relief was palpable, and for a moment the skies seemed to clear just a bit. I dropped off my things then parked the car in a nearby garage in the event that there was snow. Hurrying home in the rain and wind, I shut the door behind me and melted into the comfort of the condo in a storm

The next day, I assembled the food and decorations and gift bags, and waited for the arrival of the families. The weather was still iffy, and flights were being delayed and canceled. Anu and her daughters were part of a delayed flight, while Cormac made it in a day or two beforehand. Chris was on a train from New York with his son Simon, while Suzie, Pat, Oona and Milo would drive over later that day. Kristen and Julia were not sure until the last minute they could attend, and Tommy, Janet, Mady and Logan were out with sickness. I ran a few quick errands, then set up for a day of waiting and anticipating, coupled with a rare indulgence in nostalgia. 

My history with this group of kids goes back to their births – I’ve known them longer than they’ve known themselves. For many of them, my first gift was a miniature mirrored disco ball – and babies absolutely love the play of light and sparkle that result. The joys and bonuses of having an honorary guncle in the family…

We first vacationed together in Rehoboth back in 2016, where the below photo was taken. Looking at it now, I’m amazed by how much they’ve all grown. 

Only a couple of years later, they were already changing and growing up even more, proof of the vicious march of time, but reassuring in that this might be our future. 

As my friends made it through the wild and wintry weather into Boston, we set up a late-dinner for those who could make it – about half of our crew – and once again, the familiar sensation of being surrounded by safe and supportive people who have known you for more years than they haven’t suddenly carved away at my chilly, inconsolable heart. 

The next day we assembled at the condo, give or take a few family members, and posed for posterity – a photo I will one day look back upon and marvel at how young we once were. 

The afternoon ripened into evening as we all caught up on two or three years of being away from each other. There was something slightly sad in thinking of how much we had missed, texting and online connections being tenuous at best and completely disjointed at worst, but overriding all of that was the comfort and ease of being around a group of people I’ve known since 1995. 

These are the people who have seen me at my absolute worst – and never judged or thought less of me for any of it. We’ve seen each other through marriages, deaths, births, break-ups and break-downs, and this is the group that will always be family to me. 

Now that their kids are getting old enough to hold an adult conversation, things are getting more interesting and enjoyable. While the parents may be weary of the drama and the conflict that being a teenager consists of, I am absolutely loving it. Distance lends enchantment. 

And while teenage trauma may be irritating to some, each and every one of these kids is turning into an impressive young adult, with more poise, self-possession, and self-confidence than I ever had. I can’t imagine what it takes to be a kid growing up today, and my heart breaks a little every time I see the news or hear of something that students have to deal with – so I hoped this little weekend gathering was a balm on any worry or stress they might have. It had already worked its magic on me. 

One of Simon’s gifts (recommended by his father) was a set of nail polish in varying shades of blue and green. I sought out anyone who had a knack for painting fingernails, and Riley volunteered, producing the wondrous results you see below. Simon got a matching set, and for one almost-winter’s night all was right with the world. 

{To be continued…}

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This Silly Christmas tree

Sometimes the silliest Christmas decorations make the most lasting impressions. Similar to this wooden mouse-house, the LED Christmas tree you see in the featured photo is about as ridiculous as one can get the it comes to holiday decorations. Procured on some holiday stroll in Boston years ago with Kira, it’s all plastic and snow-made-out-of-glitter (the worst snow of all). I normally wouldn’t have entertained any wisp of a notion of bringing it home, but for some reason its colors and charm spoke to me in that magical TJ Maxx in which we inevitably found ourselves. There was something so sad and tragic about it, I felt its pull like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree

It took a single battery to operate its LED magnificence, and nestled on a shelf that houses a lime-green Crate and Barrel vase, it somehow worked, lending a modern twist to the holiday festivities at hand. Kira and I both laughed at it, but since then it has come out to illuminate its little corner for several years – a new and unlikely tradition that signals how silly the season can be, but also how magical if you start to believe. I’m not quite there, but this is the time for sentiment, so I’m feeling it out

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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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Holiday Stroll 2022: With My Husband ~ Part 1

This is one of those scary transitional years that always feels like it’s going to wreak havoc with a Virgo’s desire for order and consistency, but teaches happy lessons in letting go and going with the flow. When Kira indicated she wasn’t yet ready to do a holiday stroll, I was disappointed but understood. It forced a change-up that’s been in the making for a few years. The last time we did an official stroll was in 2019, right before COVID hit, and nothing has been the same since. We squeaked out a time-traveling bit of holiday magic to make the Holiday Stroll of 2020, but in 2021 it fell apart completely. No stroll, no roll. And somehow, no drama. We’d all been too beaten down to care. 

2022 felt like it might be the return of something normal, the rekindling of something good, but after a few months, the year proved to be just another dud, so when Kira canceled this year’s planned stroll, I turned to Andy and asked him to join me and lift my spirits. Good guy that he is, he agreed to come along for his first holiday stroll, and save a Christmas weekend that might have been lost to sadness. 

If you look closely at the bottom center of the above photo, you will notice a gentleman making his way through the Southwest Corridor Park – that’s Andy, returning from dropping off the car in the garage. Out of my many years spent in Boston, one of the happiest sights is seeing Andy walking along this path. It was an auspicious beginning to a peaceful stroll. 

My first order of business was decorating the condo, so I lit a few festive candles that soon spread their spicy, warm scents of cinnamons and balsam and cloves and pine throughout the rooms. Andy pulled a stool over to his spot on the couch and set up his coffee, while some quasi-holiday-music played on the stereo from a favorite movie.

Curtains went up, the mantle was decked out, garlands were lit, and pillows were switched out for the Christmas season. A welcome sense of coziness swelled just as the temperature went down and the day dimmed. My only real strolling plan was a walk through the Seaport Holiday Market – it would be my first time visiting it, so Andy and I would experience another first together, like we did so many years ago, and so many years since. 

The market was cute and quaint, and more extensive than we expected – with local artisans offering their goods. Walking but we hurried through it because it was also much colder than we had anticipated. 

I’d made reservations at The Smoke Shop for some warm comfort food – another first that turned out to be another happy moment. After any sort of walking expedition, especially in Boston, one works up an appetite, so I ordered the ‘Pit Crew’ with two meats and two sides and all was well with the world. Andy started with a cozy little cocktail called ‘Saving Daylight’ which consisted of bourbon, honey, lemon and a touch of cinnamon, while I opted for a tall glass of ginger ale. It was a very good meal, and we finished it off with some egg nog butter cake. 

The walk across one of the bridges bringing us back from the Seaport section was brutal – windy and cold and biting – so we paused by a fireplace at the Intercontinental Hotel before getting an Uber home. 

The fading remnants of a recently-full moon hung low in the sky, sparkling on the water and lending an aspect of holiday magic to the end of the evening. We returned to the cozy condo scene, and after a hot shower I slipped into the bed, where Andy joined me for the showing of ‘The Man Who Came to Dinner’ – a Holiday Stroll tradition that somehow was still intact.

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