It is done. Like so many times in my life, when I’m looking for closure, for a resolution, there is nothing. No answers, no understanding, not even another clue on what to do, where to go. A stunned confusion in the night air. And so I walk, out of downtown and toward the Common.

Pausing at windows and mirrors, I am still searching for the way. I see a tired countenance, blood-shot eyes, the toils of time. The path I was so sure I was on has disappeared, overgrown with the obscuring vegetation of the years. I am alone in the only city where I’ve ever felt at home.

I walk into the Boston Public Garden. It is vastly different at night. Years ago I would have been afraid to walk its darkened paths in the night. But this is where I was married, this is where some of my most joyous memories were made, and nothing can harm me here.

I call my husband, but there is no answer. Waterfowl gather in the center of the man-made pond. The water is dark, but the lights from the foot-bridge show the shadows of the birds. I take a photo that looks like a miniature painting on the glowing display screen of the camera.

Upon reaching the edge of the park on the Arlington Street side, I cross over to the Taj, where we spent our wedding weekend. Through the heavy revolving door, the lights are a bright relief, a bit of safety in my unsure state. The Taj has always been good to us, and is hopefully going to be where we spend our long-awaited honeymoon in London next year. It is a happy place of good memories, and suddenly I feel grounded again.

The flowers in the lobby – pink hydrangeas and roses – are not quite as grand as the gorgeous peony display when we last stayed there, but it’s the end of summer. Gardens, and the flowers growing in them, are winding down. One day we’ll come back for a winter stay, with a roaring fireplace in a room that looks down onto the Public Garden.

The moon is peeking out over Braddock Park when I finally reach home. Another painting of an evening in Boston, and another trip comes to a close. It will be Fall when we return again.

Andy and I in front of our home, just prior to departing for Boston.

This was our suite at the Taj Hotel. Originally, the Taj was the Ritz Carlton, and it looks over the Boston Public Garden, the site of our ceremony. We selected it because our wedding was somewhat inspired by E. B. White’s The Trumpet of the Swan.

It was the perfect place – understated elegance, classical style, and impeccable service. There was a handwritten-note wishing us well during our special stay, and a tray of fruit and cheeses arrived along with a bottle of red wine.

This is the bedroom, with its king-size bed and windows looking out onto Newbury Street (actually, right across our floor was the Men’s floor of Burberry, but for once I had other things on my mind.) Each night there was a turn-down service, including a couple of chocolates. (I think Andy’s going to have to provide this when we return home.)

One of the things I notice most about a hotel is its use of flowers. A minor thing, I know, but one that has a major impact on me. Out of all the hotels we searched, the Taj always had an outstanding floral display in the lobby.

Peonies, hydrangeas and roses – two of my favorites and one of Andy’s.

Single peonies don’t always get all the glory their double cousins do, but they have more interesting colors, like this coral beauty, which glows perfectly beside an amber lamp.

More peonies were in store for us, but before that it was time to dress for The Rehearsal Dinner.

{T0 be continued…}

Copley Fairmont Plaza

This was originally my very first choice. Having passed it a zillion times, and enjoying a birthday cocktail with Andy at the Oak Room a few years ago (a $20 martini worth every penny), I’ve always thought of it as unreachable entity, a Grand Dame who wouldn’t normally deign to indulge me. It is a central mainstay of Boston, with its two gold lions looking out onto Copley Square and Trinity Church. The lobby is baroquely ornate, and veritably Versailles-like in golden grandeur. Unfortunately, age has weakened the venerable establishment, and the room (the one they showed me at least) was somewhat dark and on the smaller side. The opulence of the lobby would be the only draw, and how much time would we be spending in the lobby? Still, it’s a Boston landmark, and I’m sure the suites are a lot better than the “Moderate” room I got to see.

Mandarin Oriental

By far the most prohibitively expensive choice, the Mandarin is pretentious enough to not even mark their entrance in the Prudential Center – a trait I like and always found ridiculously humorous. The staff persons here were, and should be, professionally courteous, but they were surprisingly personable as well. I was shown two rooms, both of which had more private hallway space than our entire condo. The bathroom was a spa-like dream, and the closet was a room unto itself, with an upholstered bench on which to sit when you’re pulling your socks on. This was the newest hotel on our list, and its modern elegant decadence was suitably impressive. After seeing the rooms, I thought it would kill me to not stay here, even if put me in debt for the rest of my life.

The Four Seasons

For some reason, this hotel has never beckoned me into its doors. I know it’s been consistently considered one of the best in Boston, and many a famous politician and celebrity have graced it, but I never wanted to go inside and look, as I have with all of the other choices. Outwardly, it seemed to lack an inspiring exterior, but as with most things, the appearance is a deceptive one. The lobby was much more spacious than I envisioned from the street, warmer and more inviting than the smoky glass doors would have one believe. The suite I was shown was immense, and classy in all respects. There was one more auspicious moment: on the way out, a pair of women was riding in the elevator and one was carrying a large bouquet of flowers. “Those are beautiful,” my guide said. “Are they from the wedding last night?” The woman said they were, and then introduced the mother of the bride who was next to her. It was a good sign, and I think it’s going to come down to the Four Seasons and the next one.

The Taj

About fourteen years ago I stayed in this hotel when my parents were visiting Boston for a conference. It was the Ritz Carlton then, and I remember that I had just gotten over a week at the infirmary with mono, so the luxury was doubly appreciated (as was the indulgent breakfast of waffles that they allowed me to order from Room Service). While the memory of that stay was grand, I wasn’t sure how well the hotel had weathered the years, or its transition to the Taj. Situated on the corner of Newbury Street, it overlooks the Boston Public Garden. At this time of the year all of the Christmas decorations were up – including a life-size gingerbread/candy castle – and a collection of stuffed teddy bears lined the winding staircase to the next floor. 

The mirror-paneled elevator doors opened and we were brought up to view one of the fireplace suites. Oh how badly did I want to just stay there (especially with a broken water-heater back at the condo). The suite was spectacular – the bright and airy windows were framed with sumptuous drapes – and an ornately carved four-poster king bed presided over the bedroom. Elegant but not overtly extravagant, the adjoining room looked out over the Garden and had a richly-appointed writing desk and several refined but comfortable settees and couches. The gentleman who showed me the suite told a story of a wedding his colleague had had at the hotel, and how it had been a small, intimate affair of ten or twelve people for which the hotel chef had crafted a personal several-course meal. (Obviously we wouldn’t be partaking of this particular service as it probably is the financial equivalent of our mortgage payments for an entire year). Yet even without the personal chef perk, this is quite possibly my favorite of all four hotels.

It’s going to be a difficult and fun decision for us to make, and the thought of Boston in the Spring will see us through the Winter.