Category Archives: Andy

Our third day in Boston – the last full day we would have on this trip – blossomed in sunny fashion, and we wisely saved our walk through the Boston Public Garden for this moment. Before that, however, we slept in, and looked out sleepily at the fountain in the middle of Braddock Park. Back in 1995 when my parents purchased the condo, the fountain wasn’t even working, but a few years later the neighbors got it functional again, and it is a happy bellwether for better weather. It now trickles its soothing sound from spring until late fall, taking a winter slumber only to return when the sun is high and warm. 

On this morning, we made our way to the Public Garden, to the place where we made our wedding vows eleven years ago. It was on a day quite similar to today – bright and sunny and just warm enough to not merit a jacket. 

Night and day, you are the one
Only you beneath the moon, under the sun
Whether near to me or far
It’s no matter darling, where you are
I think of you night and day

Day and night, why is it so
That this longing for you follows wherever I go
In the roaring traffic’s boom
In the silence of my lonely room
I think of you
Night and day

This wedding cake shrub is a favorite – as much for its name as its perfectly timed blooming period. It was there on our wedding day too, and we posed in front of it with our gathered friends and family. Today it brought back those memories, and at such moments we were reminded of how wonderful the world and its inhabitants can be. 

Perched high in the air, fruit tree blossoms dangled like cream-colored bells, ringing silently in the slightest breeze. The tulips were just slightly past their prime, but a few were hanging on to give us a show. 

In a more secluded corner of the Garden, a coral-colored quince bloomed in its shady nook, near an angelic fountain that lended more flowing water to the calm at hand. 

There is magic to be found at all times of the year in the Public Garden, but we are partial to spring, and this spell of May in particular. 

While the city thrashes about trying to drag its ponderous history into a new world, this little refuge of beauty and simplicity, majesty and wonder, retains its enchanting essence. 

At the entrance to the Garden, which was now also our exit, a few bleeding hearts hung their exquisite blooms as if bidding us adieu until the next time.

Reluctantly departing such a pretty scene, we ambled back to the condo, and on the way we watched this little bunny scurry into the front garden square of our building. There are always signs that we are right where we are supposed to be, and this rabbit was a symbol we’d see from time to time on our visits. I rarely saw it when I was in Boston alone, but when Andy’s been here it always makes an appearance. 

It was almost time for one more dinner in Boston…

Our second day in Boston was bright but slightly overcast. The flowers were all in bloom, and there was a breeze, on the cool side, which made for good walking conditions. Andy slept in and I went shopping for some snacks and whatever other silly triflings offered themselves up. Such a simple endeavor, but what a wonderful return to something I’ve not been able to do in such a long time! 

Boston in spring bloom will always be a balm on the most troubled soul. These happy little faces peered out everywhere I went, a reminder that whatever state the world wound its way into, nature would maintain its beauty. 

Meanwhile, music played in the mind as I walked throughout the city…

You’d be so easy to love
So easy to idolize
All others above
So worth the yearning for
So swell to keep every home fire burning for…

We’d be so grand at the game
So carefree together that it does seem a shame
That you can’t see
Your future with me ’cause you’d be, oh
So easy to love

Returning to the condo, I picked up Andy for our tradition of washing the rings. Shreve, Crump and Low is still blessedly in business, so we made our way to Newbury Street to have our wedding rings cleaned. We perused the gems and jewelry, but stayed downstairs instead of straying to the more tempting second floor of watches. When you’ve just replaced a furnace, a pink-diamond-studded watch is not on any list of priorities, sadly. 

Neither is this cherry red Shelby, replica or not, but I asked Andy to pose in front of it anyway, on a stretch of Boylston beside the Lenox Hotel. Boston is lined with memories of past adventures, and we added this little encounter with Miss Shelby to that lovely reservoir. 

Into every anniversary we usually add something new – in this case it was our first dinner at No. 9 Park – a Boston classic that we’ve somehow never managed to try until now. Peering over the edge of Boston Common, it made for a cozy little space perfect for the windy evening. Andy began with some recommended Blanton’s bourbon in this sunny sour, while I took the bartender’s suggestion for an elderflower and citrus mocktail. 

I began with this beautiful red snapper crudo, served with rhubarb, watermelon radish, and kumquats while Andy enjoyed some shrimp. 

We haven’t had an opportunity to break out the blazers in such a long time that it no longer felt like a burden. 

No. 9 Park sent out a round of champagne, which Andy had the responsibility of finishing – a lovely complement to our anniversary weekend. 

We both decided on the octopus for our entrees, and it was tender and almost creamy – a far cry from my three-hour braising attempt several summers ago. Best to leave the octopus to the experts, as I simply have to admit defeat when it comes to preparing certain dishes. 

Topping the meal off was a pair of desserts – this was my mango dish; Andy chose a pineapple one. Both were grand endings to another delicious meal. Boston was welcoming us back in ways both sweet and satisfying. 

{Fragrance (and underwear) of the evening: Fucking Fabulous by Tom Ford.}

The city looked and felt differently from when we last met. In a year fraught by a pandemic, Boston had been forced to update its cobblestone-weighted history and forge a new way, like the rest of the world. Yet spring still returned, and as we made our way back to celebrate our 10th and 11th wedding anniversaries, it felt like there was hope in the cool air. Happily, we would find Boston filled with blooms and sunshine and all the typical accoutrements of a proper new season, because no matter what happened in the previous year, spring would do her song and dance. 

As we pulled out in Andy’s least favorite car ever, it felt strange and wonderful to be going somewhere at last. The drive was a sunny one, with a perfect blue sky studded with the occasional white cloud, and we arrived to blooms and blossoms along every path. 

The Southwest Corridor Park – our main route and access to the condo – had just begun its season of glory, with everything from the lowliest geraniums to the American dogwoods that flowered even before their foliage deigned to peek through. 

Even more dramatic was this yellow-hued bleeding heart, whose pink flowers danced thrillingly against a sea of chartreuse leaves, the combination a pretty little marriage of color and light – a celebratory pas de deux emblematic of all the love that was in the air.

There was music too, sweet music that called to us from memory, and a soundtrack largely culled from the work of Cole Porter. 

You do something to me
Something that simply mystifies me
Tell me, why should it be
You have the power to hypnotize me?

Let me live ‘neath your spell
Do do that voodoo that you do so well
For you do something to me
That nobody else could do…

Andy graciously provided the new fragrance that will mark a new memory: Tom Ford’s latest Private Blend ‘Soleil Brûlant’ – an exquisite spring and summer scent that has already carved out a place in my cologne-loving heart. 

After a largely gray and drab winter of discontent, the colors and sights of Boston were again a wonder to behold, and seeing them after such a long time away imbued them with an even greater freshness and potency. 

We dressed for our anniversary dinner at Mistral – which was the only restaurant from our original trio of wedding restaurants that remained open. A sad commentary on what the past year has wrought, but we focused on the magic of Mistral and had a lovely dinner. 

Andy tried out their Tahitian sidecar while I opted for this lemony fresh mocktail. We looked around at the other diners and felt a jolt of normalcy. Simply dining in the vicinity of other people was tinged with a giddy nostalgia. 

Pistachio chocolate profiteroles capped off a wondrous meal, and I thought back to our very first dinner as a married couple eleven years ago. Many memories had been made since then, and we carried all the memories from the ten years before that, when we first met in 2000. They felt both far away and impossibly recent – the ticking of time a constant and unnoticed rhythm that fades into itself unless marked by something memorable, like this return to Boston. 

It was a very sweet ending to our first day back…

{Fragrance of the Evening: Portrait of a Lady.)

For the first time in forever, I got to do one of my favorite things in the world: plan a Boston weekend and reserve some restaurant dinner options for our wedding anniversary. We missed out on celebrating out tenth last year, so this time it’s going to be #10 and #11 at once. Originally I had thought we’d be doing a ten-year encore of that happy May day a decade ago, with the same cast of characters invited (missing Andy’s Dad) and going out to the same places. That was part of why we selected such stalwart establishments like Top of the Hub and Mistral and the Bristol Lounge at the Four Seasons. 

Then the world stepped in and shut everything down, so no one was going anywhere. Worse, two of those restaurants ended up being casualties of COVID: Top of the Hub and the Bristol Lounge. So this year, we will return to Boston for the first time in months, taking tentative steps to something that resembles regular life, while celebrating the place where we got married so many years ago. The lessons of 2020 have taught me not to have great expectations, while enforcing the necessity of holding onto hope.