Category Archives: Boston

When we first moved into the Boston condo exactly 20 years ago, there was no furniture whatsoever. As a full-time college student and almost-full-time retail worker (35 hours per work, thank you) I didn’t have much time to worry about interior designer, or even the simple stocking of a few main pieces of furniture, so for the first few weeks I lived sparsely with a cot (well, the mattress portion of a cot, anyway), a single lamp, and, eventually, a pair of stools near the kitchen area. The kind on which I am precariously perched in these photos.

This was a quiet time in the condo, and in my life. Despite the business of my schedule, and the expanding social scene of a gay guy just entering his 20’s, my moments alone were still and silent. Part of this was a practical matter of not having a stereo system, or a clock radio that got any sort of decent reception in the bedroom, and part of it was an unconscious yet somehow deliberate act of seeking out quiet when the rest of my life was getting louder.

At the time, I don’t think I fully realized the gift that such quiet solitude would prove to be. In fact, I don’t think I understood that for many years thereafter. Only recently have I come to realize the great power and healing that comes from being alone in the quiet of that condo. I’ve always felt a pull there when I’ve felt troubled or unsure, and I think it’s because there is this sense of peace and calm that originated there all those years ago.

Today, there is a decidedly-full collection of furniture and accessories in the space, but the quiet remains, if you let it. As the day dims and the street lamps flicker on, that quiet is there. As night falls and the other brownstone windows wink awake, the quiet pervades. As another morning arrives, whether gray or sunny or stormy, the quiet remains.

October in Boston can be both beautiful and brutal. If a hurricane manages to make land, it’s a nightmare. To this day, I can remember a storm that hit on a Sunday I was scheduled to do inventory at Structure. (Ahh, the days of retail.) It was so bad I had to take a cab to Faneuil Hall, effectively using up any time-and-a-half pay I would earn that day, but it was so worth it. Looking at the wet bedraggled messes of people that came in the store, I didn’t envy anyone who had to be outside for however short a period. I stayed until the work, and the day, was done, and the storm had subsided.

These past few weeks in Boston have been pretty glorious. The turn of the screw into fall has been a crisp and gorgeous affair, but such beauty will eventually be balanced with the bad, and that’s all part of the wonder of the weather. I’m a bit behind on posting the fun stuff of my latest Madonna adventure at the former Boston Garden, but it will be here eventually. For now, a brief glimpse into the descent of evening in the city I love so much. Sometimes a photo makes the heart soar higher than any multitude of words ever could.

Fly, my pretty, fly.

Here are some extra photos that didn’t quite find their way into the 40^th birthday narrative from Boston. I’m vaingloriously including them on the ego-driven assumption that if you’re visiting a website named ‘ALANILAGAN.com’ you are slightly interested in such stuff. If not, what the hell are you doing here? Be gone before somebody drops a house on you.

A delicious dinner at Mistral was how I chose to spend the first evening of my 40th year, and it was as perfect as I remember it. The last time we were lucky enough to break bread in that beautiful space was on our wedding day. It retains a special place in my heart, and so it was where we spent my birthday evening.

After stuffing ourselves with all manner of good things, we walked off a small bit of the meal the few large blocks it took to return to the Lenox Hotel, and our last night in the luxurious Judy Garland Suite.

I may have had the toughest time saying goodbye to the fair suite named after Ms. Garland, as it had given us a delightful home away from (and within) home (but with far better service and window treatments).

For everyone who thought (hoped) that 40 would tame me, this is for you.

Come 40, 50, or 60, I’m always going to be cheeky.

The morning-after dawned in bright fashion, and a few last glimpses of the place where I turned 40 were all that remained.

Many thanks to the Lenox Hotel, for making it so special.

Now, onto Life After 40.

Come along, if you dare.

We’ve only just begun…

At every milestone event in my life, it somehow happens, whether by chance or conspiracy, that I find myself alone for a few moments. Sometimes the moment is intentionally orchestrated, as was the case with this window of time on my 40th birthday, whereby I made my way to the Boston Public Garden and took a quick tour through the waning afternoon beauty.

For some reason, Boston always seems prettiest when viewed from the Public Garden. Whether it’s surrounded by the verdant ripe green of summer, or the bare-limbed stark gray of winter, the Garden frames the city in a majestic manner that no other standpoint affords.

A line-up of fowl stood sentinel on the shore of the pond leading up to the footbridge. They took in the afternoon sun as it slanted through the drapes of a willow tree.

Of all the times to be in the Garden, this may be one of the most magical. The early morning sunlight is also a thing of beauty, but there’s something richer about the light just before it goes.

After the ducks and the geese, there was one special friend dressed in white that I longed to see.

A birthday greeting, perhaps, from an old friend.

A few years ago I celebrated a birthday in Boston (maybe #34 or 35) and after cocktails at the Fairmont Copley with Andy, I treated myself to a pair of silk pajamas from Anthropologie. They remain, to this day, the most expensive pajamas I own, and I still wear them on special occasions. This year, marking my 40th, I went the same route and found these ridiculous pants at the same place. I can make more use of these, however, as they work well for poolside lounging, which this week looks to afford as well.

On my birthday, however, they served to characterize the day with a bit of whimsy, crafting a luxurious outfit in which one could indulgently lounge around a hotel suite and bask in the first moments of being a 40-year-old.

Give me a chance to pose and strut and act all sorts of undeservedly glamorous, and I’ll take it. It was my birthday, and I would act ridiculous if I wanted.

Kick your shoes off and join me. It’s going to be one wild ride…

One of the very first trips I remember taking as a child was a bus excursion to Boston. Suzie was there, as were our mothers, and we toured the New England aquarium, which is probably part of the reason I became so enamored of sea life and aquariums. (And Chinese paper yo-yos, which were on sale in one of the bull markets outside of the aquarium.)

For my 40^th birthday, I returned to the aquarium, as much for nostalgia as for my continued interest in everything under the sea. From sea turtles to sea horses, porcupine fish to penguins, it was exactly as I remembered it. True, it hasn’t changed much over the years, but there’s something comforting in that too.

The smell alone reminds me of childhood, the sound of squawking sea birds rekindling the awe and wonder upon the realization of how varied and interesting the life on this earth can be. Since that first visit the ocean has called to me, and in various ways I’ve tried to answer her – in saltwater and reef aquariums, in visits to the coastal terrain of Maine and Florida, in documentaries on whales and sharks and sea life.

Some primal mystery has kept me intrigued by that boundless expanse of salt water that touches all land in some way. A deep undulating rhythm of tides, a hypnotic pull of currents, conspire to confuse in dizzying, rapturous sensation. If you’ve ever stood on the edge of the ocean and felt the sand slowly pull you deeper, in conjunction with the spinning tug of the tide, you know this delicious wooziness.

It reminds me that everything is connected. Water and sand, light and air, humans and animals.

And always, always, the penguins.

Upon the occasion of turning 40, society dictates that a big hubbub is to be made. Hype and hoopla, usually my stock in trade, are expected, and the grandest of events are to be scheduled and set into motion when one reaches that vaunted age. As mentioned, this is largely the predicament imposed by a society that increasingly fears its aging as much as it wants to celebrate its wisdom. I’m for the latter and unaffected by the former, so when my 40^th rolled around it actually took some internal persuading to make the day into something more substantial.

As for the way I honored the occasion, things were kept remarkably simple, with an indulgence in the form of a very sweet suite at the Lenox Hotel. It provided a home base (out of necessity, as my brother had told me he was going to be in the condo on my birthday) and so I reserved the Judy Garland Suite ~ a very generous gift from my parents. (Ms. Garland stayed in the hotel for an extended period, and they subsequently created a suite in her honor.)

Stepping back into a world of elegance, a world that seems to have gone by, but a world where exceptional customer service and personal touches still matter and make all the difference, we entered the suite and found this happy confluence of gifts ~ some chocolates, a card, a bottle of prosecco, and our very own stuffed Lenox lion. The beauty of a boutique hotel, and its personal charms, was in gorgeous effect.

When looking for birthday ideas, and being quite familiar with the city, I was on the hunt for something unique, and distinctly Bostonian. When the description of the Judy Garland Suite crossed my radar, I was instantly sold. It’s an expansive jewel-box of a space, wondrously appointed (with whimsical touches like a ruby red slipper on one shelf) and elegantly assigned with built-in bookshelves, and couches and tufted headboards of velvet.

Golden sconces and sumptuous drapery lent a timeless elegance to the scene, while two television sets (one in each living space) added the modern amenities that were mostly lost on me. (Who needs TV with so much beauty around?)

A little bit of upstate New York found its way into our accommodations, in the form of the Beekman Boys, whose Beekman 1802 bath products were newly acquired by the Lenox in a perfect alchemy of good products and good people.

The ‘Fresh Air’ products aligned fittingly with the environmental policies that the Lenox was one of the first to institute. (Yes, I will re-use my towel!)

We spent the afternoon settling in, and as with most gorgeous rooms we’ve had the privilege of borrowing over the years, it was enough just being there and soaking up the atmosphere. The complimentary bottle of sparkling wine added to the air of enjoyment, and we clinked to the eve of my 40^th birthday.

We would take an Uber to the Liberty Hotel, where we would dine at Scampo for my last meal as a 39-year-old, but for the moment we paused, alone in our quiet suite, and contemplated the stillness, the beauty, and the happiness of a late afternoon in the heart of Boston.

There’s no place like home, and home is where the heart is.

While waiting for my birthday massage, I walked into a South End community garden, where long rows of plots were bursting at the seams with flowers and foliage and vegetables. It was an escape to paradise in the middle of Boston, and my heart has always thrilled at the prospect of discovering these lesser-known spots filled with nature. Like some secret garden, they are made more precious from their very secretiveness, as if the whimsy of the world whispered only to you this enchanting confidence. A silly notion, perhaps, but no less lovely because of that.

Those stalwart summer annuals – zinnias and cosmos – which I’ve unfairly dismissed over the years, reminded me of why they were so popular in the first place. Their vibrant colors, coupled with their blooming power even at this late stage of the gardening game, have put them on my list of things to grow next year. As we head into the final stages of summer, it’s a comfort to think that there’s another one coming.

I was also pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the vegetables on hand – the bright cheery squash blossoms and their resulting bulbous gourds hanging perilously heavy (the largest ones safeguarded by a tenderly-placed net beneath their growing carriage).

Vines trailed over fences and overhead, creating nooks and alcoves of hidden delight, small spaces away from the prying eyes of the city, where treasures like these cherry tomatoes could grow and ripen for the enjoyment of their caretakers.

An Asian woman in a floppy hat – one of the only people I encountered here – beckoned me over to a cage covered in leaves and tendrils. She didn’t speak English, but she pointed excitedly to the pendulous squash hanging like fairy tale lanterns. With a smile and some laughter, she was just as thrilled as I was at discovering this secret stash.

There’s a certain child-like innocence that a garden brings out in most of us, a sense of wonder and magic that adults seem to find more and more difficult to access. It’s one of the joys that gardening has maintained in my life, no matter what else might be going on.

Beauty is a balm for the soul, and for the battered heart that feels so much in such a cold world.

The dahlias were beginning their show, as the phlox was finishing up. Fall was on the edges of this garden too, and soon it would be everywhere. For now, though, a suspension of summer in the heat and humidity on hand.

And it seems I was wrong: we weren’t the only ones in the garden that day.

This rascal made the most racket, but no one seemed to mind.

My over-riding feeling on turning 40 was that it was just another day, so arrangements for the moments leading up to and including my birthday were low-key and casual (even if there was an itinerary). We drove to Boston for a long weekend, and arrived at the condo, where we set up camp for a couple of days. A quick and easy dinner at Cinquecento (to which we arrived courtesy of Andy’s new Uber skills) was followed by an early night. I needed to rest up for all the relaxation and fun that the next day would bring.

For my 40’s, I want to be more relaxed, more playful, less worried and concerned about things that don’t really matter. I want to let go of certain things, and hold onto what was always most important to me – friends and family and love and beauty. I want freedom from the constricting binds of jealousy, envy, unfairness, injustice, and hatred. I want redemption from the past – from the hurt and pain and heartache that accompany most of our journeys to 40. Mostly, though, I just want to have more fun. I don’t ever really allow myself to do that. Something is always holding me back.

For the last weekend of my 30’s, I relaxed into a few days of celebratory ease, and it began with a wonderful visit to Etant Spa in the South End. I’ve gone there for a massage before, and it is always a luxurious treat. A massage is more than mere self-indulgence: it provides a bit of nourishment for the soul, a blissfully tranquil state of perfect relaxation. That has always done more for my health and well-being than exercise or healthy eating ever could.

Having a massage early on in this long weekend provided the best point of entry for the proceedings. Everything that followed was tinged with the sweet shadings of a lighter touch, the removal of daily work concerns or home tasks, and a reinvigorated state of being. The eyes opened up to play then, and everything felt more alive. An art installation I might otherwise have overlooked, and certainly not have jumped on, called to me.

Entitled ‘InMotion: Memories of Invented Play’ by Amy Archambault, it was a fitting embodiment of what I wanted to do as I entered my 40’s.

A dinner at Douzo was next. The last days of my life as a thirtysomething were coming to a close. Quietly. Happily. Contentedly.

This fall marks our 20th year with our Boston condo, and it’s where I’ll be spending part of my birthday weekend. It has held a special place in my heart for all this time, filled with happy memories, a few lasting tears, and the comfort of a home that has never let me down. Come rain or shine, winter or summer, day or night, it has been ever-ready to embrace me at my best and worst, providing safety and surety in a world that crumbles just when I think everything is all right.

The street on which it is located has only improved over the years. In the early days, the fountain in the island didn’t even run. Now it spurts its happy streams of water, and the giddy cadence of splashing drops makes beautiful music in the middle of the street. A luxury in the fast-paced noise of the rest of the city. More on such magic this fall…

When brainstorming for birthday ideas, I suddenly started to feel the pressure of living up to the whole ‘Big 4-0’ aspect of this particular anniversary of being born. Whenever that happens, I tend to panic a little at the daunting prospect of marking such a milestone in expectedly-astounding fashion. At such moments, I go into survival mode, and rather than trying to live up to the build-up and create some over-the-top experience, I will find a solution by going the opposite way: keeping things quiet and simple and uneventful. That’s the way this 40^th birthday celebration is being designed, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a few flashes of extravagant indulgence. (I’m still me.)

Being that my brother told me he would be saying at our place in Boston on the eve and morning of my birthday, celebrating my 40^th in Boston could only be comfortably accomplished by booking a hotel. Admittedly, this is a bonus for me, in light of my love of hotels, so it all worked out in the end, and with the generous offer of my Mom to make it special, I searched some of the places I’d always wanted to stay, but never had reason to, given our own digs in the city.

After perusing a few options (the Ames Boston Hotel, the Mandarin Oriental, the Langham and the Liberty) I came back to a nearby classic: the Lenox Hotel. A long-time fan of City Bar (and the gorgeous Lemon Verbena soap in the restroom) I’ve spent a fair share of moments passing through or taking momentary respite in their pretty lobby, and I’ve always wanted to spend a night or two there. I’ve also taken note of their celebratory support for diversity and marriage equality, as well as their unparalleled commitment to environmental ‘green’ initiatives.

A family-run boutique hotel, the Lenox has long been one of those classy bastions of Boston, its regal red sign rising above the bustle of Boylston and calling out a storied past where luminaries have enjoyed the hospitality and elegance at hand.

The final thing that sealed the deal? The Judy Garland Suite. How could I not spend my 40^th birthday in a room named after Judy Garland, especially one that looks so pretty? Some things are meant to be.