Category Archives: Boston

The Best Place To Weather A Snowstorm

A fortress of red brick, a floor of warm hardwood, and a couch emboldened by the coziest blanket in the world: there is no better place to ride out a winter snowstorm than our Boston pied-à-terre. I’ve written of many magical nights here, safely ensconced behind its thick walls, buffered between the first and third floors, and it still thrills me to be in such a place when a storm strikes.

From the relatively safe vantage point overlooking the street, one can vaguely make out the towering Marriott and Westin hotels, along with the building formerly known as the John Hancock – though the latter almost disappears from snowy view on this afternoon. Somehow I’ve made it to the corner market for provisions, and soon dinner will be roasting away. There is wine as well, and a good book or two.

Bread and cheese, green apples and ginger tea. Something to hold until the main meal. A bluesy jazz standard plays on the stereo. It is a cozy scene.

Watching the world outside turn white, while the inside glows in amber shades offset by the celery green walls, is one of life’s contrasting pleasures. I pull the curtains open a bit more and strain to look down the rest of the street.

The snowfall lasts most of the day, but just before the light turns, the skies clear.

It is a majestic moment, rife with beauty, made more dear by its fleeting and ephemeral nature. Such splendor cannot last.

Grabbing a camera, I rush downstairs, without even a coat. I don’t intend to go beyond the steps of the brownstone, but the scene is so wondrous I suddenly find myself walking into Southwest Corridor Park, seeking the falling sun, and thrilling at the way it lights the treetops and buildings.

Clumped in the branches of the trees, and moist enough to tenaciously hang onto their perches in spite of the breeze, the snow looks like fluffy wads of cotton.

There are others out in the surreal air, camera phones lifted, each of us trying to capture the quicksilver moment, to freeze the beauty for some future end-of-summer day when the heat and humidity are once again unbearable. We yearn for what we have not at hand.

The onset of evening. The deepening of the sky. The glow of the snow.

A home away from home, and the glorious end of a day.

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In Stillness, Out of Shadow

It begins and ends in stillness. With the gentle closing of the door behind me, the hushed sanctuary of the Boston condo immediately inspires a tranquility that I’ve only found here. In the mid-afternoon sunlight, streaming through the bedroom and over the hardwood floors, I let out a deep breath.

It is one of my favorite moments, when everything is pristine and bright. The possibilities of an afternoon unfurl in the back of my head. I set my bags down and survey any negligent messes left by my brother. Having witnessed the slow, and now rapid, decline of my parents’ house during his time there, I am adamant that similar destruction not occur here. Thankfully nothing is too bad, aside from a messy floor that he’s never vacuumed a day in his life. No matter, a proper spring cleaning is around the corner.

I walk into the bathroom, badly in need of a renovation, and make a few mental notes. A cracked tile trips me up at the threshold, so I gently shuffle it back into place. Pulling open the curtains a bit, I allow light to fill the space. It’s rare that the window is open, and the effect is refreshing. Something to consider for the future.

Backing out into the bedroom, I wearily eye the need for another coat of paint. It’s only white, but the closet and storage doors have never been painted, the walls are marred by scrapes and nail holes, and the trim is in need of updating. That’s in the future, though, and my ambition will only serve a bathroom project for now.

Here, I pause. Through the window blinds, bright bands of sun rays spill over the floor and bed. Sunlight, when this strong, is much welcomed in the winter, and it’s a luxury to be in this room, at this hour, when a long weekend is in its infancy.

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Bravo, Bravo

One doesn’t think of fine dining in destinations established with other priorities in mind, particularly museums, but Bravo at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston has been serving culinary excellence for a number of years. Ensconced in a corner oasis of the second floor, it functions as a jewel of elevated dining, a respite in the midst of all the art and beauty for those moments when you may want more than cafeteria trays and crowds. A comfy bar, and refined yet cozy banquettes in the seating area, provide rest for feet tired of standing. It’s a gorgeous space befitting a museum, and the food itself is its own work of art.

On my last visit, timed just as it opened on a busy Saturday afternoon in the aftermath of a snowstorm, the tomato bisque with a side of grilled cheese goodness was the only way to go. Creamy yet light, and topped with a decadent drizzle of basil oil, it arrived looking like some gorgeously-rendered abstract painting, all fanciful swirls and tiny bubbles bursting with flavor. The basil oil was the magical part of the bowl, lending a tangy note of elegance that makes it into something more than just a comfort food. The grilled cheese triangles are sharp enough to get noticed, made delicate by proportion and size. Despite such diminutive stature, they pack a punch of their own (but a couple more would not have been unappreciated).

For the main lunch dish on such a snowy day, I kept with the tried and comfortable, choosing an ample omelet that filled half a plate, accompanied by home fries and a toasted English muffin. Filled with the freshness of tomatoes and spinach, and exquisitely offset by the rich threads of cheese (to continue the comfort-food theme) the omelet was a balanced work of unpretentious brilliance.

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Night & Day, Winter-Style

It’s a song that features prominently in ‘Grey Gardens‘ but before that it was, and remains, a Cole Porter standard. Such a classic is in vogue for all seasons – as effervescent in summer as it is cozy and comforting in the winter. This is ‘Night and Day’ – illustrated by two photos from the vantage point of the Boston condo.

LIKE THE BEAT BEAT BEAT OF THE TOM-TOM WHEN THE JUNGLE SHADOWS FALL

LIKE THE TICK TICK TOCK OF THE STATELY CLOCK AS IT STANDS AGAINST THE WALL

LIKE THE DRIP DRIP DRIP OF THE RAINDROPS WHEN THE SUMMER SHOWER IS THROUGH

SO A VOICE WITHIN ME KEEPS REPEATING YOU, YOU, YOU

Aside from the ‘Grey Gardens’ soft spot I have, I also love this song for the brilliant multi-level meanings in the lyrics. The line between night and day is a tricky one – what a difference a day makes, indeed. Things somehow feel safer when the sun comes up, and at that time I think back on the darkness and sometimes I shudder.

NIGHT AND DAY, YOU ARE THE ONE, ONLY YOU BENEATH THE MOON OR UNDER THE SUN

WHETHER NEAR TO ME, OR FAR, IT’S NO MATTER DARLING WHERE YOU ARE, I THINK OF YOU

For many reasons, I feel safe in the condo, night and day, winter and summer, year after year. This song plays on the stereo in the morning or the evening, as a pot of tea starts whistling on the stove. A candle glows in front of the window. A book waits on the sofa, next to a soft blanket, and the world can be kept at bay for the duration of a night.

DAY AND NIGHT, NIGHT AND DAY, 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

DAY AND NIGHT, NIGHT AND DAY, UNDER THE HIDE OF ME

THERE’S AN OH SUCH A HUNGRY YEARNING BURNING INSIDE OF ME, AND THIS TORMENT WON’T BE THROUGH

UNTIL YOU LET ME SPEND MY LIFE MAKING LOVE TO YOU

DAY AND NIGHT, NIGHT AND DAY.

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A Banging Brunch at Boston Chops

Boston Chops is one of my favorite restaurants in that fine city, but until a few weekends ago, I’d never tried them for brunch. Having passed it on Sunday mornings many times, I always filed it away as something I’d get around to doing, but never did. I finally broke such an egregious habit and came away with a new favorite brunch spot.

The fun and funky music in the background (everything from current radio fare to 90’s classics) had a few servers discreetly shaking their groove thangs, and whenever I see employees having fun at their jobs it makes the dining experience ten times better. The seriously competent and seriously fun staff make this brunch experience a memorably enjoyable one, from the greeting host to the team of servers who never let the glasses of water dip below half-full. But who needs water with all the Bloody Mary selections on the menu? The biggest dilemma of the morning was trying to whittle down the choices to one, but I decided on the Pickled Mary – with pickled asparagus, green beans, frog balls and cornichons – with a promise to myself to return to try the others another day. (The Prime Raw Bloody and its oyster and jumbo cocktail shrimp sounded especially tantalizing.)

A sweet surprise arrived in the form of this insanely good dish of sweet rolls, which would be reason alone to come back every Sunday, and brave any sort of snowstorm to do so. These are, I imagine, what crack must be life – addictive, mind-blowing, and impossible to refuse. We are them in furiously quick and rude fashion and didn’t even care what we looked like. That’s what brunch is about.

The Croque Monsieur, served with a thrillingly ample portion of their famous frites and a small arugula salad, was heaven-sent for a less-than-sunny Sunday, taking the chill off with grilled perfection and ridiculously rich goodness. Next time I’ll try their Kale Omelet if I’m feeling extra good, the Eggs Benedict if I’m feeling like myself, or the Fried Chicken if I’m feeling especially sinful.

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Candlelit Stormwatch

The sky is that sickening shade of gray, portending something ferocious and massive. It rolls in slowly, setting up for the long haul, and there is surely something to be said for the calm before the storm. It’s a strange calm, though, one riddled with tension and excitement: impending doom and impending thrill all at once.

If you’re lucky, you have somewhere safe to see it through, some mostly impenetrable fortress where the strongest gusts of wind may only rattle and moan, but the cold and the damp stays at bay until it passes. I’m lucky.  Our place in Boston – at the end of a line of brownstones – is such a refuge, and it’s seen me through a number of storms. The heavy brick walls, and the ideal second floor location – raised from the ground, but still buffered by another floor above – lend it a cozy feel. During times of inclement weather, it is a safe haven.

In the window, a candle flickers, undulating with the subtle shifting of air. No matter how hard the wind blows from outside, it will not go out. No matter how much snow falls from above, it will keep a steady light. In our relatively small condo, it also provides a source of heat. Do not underestimate the power of this.

In my first winter there, before there were any curtains or stockpile of heavy blankets, I filled the bedroom with a multitude of tea-lights, and was pleasantly surprised by the heat they gave off. In addition to the soft, glowing light, they soon filled the space with their gentle heat. It is one of my warmest memories, in a sea of such warmth, and I think of that every time I light a candle now.

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A Smile Or A Snarl

An unsurprising admission: I am easily annoyed. While I was waiting patiently in a crowded café the last time I was in Boston, groups of parents with their children milled confusedly about. This café, a favorite just a few blocks from my place, is sometimes crammed with well-off parents and their over-indulged children. This morning was no different. Parents and children alike acted like lost tourists, unable to work their way through the simplest of transactions, unable to pick out what to order after waiting in line for ten minutes. How difficult is it, really, to pick out your food, then buy it? We were on the verge of a melee, where the decision-making process had turned into some sort of historical summit. I maintain that if you stand in line for ten minutes and still don’t know what you want after staring at the choices all that time, you need to get out of the public space and go into hiding because you should not be around functioning people.

My usual MO for dealing with such things is to give the dirtiest, nastiest look to the offending parties in the hope that it shuts them down sheepishly. (Most of the time, however, if you’re dumb enough to not yet understand how a café works, you are too oblivious to notice any sort of withering glance.) At any rate, that was my frame of mind as I finally snatched up my coffee and a chocolate chip cookie. I was about to break free from the pack of idiots, but a mother and her two little kids blocked the door. (Apparently a door also poses a dilemma for certain people. What to do with a closed door?!)

They stood still, blocking the only way out, but for some reason I just didn’t have it in me to dole out dirty looks or mutter some dismissive ‘Excuse me.’ Instead, I moved back a little and waited while they kept standing there. The mother finally noticed me, and apologized, so rather than giving her a blameful look I simply smiled, looked down at her kids, smiled again and waited until they exited the store. It was a profound difference to choose a smile rather than a snarl, and it made a difference for the rest of my day.

Maybe she was at the end of her rope as well. Maybe she was dealing with things more sad and terrifying than I could ever imagine. Or maybe she was just an entitled jerk who didn’t feel the need to make way for, or notice, anyone other than her own children. It didn’t really matter. I took control over the only thing I could – myself – and I decided to be nice for a change.

It was a good change. I may try it again.

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Favorite Scenes, Delicious Things

I will return to Boston soon enough for a few winter weekends, though I know it won’t be as weather-welcoming as it was on my last visit, where they had yet to dip below freezing. Here are a few photos from that visit, and they say more than I feel like writing at the moment.

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Holiday Children’s Hour in Boston

When I originally proposed the idea of holding a Holiday Children’s Hour at the Boston condo, I was envisioning an early afternoon gathering of a few of my friends’ kids briefly stopping by for a quick hot-cocoa-sipping get-together that went no longer than sixty minutes, hence the aptly-named ‘Hour’ portion of this extravaganza. Suzie laughed at that timeframe, and in my heart I did too. Though the three-and-a-half hour duration it ended up running to was a bit beyond my worst imaginings, I was enjoying the company so much I didn’t mind in the least. It also helped that among the three children attending, there were three parents in attendance as well. That’s about the most perfect babysitting ratio: one parent per child, and no child gets left to be cared for by Alan.

The festivities began at around 3 PM, with a plate of shortbread cookies and a few letter-to-Santa writing kits to amend Suzie’s paper crafts. I had specifically request paper craft projects for the kids. What? I used to love paper crafts! Still do. And fortunately these imaginative folks did as well. (My niece and nephew are not nearly as patient or easily amused.)

Once the paper crafts neared the end of their occupation, we broke out a package of Christmas ‘crackers’ – those wrapped toys that you pull apart to an explosion of string, some none-too-witty scrap of fortune, and a little toy.

This will be the last time I get to see Sophia and Alissa before they move to South Africa, and that was definitely a reason for the gathering. Before that, though, a few push-ups, because that’s what one does at a Holiday Children’s hour. Hey, we were making the rules up as we went along.

It’s much too soon to see whether this will be a tradition I carry on next year. Children grow up so quickly, and everything changes so much it’s difficult to count on a repeat performance of such magic. If it does happen to happen, it will no doubt look very different. Now I’m getting ahead of myself, which is the antithesis of this post, in which I was able to actually enjoy the holiday moment.

We ordered an early dinner of Thai food, because with three kids it’s easier to order in than command a large table at a restaurant. It’s also more fun. While I’m not about to run out and get a little of children myself, this particular Holiday Children’s Hour (or Three) was way more fun than I anticipated – and I haven’t ruled out a similar event next year.

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The Holiday Stroll 2015 – Part III

The last day of our Holiday Stroll – Sunday – dawned brilliantly. This was the weather I’d hoped for when plotting out the whole weekend, and as such the original plan for keeping things to half a day in the South End was scrapped in favor of crossing the Charles into Cambridge. Kira was game for it, so we strode along the Southwest Corridor Park to the Back Bay T stop.

The leaves atop the trees were still gloriously aflame. The usual bite of December cold was tepid at best, and so the day had the feeling of early fall, with the addition of holiday sparkle. The best of both worlds.

Certain brownstones were decked out in cranberries and pomegranates – decadent displays that the wildlife of the South End had remarkably left alone. Perhaps even they courted the holiday spirit, allowing the beauty to be enjoyed by all.

We rode the Red Line all the way to Porter Square. Given the beauty of the day, I’d decided to go the Cambridge route, walking along Mass Ave – a lengthy stretch that had several fun shops along the way. Before we began, we stopped in Japan by way of Porter.

As we did with the previous day’s pho, we started with some stomach-warming elixir – the magic of ramen. It was our first time at Sapporo Ramen, and we were second in line (it’s so popular that there is always a line). We ordered up the House Ramen, and soon enough were sipping at the thick broth. I still prefer pho, but this was an energizing beginning to a day of walking.

The shops on this side of the river always felt more rustic to me, less refined than the uptight perfection that Boston Proper always strives for (and ends up all the more off-putting for it). These stores carried more whimsies and more enchanted objects.

The colors of this already-bright day popped in eye-arresting fashion, and I wondered, as I often do when in Cambridge, why I didn’t come out this way more often.

In a Tibetan store, Kira convinces me to try on a traditional hat trimmed with fur and embroidered with gold thread. It is, sadly, not quite my size, so I settle for a one-size-fits-all Tibetan yak wrap (in a fine fuchsia shade that will match my Jack Wills holiday bag perfectly).

There are further enchantments along the never-ending avenue, and when at last we reach Harvard Square, we have found the giddy wonder that characterizes the best of the season.

It was here, in The Tannery, where I found that exquisite bond No. 9 fragrance ‘New York Oud’ and sprayed it on my wrist, where it accompanied us on the rest of our stroll. Somehow, I will find my way to that fragrance, as it now comes imbued with meaning and memory – the kind of connection that makes a great fragrance into something life-affirming.

At the edge of Harvard, a tree lifted its bright fruit into the blue sky – an explosion of natural beauty that led us to a few more Tibetan stores en route to Central Square. I held onto the image, and the intoxicating combination of New York Oud and Tibetan incense, as we descended to the subway.

We emerged into the afternoon sunlight outside the Park Ave station. The sun glinted golden off the State house, and we took our time meandering through the Common before entering the Public Garden. The willows still held their golden leaves, and the sunlight was just dipping into the horizon. In these final hours of our Holiday Stroll, Kira and I slowed our steps and stopped for one last moment to take it all in.

In the lounge of the Four Seasons, the hum of early afternoon revelers was low but happy. Trees were elegantly appointed in the lobby, and though the outside was anything but frightful, inside was this dreamlike winter wonderland. This would be our final official stop for our stroll, and of course it wasn’t on the itinerary. We laughed at the piece of green cardstock in my hand, at the many lines that had been crossed out and replaced. It turns out that the best Holiday Strolls are the ones that go unplanned and unplotted. That was the holiday gift I got from this year’s stroll – along with some precious time with a good friend.

As the day dimmed, we found ourselves back at Braddock Park. Kira rushed off to catch a train, and I stopped at the foot of the stairs to observe the early descent of evening. The sky deepened in color. The night still emanated with the grace of fall. I didn’t dare knock on the door of winter. It would arrive soon enough, and without bidding.

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The Holiday Stroll 2015 – Part II

Mother Nature must have been making up for the big pile of poo she dumped on Boston earlier this year, but rain was not in the forecast for our Holiday Stroll. It was certainly not in the itinerary, nor in the planning for the weekend. (Clear skies had been predicted and I foolishly heeded the weather reports.) I had the wrong coat for rain, the wrong shoes for rain, the wrong fragrance for rain, and the wrong indoor-outdoor walking ratio for rain. And we only had one umbrella (the one stocked in the condo that did NOT go with my outfit in the least) to share. Have you ever tried sharing an umbrella while walking a decent distance? It sucks, and everybody ends up getting wet. Yet none of that mattered (ok, it mattered a little, but my complaints dwindled as we made our way along a wet walk that found the temperatures warm and the sights still filled with fall leaves and flowers).

Changing the itinerary yet again, we ducked into Pho Basil for an early lunch. A bit of warm sustenance for the dreary day would surely turn our spirits around, and it worked. Pho is a winter tradition for us now, and Kira and I eagerly filled out stomachs with the hot, spicy broth.

Umbrella unfurled above us, we walked down Newbury Street, stopping in shops to browse and look, and somehow avoiding the huge crowds that often accompany the high shopping season. Maybe the rain had its unintended benefits as well. We mostly just looked, but that was all right. Much of our shopping had already been done. The point of our stroll was not to buy, but to enjoy.

Even looking has its exhaustions, however, and after a couple of hours we needed a rest. After crossing to Boylston, I insisted on a break in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental. Their floral display is always stellar, and their inviting lobby has a delicious fire perfect for a rainy December day. Sitting down, we surveyed the fire and the Christmas tree, and took a moment to just be still.

These are the moments that make our Holiday Stroll special. The little pockets of in-between time, when we don’t even talk or check our phones, when the day pauses in its hectic rush – these are what I treasure the most. Kira enjoys them too, never the first to reluctantly stand and take up the journey again.

Time ticks on, no matter how much we’d like to stay, but the rain was still in full effect. We braved Boylston a bit longer (I adore the Crate & Barrel there) then found shelter back in the Prudential. Usually we use it as a walking corridor when the weather is wild, but as the stores were decked out in holiday finery, we added it to the itinerary (which was already in tatters because we were not walking all the way to Downtown Crossing or Quincy Market as ambitiously outlined under clearer skies).

We were vaguely aware that the day was darkening, but we didn’t know the rain was slowing as well. By the time we re-emerged at the other end of Copley Place, it was dim but dry, and we crossed Dartmouth for a cocktail at the Fairmont.

There we sat and talked, amid a bevy of other holiday shoppers and merry-makers. A festive mood had come out of the rainy day after all, our holiday stroll intact in its own strange way, valiantly proving its spirit even as it realigned my precious itinerary.

We had dinner and then made the long walk back to the condo, pausing at a cozy little market so I could pick up some sweet potatoes for later that night. (Yes, there was a reason.)

After winding down relatively early (having been up way too late the previous evening) we settled in with a viewing of ‘The Man Who Came to Dinner‘ – a tradition that we will keep intact because it’s such a good movie. I baked a couple of sweet potatoes in honor of the ice skating scene (where they are called ‘sweet hots’ (or is it ‘hot sweets’?) – both sound equally ridiculous) which turned out serviceable enough. They were done just as the appropriate scene came on, so we paused and munched on some late-night starch. The next day was a new part to our Holiday Stroll, and I wasn’t sure how it would go…

{To be continued}

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The Holiday Stroll 2015 – Part I

Sometimes the best-laid plans are the most easily broken, and sometimes an overly-anal Virgo needs to be put in his place when it comes to scheduling fun and spontaneous enjoyment. The universe taught me that lesson as Kira and I set out on a three-day Holiday Stroll that had been meticulously-plotted – the itinerary printed out on green cardstock. From the very beginning – a canceled cocktail toast at the Liberty Hotel (we did it at the condo instead, so she could drop off her bags) – to the very end (a mad-dash to get Kira on the train back to Attleboro) it was a comedy of errors, resulting in the least-followed itinerary ever created. Yet somehow it was one of the most fun weekends I’ve had in a while, and that’s about the only thing I could have guaranteed from the beginning.

As mentioned, the very first activity of the evening -“ a kick-off toast at the Liberty followed by a walk up Charles Street – was substituted by Kira’s arrival at the condo. We sat for a moment amidst the lights and decorations, toasting with a Campari orange before heading out into the clear night air.

Mother Nature must have been making up for her atrocious behavior last winter, as many of the leaves were still on the trees, illuminated now by Christmas lights and lending additional color to the dim days leading up to the shortest of the year.

The storefronts were lit from within, even though all were closed at the late hour. We hustled deeper into the South End, to The Elephant Walk restaurant, where plates of warm Cambodian food awaited the weary traveler.

Across the street, a church glowed beneath the light of the moon. That treacherous moon, which would wreak its havoc with our plans the entire weekend, sprinkled her crazy light over our progression. Yet even a walk into winter can be a pleasant experience when you don’t have to do it alone.

Taking our cue from this headless bunny, we headed back to the condo for some rest and shut-eye, and a super-late viewing of ‘Love Actually’ – which will likely not make the holiday tradition list. It’s just too much. Of course, we stayed up to watch the end – all the way past the 2 AM mark – a first. We make bedtime exceptions for the holiday stroll.

{To be continued}

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Murder in Sparrow Park

There is something serious and comical about this murder scene. On one hand, it’s terrifying and disturbing. How anyone could do such a thing, and why they would do such a thing, will always remain a mystery to me. I may play the sick, twisted card in Tour Books and other fictionalized outlets, but to actually go out and do this sort of thing, well, I don’t have it in me. And I’m relieved at that. But someone did.

This brutal beheading of an anonymous bear took place in the early evening hours of December 5. I stumbled upon the crime scene following the first annual children’s holiday at work. It was a heartless wake-up call after such a lovely afternoon of holiday bonhomie. The body had been stuffed in a garbage can. while a few feet away the head rested on its side, eyes agape as if still in shock.

Darkness lurks, even at Christmastime. Sometimes I think things become more sinister when the majority of people are doing their best to be good. Maybe it just seems that way in comparison.

The sad and serious part of this unhappy ending is that the bear looks well-worn and loved. In the realm of the Velveteen Rabbit, he or she would be considered ‘real.’ That’s the heartbreaking aspect of this scene. Was this an adult playing a joke on the world? Was it someone’s parent or care-taker menacing an actual child? I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I had to work hard to quell my imagination from running away with all sorts of possible atrocities. In the end, it will remain a mystery. I turned my back to it and shuffled off into the night.

Being observant is sometimes a curse.

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Merrymaking Misfits

We were a motley band of merrymaking misfits, and we assembled at the Boston condo to celebrate the season in festive fashion. One of my very first holiday parties, dubbed rather unoriginally ‘A Festive Gathering’ was in full swing. The happy drone of a party at its height – one of the most glorious sounds in the world, and the reason I do it all – was just beginning to crest, and my incongruous band of friends, co-workers and acquaintances mingled in unexpected bonhomie.

We spilled out onto the rickety fire escape off the bathroom window, guests perched precariously on slatted steel, smoking their cigarettes and who knows what else – I was largely removed from the debauchery of that little bathroom, sadly. We laughed and shouted and sipped at cocktails from plastic glasses, beneath lighted garland and oversize Christmas ornaments hanging from the eve of the wet bar.

Most of us were not yet at the quarter century mark, our youthful exuberance and carefree countenance a sign of our early twenty-something times. We had not yet been saddled with mortgages and babies and jobs with health insurance. On this cold December night the warmth of the condo, the joy of a few good friends, and the promise of romance – ever in the air for a single twenty-two-year-old – was all we needed. It didn’t matter that we were all crammed inside a stuffy little one bedroom condo, or that the oven and its paltry supply of appetizers necessitated the opening of all the windows – we were just glad to be alive, glad to be together beneath the watchful eye of the John Hancock Tower.

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Holiday Decorations Not Seen Since the 90’s

The last time I decorated the Boston condo for the holidays was way back in the late 90’s. Yes, it was another millennium ago. It must have been for a Christmas party I was hosting when I lived in Boston at the time. Since then, I haven’t been at the condo enough to justify any sort of holiday decorating, but that changed this year when I got back into the spirit for the Holiday Stroll (recap of that is forthcoming). It will also come into play this weekend, when I head back to Boston to host a Holiday Children’s Hour for Suzie’s and Alissa’s children. [Operative word: hour.] I’ve been told it’s ridiculous to expect kids to adhere to a deadline of an hour, but that’s why kids are so unruly. No follow-up or follow-through. I can do both. Not that I plan on it. This holiday season I’m surprisingly mellow. (It may have something to do with this persistent cough that I can’t shake. You’d be surprised how much less I care about when my sole goal is to make it through a work meeting without coughing my lungs up. Perspective.)

This time the decorating has definitely put me in the Christmas spirit, and I’m actually looking forward to having a couple of excited kids opening gifts and drinking hot cocoa (with mini-marshmallows if Suzie remembers to bring them) in the condo for an hour. It’s a cozy space, and I’ve decked it out as splendidly (if simply) as the small environs allow. Maybe we’ll do more next year, for now this will have to suffice.

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