Before our siesta, I suggested that we make our jars of intention, so Emi and I took a pair of simple glass jars and went around the yard to collect various objects that we would imbue with some symbolic meaning to signal our hopes for the new season. Fall was in the air, even as the sun still lent the day some warmth. On the ride home we’d seen several trees already changing their leaves. It was almost time.
We chose a stalk of lavender for luck, a sprig of rosemary for remembrance and protection, a few white flowers of oregano for happiness, and a leaf of sage for wisdom. I found a feather to fly, and Emi dropped a small acorn in her jar for the strength conveyed by the mighty oak. Then it was time for an indulgent siesta before the movie, which was originally the main impetus for our weekend, but felt almost like an afterthought following such magical time together.
After the movie, we headed almost immediately to bed as we had another early morning breakfast call to answer the next day, and Emi had to be back home early to host some friends. I dressed for the goodnight greeting then went to bed myself.
Suzie had recommended the Little City Kitchenette and it was a happy revelation – a delicious ending to a wonderful weekend with my niece (who was, by this time, pretty much over posing for my pictures!)
We had a very good talk over breakfast – the sort of talk that can only happen after a weekend together, when trust has been built, comfort established, and the safety of reliable family had put us both at ease. In some ways, both Emi and I have always been craving that, and if we have to find it in each other, that’s very much a gift of the universe arriving just in the nick of time.
While the weekend was supposed to lean toward fall, and the bewitching season almost at hand, the weather was almost too sweet – warming into the mid to upper 70’s as the sun drenched the roads to Vermont. When we arrived in Manchester, the flowers were still putting on a spectacular show, and we took our time walking around and enjoying the beauty. Our main goal was the Maple Creamie we’d discovered a couple of years ago, but having just had breakfast we agreed a walk and some shopping was in order first.
Emi was also mostly game for posing in whatever ridiculous setting we discovered – hence this fun capture of an elephant outside the local Thai restaurant.
The riverwalk was a peaceful place to pause on this beautifully sunny day – the water a relaxing sound and sight to take in and appreciate. With all the phone action and fast-paced lives of teenagers today, it’s good to slow things down and remind them of what really matters, what’s actually happening if they don’t look up and around and take everything in. I need that reminder too sometimes.
Hints of ice cream were starting to appear, nudging us toward our main goal of the day: procuring that delicious Maple Creamie. Some were bigger and more prominent than others.
Eventually our chosen purveyor opened their doors and it was time – we had our maple ice cream in Vermont and all was well with the world.
Our final stop in Vermont was the cozy Northshire Bookstore – a place I’ve been visiting with the twins since they were young children. Some things remain the same, and some things change, and it’s all good in its own way. On this day, we inhabited the moment – a rare instance of mindfulness and being present in a season that was already racing to its end. We had a few more itinerary items to check off however, so we made our winding way back to New York, and a siesta that was calling to both of us…
Due to their schedules, my niece and nephew joined me separately for our somewhat-annual end-of-summer weekend hangout, so while Noah’s adventures can be found here, here and here, we are just beginning to post Emi’s Magical Almost-Autumn Weekend adventures with her Uncle Al, starting with this post – the first entry of her trio of features to commemorate a whimsical weekend at the end of summer. I managed to cobble together an itinerary and we checked off every item on it – something that makes my Virgo heart sing.
Lola arrived with Emi on Friday afternoon, and we sat down to a dinner by Uncle Andy – Emi’s favorite chicken parm and a dessert of lemon meringue pie in honor of Dad’s birthday, which was his favorite. It felt wistfully poetic – Emiliana was named after my father, and as I see bits of my dad in both of the twins it’s reassuring to know he lives on in them.
We began with a brief attic moment of intentions, and a quick run-through of our witchy weekend, built around the new ‘Practical Magic 2’ movie that just came out. What is a magic spell but an intention cast into writing or incantation? They are wishes or desires or hopes for something to happen. Whether or not they manifest is up to myriad elements and forces, some of which are directly under control, most of which are not. As in many situations, harmful or hurtful intentions tend to double back on the person doing the casting – negativity and evil leading to more of the same – while happy and supportive spells tend to foster happiness and support for the person behind them. We kept everything on the positive, and wrote out what our hopes were for the weekend ahead.
Emi’s intentions were to be relaxed, stay calm, share fun memories, and have fun – and I couldn’t improve upon those items if I tried. Happily, that’s pretty much how the weekend would go, starting with a gift basket that had some chocolates and soap and a book of magic intentions for Emi to fill out in the days to come.
After dinner, we set up camp in the cellar for a viewing of the original ‘Practical Magic’ – had some popcorn and candy – then called it a night – as we had to get up early to secure a table at Manory’s in Troy on our way to Vermont.
Troy has its own magics, and its own mayhem. A very upset woman approached our car in the first place we parked, screaming at Emi before we even shut the engine off, so I drove around the block and found a more welcoming space before our breakfast at Troy’s oldest restaurant. There’s usually one bit of drama on every weekend with Uncle Al, so at least we got that out of the way early and could focus on fun and relaxation as originally intended. The breakfast was good and, fortified for the moment, we got back on the road to Vermont…
It struck me that I was especially sorry to see the Labor Day weekend come to a close. We’d had such a good time, with nary a bit of drama or disagreement, that I didn’t want it to end. We took our time finishing our plates, glad for the extra pancakes – grateful for their sweetness, and the prolonged opportunity for a bit more conversation.
After packing the car and bidding adieu to the condo (until my return to town to rendezvous with Chris next weekend) we decided to make one more stop along the way – the outlets at Lee, MA – where the beauty of the Berkshires meets some basic retail offerings.
Behind the outlets, near our parking spot, a winding path curved into the forest below. I’m not sure where Noah’s path might take him in the years to come, but he seems to have a good sense of self, and a strong moral compass, and I’ll always be here to guide him whenever he might ask.
It was a good weekend with my nephew, and he already texted that he wants to go back soon.
We opened the next morning with a breakfast at Mike’s City Diner on Washington – a longer walk than nearby Charlie’s, but the day was already shining in sunny style, and walking among beauty makes for easy talking. It had only been a few weeks since I’d been there, but it was Noah’s first time, so an introduction seemed apt. We took our time as the place slowly started to fill up, then made our way further into the South End for the next planned excursion.
Sunday mornings at the SoWa Market were how I used to close out my weekends in Boston, and it’s been a few years since I’ve gone. On this day Noah was up for the visit since he likes a vintage hunt, and I thought they still had a vintage market somewhere. We browsed the food stands and stores, then found some t-shirts and a suede coat to go with my own upcoming autumnal theme.
As we sat down for a breakfast dessert of ice cream (a rule-bending habit we had started the night before) a bank of gray storm clouds looked to be moving in, but they seemed isolated enough not to cause an issue. We discussed where we want to go next, and Noah mentioned that he usually ends up near the harbor at some point on each of his trips here, so we headed in that direction. After making it only a few blocks, the rain began – at first just a bit, with only a few drops, then it got a little heavier so we hustled into a canopied park, sitting down on a dry bench beneath some trees. I thought we might wait it out, but it only seemed to get heavier, and without umbrellas or jackets we were at the mercy of the sky, so we made a quickened walk for whatever nearby restaurant could be found. Eventually, we found Citrus & Salt, ducking in just as the heaviest downpour arrived.
While we had only eaten a couple of hours before, a snack seemed good since we had some storm time to pass, so I told Noah I’d order some guacamole and asked if he liked oysters. He said he never had them before but he would try. One of my nephew’s many admirable attributes is that he is willing to try any sort of food you might suggest, and more often than not he ends up liking it and adding it to his repertoire. It makes for fun dining experiences, and on this day we shared a plate of oysters – his first, continuing his own culinarily adventurous weekend.
As our impromptu meal concluded, the sun came back out and the sky shone blue again, so we continued our way toward the harbor, where we detoured through Fanueil Hall, then found the path to the Charles River and followed it back toward Copley.
Passing Commonwealth, I remembered the elephants were in town, and as I hadn’t seen them yet it seemed the perfect time, and the perfect company, with which to meet them.
Returning to the condo for an afternoon siesta, I looked up place that offered Peking Duck to make up for our change of plans the night before and found Novo Lantern which was a much closer walk than Chinatown, so I made a reservation for us. This was Noah’s second first try at a new dish, and he ended up loving it as much as I did. The first time I had Peking duck was with my Uncle Ding – and the second was with my Uncle Roberto – so perhaps it’s a Filipino Uncle thing.
Noah and I had a deep discussion about things over our assembly of the duck – the very best sort of conversation that you can have with a cherished family member – the kind that makes you feel alive and grateful and happy, the kind that makes you feel like this is what life should be like always. He’s a good guy. I feel lucky that he’s growing into such a decent young man, and that he still likes spending time with his crazy Uncle, whom he counted as the most interesting person he knows. Such praise deserved a treat, so I took him to Aquitaine for a dessert of chocolate bread pudding, then we called it a night…
While we didn’t have them over as much as we usually do in the summer, the twins were game for one last weekend of fun before the fall season starts officially. Noah was available for a trip to Boston, so we drove over for Labor Day weekend – as was our previous tradition. (Emi will join us for this weekend’s visit and a trip to Vermont.) Now that they are sixteen years old, it’s sometimes easier to do separate visits with them, as there is less competitive in-fighting and more quality one-on-one time. In this instance, Noah and I made the most of a pretty fine weekend in my favorite city.
Like any good Guncle worth his weight in retail therapy, I took Noah shopping along Newbury Street to get our bearings. It was actually his idea, as he wanted to find some clothing items after my questioning what his fall fashion theme was going to be (and insisting that he have one).
We stopped in a vintage shop, along with Arc’teryx and Uniqlo, and then began the walk to Chinatown where we had our stomachs set on Peking Duck. First, however, we found a matcha ice cream place and decided that no one was going to stop us from getting dessert first. That’s the beauty of these last weekends of summer – there are no rules, and anything goes. It would set our adventurous tone for the weekend.
Grateful for the walk to burn some of this matcha and taro swirl off, we made our way past the Public Garden and Boston Common, then took a careful perusal of Chinatown to see where we might find Peking duck.
As we passed the best place for pho (Pho Pasteur), Noah said maybe we should get that. I mentioned that a bowl of pho is always the kick-off to fall for me, so I was game, but we were both still torn between that and the duck. As it was getting late – and apparently even Chinatown closes up early these days – we ran the time down and ended up finding the last few minutes of food service at Pho Pasteur, which decided the dinner.
So it was that my first bowl of pho for this fall season was shared with my nephew Noah – and I can’t think of a finer dining companion. We had a good talk – and it set the practice for several good talks over meals, one of my favorite things to do. Noah seemed to enjoy it as well, and after finishing our bowls we each felt stuffed enough to warrant a walk home. We fell asleep almost immediately after the long day, preparing for the next morning…
Emi joins us tomorrow for a weekend of autumnal welcome – we are scheduled to see ‘Practical Magic 2′ then, and I have a weekend of magical moments laid out before us. It’s a bit of a throwback to the fall days when I’d take the twins on a treasure hunt around the yard, excavating all the items I’d carefully hidden and then drew out for them to find with a treasure map. Those innocent acts feel quaint, and soon it will be time for Jaxon to have his treasure hunting days. For now, Emi is arriving tomorrow and we are set to travel to Vermont for a day of almost-fall fun. I’ve already updated the attic room for her stay, reflecting the shift to autumn hues and decor.
Last weekend was Noah’s turn, and I’ll be posting those adventures starting on Saturday – after which a recap of Emi’s adventures should be set to begin. They are growing up fast… too fast… but they still have fun with their crazy Uncle, and he still loves spending time with them. In fact, the older they get, the better we get along – mostly because I can talk to them on my level (which is basically that of a teenage girl who doesn’t want to grow up).
Dear Dad – It’s been three years since you departed this earth, and while I still think of you every day, it is not in an unhappy or painful way – it’s more of a reassurance. Your presence is with me, guiding and comforting me throughout all the difficult days, and whenever I find myself in doubt or worry, I think of you, and somehow you help me get through it. In so many ways, you are still working as my father, in the same dogged way you worked when you were alive.
That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you – and it’s keener at family events and gatherings, when you would be the only other person who understood me and my place. It’s lonelier now. My heart is a bit emptier. Nothing fills that void, so I work around it, allowing it to exist as a testament to the love we shared. In that strange way, grief is a comfort, a continual reminder of your presence, a constant reassurance of your love.
You’ve been on my mind lately, as summer takes a rainy and darker turn, and moments of melancholy remind me of that final summer we had. Those last days of yours went so fast but felt so slow, and I’m grateful for that time – it was a fitting and honorable goodbye, the same way you lived your entire long life. You closed it out neatly, quietly, lovingly. You let us say goodbye, and when you were ready you slipped away in the night. I would be lucky to follow in your footsteps.
On the morning of your funeral service, it poured rain – the same way it’s been pouring rain for the last week. Maybe that’s bringing me back to you, or you to me, and for once I’m not unhappy about such dour weather. It’s a comfort, like you have always been – a gentle nudge of nourishment for the soul. I don’t need to look to the cemetery or the church to feel or find you – you remain with me always – in this rain, in our tomato plants, in your grandchildren, in any little incident that reminds and rekindles a funny memory of you. Then I remember you smiling and laughing, sometimes so much that you had to take your glasses off and rub your eyes.
Dear Jaxon – You’ve arrived at the start of your 4th year here, and it’s been a joy seeing you reach all of your milestones and markers that a young boy hits. You’ve almost reached the point to begin your training with your Uncles, as this is almost the time at which we stepped in with the twins (once they were about toilet-trained). That means you’re no longer a baby – which carries its own weight and regret over the passing of time, and with it the excitement and wonder of beginning your fourth year of the long journey ahead.
You’ve come quite a long way in the last year – you’ve picked up your talking and communication, and you showed me how to wind up a car that I couldn’t get to run on a racetrack, so you’re already skilled far beyond my automotive knowledge. Your love of cars and vehicles remains strong, which means you are taking after your Uncle Andy. I’ll need to start exerting my influence to counteract that, but have no fear, the fabulousness will be here.
Hope you have another wonderful trip around the sun – looking forward to more adventures with you this year! We love you.
Emi and Noah came over for the 4th of July festivities (such as they were) and we had a lovely little cook-out with Mom before the twins and I went out for ice cream and a walk at The Crossings. They’re getting older now, and I feel them shift slightly to their phones, shortening their attention span which was never all that substantial in the first place. The changes from generation to generation ring differently when you’re on this side of the divide.
When walking The Crossings we were able to enjoy a moment of touching the grass as it were, even if they complained that they didn’t want to walk. Noah was the one who discovered this lone daylily in bloom, and I explained how each bloom only lasted but a day. He said that was sad, but I showed him the other buds that were waiting to take over when this one had spent its day – and I said that if the daylily only knew of one perfect day, and had no idea of how long other flowers lived, why shouldn’t it be the happiest flower alive for that single day?
Back in the attic, we shared a ‘Circle of Trust’ moment where we talked of things that shall only remain within that sacred circle. One fun and slightly insane thing I can share is that we realized, at Emi’s keen observation, that I had never worn the same outfit twice whenever I’ve hung out with them. Since I see them maybe once a month – and often for the big life events like birthdays and holidays and graduations – it was entirely plausible that they’ve never seen me in the same thing twice. Respect.
More moving was Emi’s unprompted explanation that she always appreciated that she could come visit us no matter what craziness or drama was unfolding in her life, and that our home was a place of calm and relaxation, where she could simply be. Emi’s always taken after me when it comes to astute observations – and being blunt no matter how much it may sometimes hurt. On this day, there was no pain, only love and gratitude.
My niece and nephew were inducted into the National Honor Society last week, so I wanted to give these amazing young people a shout-out for being such stand-out students in addition to just being such good peeps. It’s not easy growing up in this world – I think it might be the hardest time to be a kid at the rate and the route in which this country is heading.
My father’s resting place may house his ashes, but I don’t usually feel his spirit there. That’s partly why I don’t visit it that often, choosing to mostly mark his birthday or holidays with a stop-by, and not much else. I feel him elsewhere – in the garden, on a warm breeze, in the shadow of a a tree. Lately I’ve been missing him so I stopped by his grave to say hello. The stone was warm from a day of sun, and flags lined the place in honor of Memorial Day. A few other cars with visiting loved ones of lost ones were scattered throughout the place, but none in my vicinity. As is usually the case, I didn’t feel my father there.
Even in the shade of a row of ancient evergreens, where he might have been found on a hot day, my father was missing. I looked for him briefly, knowing he wouldn’t be there, and hoping that it was the looking that mattered. As is often the case, I drove away from the cemetery feeling empty, feeling robbed of something, feeling the fact of my father’s absence. And as is occasionally the case, I wasn’t ready to let him go, so I drove to the place where I’ve gone whenever I find myself missing him: St. Mary’s Hospital. My Dad’s most regular ‘office’, where he’d be at work at all days of the day or night trying to save someone’s life and make the world better for other families, the hospital is where I remember my Dad being at key points in life.
I always return to the same space near the entrance of the cafeteria, before a locked door of offices now, but which once housed a conference room where my Dad kept me when I came home early from school one day and he had to be at the hospital. My social anxiety had worked and wreaked its havoc, and I couldn’t handle being at school with the other kids anymore that day – I thought I just missed my parents, and this was the only way to be close to them. I’d expected Dad to be angry for me making him have to pick me up early, the same way I expected him to be angry when I broke one of the garden sprinklers as a child, but he was gentle with me that day, perhaps sensing that I was only there out of fear. The memory recedes at that point, fading away to a slight ache, an emptiness. But I felt my father’s presence there, in those halls he walked, near those vending machines that offered the sandwiches he’d get when his work required him to stay beyond any sort of reasonable hours. I could hear his laughter with Hector the head janitor, his joking with the OR nurses, and his caring comfort for a little boy who mustered all his effort not to cry from missing his parents and growing up.
One of our happier holidays, coming at the happiest time of the year, Mother’s Day arrives when Mother Earth is at her most full and beautiful – all promise and hope of summer lying just ahead, and oodles of lilacs and peonies about to burst forth in perfumed splendor. When I was a little kid, I’d go out on the Saturday night before Mother’s Day, sneak up the sidewalk to the large stand of ancient lilacs near the top of our street, and stealthily pull off a few branches of blooms. Hurrying back home with this stash of stolen flowers, I’d carefully and quietly slide in through the side door of the kitchen and put them in a vase, where Mom would find them first thing in the morning. Along with a hand-made card, this was the extent of my gift-giving at that young age, and it was the most I could do.
Sometimes grapes remind me of my Dad, who used to peel them for me when I was a small boy. That gesture always stood out as one of the surest signs of love – the delicate carefulness required to actually peel a grape, shedding its somewhat sour skin to leave only sweetness and softness, revealed the sort of love that can only be expressed or shown in such an act, never to be said or dwelled upon. If you’ve ever tried to peel a grape – to fully peel it, leaving no slivers of skin behind – you know the careful work involved. And if you’ve been loved by someone like that, you know how lucky you are.
