Alan Ilagan

Last night, before he set about to grilling the swirdfish and zucchini, Andy made me a gin & tonic the way he likes them. It was a happy twist as refreshing as the lemon he used. As stated previously, he grills while I garnish, and he usually cooks while I cocktail.

According to him, the classic gin and tonic originated in England, and used to be made with a twist of lemon (at odds with the lime that you see in most places – and that I tend to favor). He also insists that the gin of choice be Bombay Dry Gin – not Bombay Sapphire, and not Tanqueray. (Personally, I prefer Tanqueray Rangpur.)

I’ll see if Andy can post his technique and recipe over on our sister-site, www.ALANandANDY.com. (I know there was something about counting to seven that was involved…) For now, I will say he did a fantastic job – a rim job if you will, as he slid the lemon over the glass lip before dropping it in.

This is where I got my passport photo taken way back in 1996, (prior to the Royal Rainbow World Tour). It’s a little store tucked behind the Fairmont at Copley Square in Boston, MA, and I was glad to see it still in business the last time I was in town.

Along with its patrotic window theme for the holiday, let this also serve as a friendly reminder to Andy that he needs to get his passport. As with all things in my anal existence, the first official reminder is the only friendly one.

Is it somehow wrong to be planning for a trip to London when it’s the 4th of July? Oh well, the colors are the same. Happy 4th!

One of the supreme joys of summer is the BLT. When it’s made by your husband, and served with iced tea, there’s no better way to spend the lunch hour.

On a gloriously sunny afternoon, Andy picked up a prize piece of swordfish from Two Cousins, and I stopped at Price Chopper to get the ingredients for a mango salsa. A few mangoes, a red pepper, a jalapeno pepper, a red onion, and a few scallions were chopped and mixed for the salsa.

Next time I’ll do a rougher chop – less fine – as the salsa was a little too watery for my liking. I’ll also add a bit of fresh cilantro (which I forgot at the market). That meant the lime cilantro Basmati rice was a pale comparison to the fresh version – dried cilantro is pointless.

Andy was in charge of the grilling – on our new grill, which he loves. Last week he made a perfect batch of hamburgers and hot dogs, and he worked similar magic on the swordfish.

The finished product was a sight to see, and something scrumptious to taste. With Andy’s grilled fish and my mango salsa and Basmati rice, we made quite the nice dinner together.

There’s always room for improvement, but this was a great first-fish-on-the-new-grill attempt, and it will only get better.

Up for tomorrow: some fresh salmon…

A pair of finches made a home in one of our hanging ferns. Andy thought that was what they were up to, and once it was confirmed we had to be very careful with the way we watered. We had a happy compromise – the mother would fly away to the dogwood or the pine tree while we insured the plant got its water, then return when we were done. I captured a few photos as well, careful not to disturb or get any human scent near the nest. Birds have been known to abandon nests where they detect foreign smells.

For a week or two we watched the mother guard her nest, and a couple of days ago the eggs finally hatched.

They were so tiny, so helpless, so utterly at the risk of the world. The heartbreaking fragility of life. There were so many things that could hurt them, they had but a precious scant chance to reach their full potential – yet here they were, standing in the face of all reason that such small creatures couldn’t survive. They gave me hope.

When we returned home yesterday, Andy said the finches hadn’t been around all day, which he found strange. As he approached the nest, there was no sound – no screeching mouths of fuzzy babies – and no warning cries of vigilant parents. The birds were gone. They just disappeared.

An empty nest is surely one of the saddest sights to behold. Andy suspected the catbirds he had seen in the area, or possibly one of the neighborhood cats. I didn’t want to entertain those ideas. I took one last photo of the forlorn nest, holding back and forcing myself not to dwell on the Mother’s work, the Father’s guard, and the cries of those tiny birds.

It may seem odd that when celebrating our anniversary I should want some alone time in the Garden, but it’s sort of a tradition. On the day Andy and I were married, there was a brief window of time after the ceremony and Wedding Lunch where the guests and the newly-betrothed had some down-time before dinner.

A year ago I made my way back into the Garden, walking the perimeter of the pond and watching the pair of swans. On this day, a year later, I returned to the park alone, and found them again.

Before I left the Garden, the swans swam to each other under the walking bridge. They met and nuzzled their heads, then swam off together.

The next morning we made our way to the SoWa Market. It opened for the season just a couple weeks ago, and was just an enchanting as it was on my last visit back in the Fall. This time there were flowering cherries lining our way, and a trio of magenta redbuds on a side street leading to the market.

There are magical objects found in every corner of the market, beautiful things that only reveal themselves when you seemingly stop looking. It’s the way a store opens up after a while. You can browse with a head intent on buying, but if you force it too much it proves elusive.

We had a quick brunch at Mohr & McPherson, then traversed the wares at the Market, before walking back towards the condo. A Japanese store along the way held more whimsical secrets, including a gorgeous collection of kimono, both intact and repurposed into various accessories.

Andy returned to the condo for his afternoon siesta, while I foraged Newbury Street for a man clutch, which I found and held for dear life as we walked back into the South End for cocktails at The Gallows and Dinner at Stella.

The afternoon threatened but did not deliver rain. Though the inside of The Gallows was cozy and warm enough to stave off any raging storm.

A pair of cocktails didn’t hurt things either.

Dinner at Stella was delicious, if a bit noisy thanks to a large table in the center of the dining room (complete with a number of rowdy children). But once they left it quieted and turned into a lovely dinner. Our time in Boston – and our first anniversary – was coming to a close. As always, I didn’t want it to end.