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December 2017

2017: The Year in Review – Part 3

The final installment for the 2017 Year in Review (after Parts One and Two), this one incorporates all our recent holiday events, and the ticking of time from fall to winter. It can be a wonderful ride if you open yourself up to the cozy charms of the season. Even if you don’t, sometimes the beauty seeps through no matter how you resist it. See you all next year!

September 2017 ~

After a summer off – the first time off I’ve taken from daily blogging in many years – I returned to the almost daily grind (and a new, streamlined schedule) in time for the fall season

Madonna goes to the Body Shop.

In case you needed to know 20 more things about me

The splendor of shakshuka.

Can you go back home again?

A few good naked male celebrities

This gave me all sorts of feels. (Especially in the back-to-school season.)

A wish in the making

The summer blissfully refused to yield. Even in the middle of the night

Fireworks and roses, and a naked Nyle DiMarco.

Mooning in Boston

October 2017 ~

Tom Ford just the way I like him: dry, cool, and hard

Trumpeting angels and a rose-tinted memory.

Shadows of gray, and I don’t just mean my hair, plus the sorry state of Starbucks.

Spiked beauty, crimson against the blue sky.

Other Alans got naked here, but I kept my rain-bow tie on (even if I lost everything else).

A favorite past-time: Running down the hallway in a robe a la Celine Dion

My soap opera days are over, but it’s still fun to watch.

Jamie Dornan gets fifty shades of shirtless

The day I found a heart in a bush. (Two things I thought I could do without…)

Ogunquit October magic in full effect. Plus an enchanting harvest moon

No matter how much clothing is missing, if it’s in black-and-white you can always call it art. 

My top-ten favorite Madonna songs (for now, and minus one). 

The original Tom Ford Private Blend, and still one of the best. 

Andy’s birthday, spent in peaceful and quiet fashion

We’ve had ‘Sex’ for a quarter of a century. ‘Erotica’ too.

Fall cocktail fit for a golden dinner party. (And some golden lion’s paws.)

The strange time I had to defend the children at Lowes

Is this the saddest party song ever written?

Two trips to New York: the first one and the second one

Opening up this blog to the voting rights of the people is always a crap shoot.

Red lace, hoop skirt, & guy liner. All in an autumn night. (And a Halloween surprise!)

November 2017 ~ 

We eased into a long holiday season with some help from Tom Ford (and even more Thor).

Exiled by Enya, ridiculed by children, and riding the roller-coaster of life

Right above Boston, we swallow it all down. Then there was the Gold Rim Dinner Party

Nick Adams came through in the end and Ben Cohen returned to the calendar scene as well. 

Holidays can bring out the ghosts, friendly and missed and beloved. 

When November goes.

December 2017 ~ 

Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe help to make the season bright. 

A seasonal high ball with Andy’s Mom

A most delicious French toast made with egg nog

She will return, and she will be millions

Ricky Martin slipped into a Speedo again

One of my favorite holiday traditions, still intact somehow, and without further ado, the 2017 Holiday Stroll and all four of its parts

Another holiday tradition, this time taken down a notch. Still, not a bad shot

Ass & cock: my top nine. Things always get a little hairy at the end of the year. (Thank you Harry Judd and Ben Cohen and Henry Cavill.)

A song in need of a memory, or a memory in need of a making.

The Ilagan Bros. Holiday tradition, and a blast from our punch-drenched past

The Boston Children’s Holiday Hour. And more than an hour. An hour that lasted two days

Pietro Boselli as a shirtless Santa and Tom Daley beneath the mistletoe

Christmas needs its quiet moments, but they were not in evidence at my first kids’ soccer game

This was the year that turned many more hairs gray. For that reason alone, I’m ready to call it quits for 2017. We are coming for you, 2018, and we are going to take you like you’ve never been taken before… See you next year.

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2017: The Year in Review – Part 2

Our year in review continues, and this entry encapsulates four months, including the big summer break I took for the first time since this website was created in 2003. While it’s a labor of love, it’s still a labor, and that break was integral to its survival. Plus, you won’t even notice that some of July and all of August are missing, will you?

April 2017 ~

The oft-promised full-frontal Zac Efron nude photos

Madonna likes to get wet, and we love listening to it. (Almost always.)

Trevor Donovan gets gratuitous (like Nyle DiMarco).

I love a Kimpton, especially if it’s in Chicago

My Twitter profile pic looks less salacious than it once did, but I’m still not wearing any pants.

Miss American Pie

All Aprils, no fools. (Well, maybe one…)

Lava lamp light.

Don’t be daffy.

Beauty may be found in New York City, if you know where to look and when. 

A reunion two decades in the making

Let’s skip the crucifixion deal though. (You love to see me frightened.)

Betty Buckley sounds more beautiful every year

Andy makes a delicious dinner

Glenn Close returned to ‘Sunset Boulevard’ in thrilling fashion

Seventeen years later, I returned to the scene of my heartbreak. Chicago remained as dramatic and beautiful and challenging as ever. There were beautiful belugas beneath the blue, a second row trip to ‘Hamilton’ and memories old and new that snuck up on me in unexpected ways. I did a lot of touring on my own, but there was solace in solitude, and beauty could brighten the dullest day if you only let it. 

Mysteriously vanishing men. (And a missing bird.)

I learned how to stuff it good

May 2017 ~

One of my favorite months of the year, May is perennially magical, even when mud is involved.

Lilac art, bright white bedding, and the magnificent Matisse. All in a year

A new favorite watering hole in Boston

One of my favorite productions of this past year

Those Darren Criss Speedo shots

Now bring us some figgy perfume!

The magic of Pietro Boselli in tight white briefs. And a few other sexy GIFs.

For some of us, May means a wedding anniversary: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine

I should have just posted this one link instead of typing all the above. Lesson learned. 

A man slowing down.

A banner NYC visit for Mother’s Day: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Looking back on my delusions, Part One and Part Two, before the last part of the Flower Bomb Balm.

All delusions must come to an end, and the end of all ends is not such an end after all.

June 2017 ~ 

The bromper (or male romper), doing it doggy-style

A shirtless Gus Kenworthy, a smutty Saturday, and a sexy Sunday.

Fresh, fresh, super fresh, and back in the pulpit.

A naked James Franco.

My kinky boots were pink, and high as my thigh.

Our annual almost-summer baseball trip with Skip. Baseball and gay pride rolled into one spittingly good time

Suzie will always be older than me

Losing a beloved father-in-law and friend

Flowers for calm, and how beauty remains.

One more time around the Boulevard. For Andy. And for the very last time.

Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812‘.

The humble hosta, a fuchsia hurricane, and some pink lavender

A very naked Julian Edelman (and some bonus GIFs) and Tom Daley in a Speedo.

July 2017 ~

Not everything… not yet.

Friendships glow brighter in the summer. 

A naked Gus Kenworthy. (And a bit more here.)

The end of ALANILAGAN is in sight – far sight.

Life & death in the summer

Naked shower. (I don’t do it any other way.)

More naked Julian Edelman, and some new nudes of Ben Affleck.

Boston summer respite, and Boston beauty.

A tree worth coveting.

A risky Tom Ford gamble pays off for the beach

Getting prickly, getting beautiful, and getting some rest at long last

Before a brief goodbye, a reminder of how exciting life could be

The Madonna Timeline was back for one last entry before the break, and it was a doozy.

Waving through a window before my first summer break.

{One more installment of 2017 to come…}

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2017: The Year in Review – Part 1

If we are go by the social media monstrosities of Twitter and FaceBook, and the wretched state of political affairs in this country, 2017 was a dark and grim year, best left in the dust in the hope of a better 2018. Throughout the madness, I’ve striven to keep this small section of the internet a peaceful respite of beauty and tranquility, fun and frivolity, with the occasional dose of serious intent thrown in for good measure. I’m not sure I’ve succeeded, but let’s look back anyway. It’s the only way to move ahead. Besides, some of my favorite people appear here, and that’s always soul-enriching. 

January 2017 ~ 

 

Madonna, Inside Out

Feud.

Eat my banana.

Hawkish.

Tyson Beckford’s naked ass.

 

Pain in the neck.

Mobster music.

Man in Motion

The Delusional Grandeur Tour returned for its final few months (that old thing?), picking up right where it left off: Flower Bomb Balm Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

February 2017 ~

Ahh February. The less said about you, the better.

It cuts like a knife, and I’ve got the blood to prove it. 

A happy homo-anniversary

The brilliance that is Betty Buckley.

Super Bowl jocks & jockstraps on parade

That Zac Efron Freedom Speedo.

My family jewels almost all on display

Proof that I don’t love every single Madonna song in the world

The amazing artwork of Paul Richmond.

Color my ass excited.

Andy Cohen is Super.

Valentine Dance.

Music for the broken-hearted.

Andy as a very cute kid. (And an even-cuter baby.)

An Ilagan family dinner for Mom’s birthday

The ultimate narcissist

Love is pain and pain is art! Show me your graffiti heart!

The Flower Bomb Balm continued: Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

Hosting Sunday brunch, with help from the Pennsylvania Dutch!

Nick Jonas baring some skin, but not as much as Joe Jonas.

Bang it like Harvey.

One of my favorite reads of the year

My brother turned 40.

Red bark, not once but twice

March 2017 ~ 

In like a lion

Ass Wednesday.

Still the best Madonna album ever. (And still looking good.)

I’m not afraid to look ridiculous for this blog

The forgiving frittata and a delicious lentil soup.

Rainbow bright.

Back to the boulevard after two decades. (And a reunion with an old crush.)

Boys at play.

Harry Judd, fit and fine

Snow blows.

I wanted to be Wonder Woman

#KimptonLove in NYC.

Smell my rhubarb.

Dancing beneath the moon.

A very naked Ashley Parker Angel

It’s only fair to objectify my naked ass in return

Zac Efron’s Speedo just kept giving

More of the 2017 Rear… err, Year in Review to come…

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A Winter Gasp

The 2017 Year in Review begins tonight, so this is one of my last original posts for this calendar year. I call it a gasp because these photos were taken in the harsh light of early day, before I even had a chance to shower or fix my hair. I was heading out to shovel the driveway (another gasp, thank you) but I paused to enjoy the winter wonderland that had arrived just in the St. Nick of time. I’m wearing a vintage parka that I picked up at a huge (70%) discount at Sault in Boston a few years ago. It’s warm and functional, but not as pretty as I’d like. Good fashion is suspended until the return of warmer weather. From here on out it’s Timberlands and hair-wrecking hoods. That’s ok. I need to let my hair down more, to not care about being perfect all the time, to wear my sweats and sneakers to the store. (Gasp again, I own both.) The older I get, the less I care about what others think. And let’s be perfectly honest: I never cared all that much in the first place. A dangerous recipe for any time, but especially troublesome at the end of the year.

PS – Only one small bit of my hair is white because there’s snow in it. The rest I earned in the last few years. I own that. Next up: the recap of all recaps.

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All Tuckered Out

This doll has seen better days, but then again we all have.

It’s seen worse ones too, so this Christmas she is just relaxing and throwing her hands up now that it’s all over until next year.

I know how she feels.

Still, she’s not about to recap an entire year in a trio of posts, so she really has nothing to feel that exasperated about.

Try it on me.

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From Our Christmas Eve to Yours

The magic of Christmas Eve can only barely be captured by these photos, and even less by anything I might try to put into words. Hope yours was as lovely and warm as ours.

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My First (Last?) Soccer Game

About an hour before I was supposed to be at Afrim’s, I texted Sherri and Skip to find out the best way to park in that crazy parking lot. If you are blissfully unaware of what Afrim’s is, I would advise trying to remain that way; it’s that sports monstrosity for kids of all ages near the traffic circle of Albany-Shaker Road. Up until now, it was a site I avoided at all costs, for obvious reasons. But when your nephew is playing in his final soccer game of the season, an Uncle has to make a sacrifice and take one for the team. (Andy claimed to have last-minute shopping to do, so I was on my own.)

Sherri and Skip said to park in the back and walk, to avoid any crazy soccer parents looking for a fight. ‘What land was this?’ I wondered as I found a spot relatively close to the entrance. A messy mix was still falling, and as I stepped out in my L.L. Bean Rubber Boots (all the better to blend in with this slice of suburbia) I noticed that I was walking on a slushy stretch of astroturf. In the parking lot. Forget Kansas, I didn’t even think we were on this planet anymore. I looked back at the Ice Blue Show Queen and waited for further info from Sherri and Skip. (For instance, are flasks outright banned at this kids’ place, or merely frowned upon?) Alas, there was no flask for the driver, so I trudged through the snow and ice in sober fashion.

Inside, a nightmare beyond my wildest imaginings unfurled. Kids, kids, and more kids. Kids of all sizes and shapes, of all ages and stupidity levels, and in every decibel known to the human ear. I knew they would be there, I just wasn’t expecting so many. Roaming in packs or singly stalking the halls, they were everywhere, and I sent up a single prayer to the Sweet Baby Jesus right before his birthday: that I would escape without contracting pinkeye.

There were signs advertising beer – something to give certain parents a glimmer of hope I suppose – but no one was drinking so I wasn’t about to be the poster guy for Bad Gay Uncles (my boots were already bringing down my people). A slight stench permeated the place, not quite as bad as a gym, but not far from it either. An enormous wooden box of ‘Lost & Found’ items, including a whole section of used water bottles, lined one wall. Judging from the contents, they could have dropped the ‘& Found’ portion and called a nasty spade a nasty spade.

Just as I was about to give in to overexposure to kids and holiday exasperation, my nephew and niece bounded in and gave me a quick hug. I saw Noah’s eyes light up when he saw me, and suddenly realized that it mattered that I was there. When a little lesson like that comes at Christmas-time, it means a little more. Noah was gone in a flash, but Emi stayed in the lobby area with me for a bit.

Soon it was time for the game to start. I knew nothing about soccer other than it was what David Beckham did. My brother explained that here the clock didn’t stop like it did in football, and the 20 minutes up on the board would run down regardless of pauses in the game. Finally, something I could really cheer about! Amen to that! My relief might have betrayed more than I wanted, but I didn’t care. Emi complained about how bored she was, but I reminded her that certain people had sat through a six-hour dance recital for her not too long ago. She smiled and went back to watching before the first of a few trips to the bathroom.

The game was actually interesting, even if I was starting to get the sense that their team wasn’t very good. (My brother confirmed this in no uncertain terms.) I was a bit taken aback by how seriously some people were taking it – these are six and seven-year-olds, right? And it probably would have been better in a tiered stadium with beer and hot dogs, but by half-time, or the fifth inning stretch, or whatever the hell they call the damn thing in soccer, I was getting into the groove.

Noah scored two goals this time out, and though I’m biased I also have it on good authority that he is always one of the strongest players. He did his team proud, and afterward I took them out to lunch at Chili’s. Their choice.

On Wolf Road.

On the Saturday two days before Christmas.

Because that’s what a good Uncle does.

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The World In An Ornament

“I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas, as if whatever it was the pine boughs and the candles and the silver and gilt-ribboned presents and the birch-log fires and the Christmas turkey and the carols at the piano promised never came to pass.” ~ Sylvia Plath

Inside this globe of glass the air is perfectly still.

Outside, all the light and images of the surrounding room are captured and distorted and thrown back in a confusing confluence of incongruous scenes.

In this week between Christmas and New Year’s, the happy confusion reigns. With the weeks and weeks of build-up and preparation, that it could all be done in a single day seems regrettable. And so we carry it out one more week – and perhaps another after that. Andy is big on ‘Little Christmas’ which I think arrives on January 6, so everything remains up until then. (Truth be told we’ve had a couple of Christmas trees that almost lasted until Valentine’s Day, much to my chagrin.)

For now, the lights are a nice way of dealing with the darkness of winter, even if we’ve turned the corner and the days have begun to grow longer again.

“He who has not Christmas in his heart will never find it under a tree.” ~ Roy L. Smith

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When A Hunk Turns into an Asshole

Lewis Hamilton had been a Hunk of the Day here based on his success as car racer. That ended when he called out his young nephew for wearing a dress. This is the first time I’m doing this, and normally I wouldn’t be so petty and nonsensical for such a silly feature, but I’m disgusted by what this guy did. At his Christmas gathering he said this to his nephew, who was wearing a pink dress (as kids regardless of sexuality sometimes do): “I’m so sad right now. Look at my nephew. Why are you wearing a princess dress? Is this what you got for Christmas? Why did you ask for a princess dress for Christmas?” He then screams, “Boys don’t wear princess dresses!!” while this little boy (thankfully) seems to laugh it off. It was posted on Hamilton’s Instagram feed. The boy seemed to laugh, but don’t think for one moment that it didn’t sting. And don’t think I won’t call any asshole out who does that to a child. Hey, Lewis Hamilton, real men don’t degrade little boys like that. Fuck off.

PS – Guys in fur shouldn’t talk about boys in dresses. 

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A Merry Recap

While the rest of you may have the rest of the week off, I go back to work tomorrow, and I must say I’m not dreading it. I love Christmas as much as the next guy, but by the time it all goes down I’m ready to move on. Like so much else, it’s all about the build-up and anticipation. The actual event, and when that sweet Baby Jesus starts bawling, is a bit of a let-down. Let’s go back to before, when it was all possibility and yet-to-be…

I took a bit of a social media sabbatical to focus on the holidays at hand, and that’s always a stress-reliever. 

We turned the calendar page to winter, and everything’s as if we never said goodbye

The 3rd Annual Boston Children’s Hour took place, and instead of an hour it lasted an entire weekend. (And in the end it was freaking awesome.)

It felt like Christmas all over again

William Goodge, Ricky Whittle, Brandon Myers, and Dan Edgar comprised the holiday hunks of the week, while Pietro Boselli and Tom Daley provided the holiday guy candy. 

In a very short time I’ll begin working on the Year in Review, which will be up in a few days. In the meantime, for those of you lucky enough to be home and bored this week, check out the last few years of mayhem and magic:

The Year That Was 2016: Part One, Part Two, Part ThreePart Four

The Year That Was 2015: Part One, Part TwoPart Three

The Year That Was 2014: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

The Year That Was 2013: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

The Year That Was 2012: Part One, Part Two

 

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Merry Christmas from Tom Daley

Tom Daley gets to wake before those of us in America, so this Merry Christmas message is from him and his low-hanging mistletoe. That’s all I got for Christmas: clickbait. Still, it’s better than coal. Go make your own merry. Come back tonight for a recap…

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Christmas All Over Again

Some unfortunate souls still haven’t finished their Christmas shopping yet, and to them I say… well, I’m not going to say anything. It’s the season of giving, so consider that my gift to all humankind. I’ve already done my shopping bit, and as much as I love it, it does bring back memories of entering the maelstrom of the retail world just prior to Christmas. If you think it’s a nightmare being a shopper at this time of the year, it’s nothing compared to being a retail worker.

Back in the 90’s, during an epic stint at Structure, my managers wanted me working the floor as much as possible, so I got to know the holiday soundtrack quite well. The day after Thanksgiving that holiday tape started its non-stop rotation. It began with ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’ and went downhill from there. Yet somehow the repetition didn’t wear me down, and it didn’t dull my love for Christmas songs (with the possible exception of that “you mean you forgot cranberries too?” awfulness).

What got me through it all was the shared camaraderie of my co-workers and managers. The stress and excitement and mixed bag of the holiday shopping season bound us all together. It made me feel a part of something, a notion that had eluded me all my life, and something that would haunt and taunt me for years. Finally, I was one of the group, and it was us against the buying world. Our weapons were charm and grace and poise under pressure. Our enemies were the hapless, selfish, and ignorant consumers – the ones who expected you to find a suit that shaved fifty pounds from their body and was on sale for 120% off. We fought this common enemy by doing our damnedest to bring them comfort and joy. It was a delicate and often difficult balancing act, but I genuinely think we were all buoyed by the Christmas spirit.

Some did complain, but secretly I thrilled at where I was and what I got to go. Working at a clothing store was a gay boy’s dream come true. It was where I cut my fashion teeth, and how I learned about the evils of pleated pants firsthand. It was also located in the heart of Boston, fulfilling a lifelong dream. When I was a little boy, we’d occasionally visit Faneuil Hall just after the holidays. We were on vacation and the decorations were still up, so I have fond memories of that holiday glow, the bustling food hall, and the rows of bull markets lining the cobblestone paths. Those memories were joined with the new ones I made during my holiday seasons at Structure. I was on the inside looking out, at last.

Both sides were pretty cool at Christmas.

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Shirtless Santa: Pietro Boselli

Stunning math-teacher-turned-model Pietro Boselli is selling more goods without the Santa suit, and since we’re in the season of giving, here is a gift to anyone who appreciates some cheeky male beauty. Mr. Boselli was recently posing without a shred of stitches here, without a shirt here, and in his underwear here. All are worth a revisit.

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When Winter Has Come

We turn the seasonal page to winter, because the sooner we start it the sooner it will end. With all of our cold weather of the past few weeks we should have had time to prepare, but it’s still a sad, bleak dirge until the promise of spring. During such time, I find it best to focus on beauty. Stillness. Peace. Winter carries its own enchantment and charm, it’s just less flashy, more somber. Its color palette is limited, but that also means it’s a little calmer. It demands a more refined viewing, where an appreciation of slight nuances and delicately-shaded textures reveals layers of previously-unrealized prettiness.

There are days of blue sky too, often in the aftermath of a snowstorm, when the sun reflects off all the snow and the world is brighter than any summer day. These are the unexpected delights of the season. Little jewels among the wreckage. Let’s see what else we might find…

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In the Wake of Children

Scene: 3 AM, on a squeaky pull-out bed in the living room of the condo, Kira is coughing next to me. The street light from Braddock Park spills in through the high windows, and my body is rebelling against such sleeping conditions at such an advanced age. My mind races to decipher the unlikely predicament in which I find myself, and a Christmas song plays quietly on the stereo. How did we ever get here? I haven’t been this disoriented in the condo since the party days of my youth, following a holiday get-together that found various friends strewn about the place, groggily waking in various states of togetherness.

On this morning, Chris and his four-year-old slept soundly in the queen bed of the bedroom. Kira had insisted we give it up after the boy went in early and we stayed up to talk. Now we were stuck on the wire-springs of the pull-out couch, not getting any quality sleep, and doing our best to stay warm. Another coughing fit woke Kira, so I got up and put on some tea; she swears that a hot cup of the stuff, along with some honey and cinnamon, quells any cough. I poured her a mug, then dove back under the heavy winter blanket and prayed for sleep to return.

Sleep did not return until the baby was already up, but he stayed in the bedroom peacefully occupied with headphones and a cartoon while his Daddy slept. I was in no rush to move, so we stole a few more moments of fitful shut-eye before finally giving up the ghost of meaningful rest.

Kira and I rose, and eventually everyone joined us so we could head off to brunch. The day was brilliant – sunny with blue skies – and after brunch we saw Kristen and Julia off, then Chris wanted to take Simon to Harvard. There’s something very touching about a father showing off his Alma Mater to his son.

Thanks to the Red Line issues on December weekends, Kira and I had foregone what had become a favorite component of our Holiday Stroll: a trip to Cambridge. We hopped in the car Chris ordered and averted any T snafus, thus enabling us to keep the tradition alive. We would be able to browse the shops between Harvard and Porter Squares after all.

On good days, the universe will deliver an unexpected gift to those of us who may have thought such a delight had passed. On that morning, we arrived in Cambridge, bid adieu to the last child of the Boston Children’s Holiday Hour (which had somehow lengthened into a weekend), and Kira and I set off in the direction of Porter Square.

We stopped in our usual haunts, then had a final pho meal to close out the weekend – a neat little bookend to mirror the start of the whole thing. I reminded Kira of how our soup time on Friday had kicked it all off, and how we would look back at its quiet and calm with fondness when things were hectic and crazy. We had a second moment of similar quietude now, and embraced it. We lingered there, not wanting to go back to our real lives just yet, trying instead to stretch Sunday just a little longer. It turned out that our Boston holiday adventures were not quite over for the year.

Ever since she returned from Florida to the winterscape of Boston, Kira has been wanting to go ice skating. Still traumatized from an ice skating incident at Schenectady when I was a child, I’ve always politely encouraged her to do so, with someone else. On our first few holiday strolls, we would somehow end up passing a make-shift skating rink, where people were giddily gliding by, enticing Kira with their fluid motion and seemingly-easy turns on the ice.

I was never fooled.

On our most recent holiday excursion, we passed a rink at Government Center. Entranced, Kira watched the skaters go by, while I looked around for some sort of hot toddy stand (to no avail). We didn’t get into the skates then, and I thought we had escaped the scene for the season.

After making our way to the Red Line, knowing we would need to shuttle-bus it beyond Kendall, we did that damn thing and rode the bus to Charles MGH, where we hopped off and took a leisurely walk along the antique stores and gift shops near Beacon Hill. The best holiday strolls are the impromptu and unplanned ones. We crossed into the Boston Public Garden, and the little pond in the middle had not been drained. A thick layer of smooth ice lay darkly and expansively before us, and a few people rushed by on skates, and off them. Kira squealed with delight, and I knew this was her destiny. She hastened onto the ice, carefully sliding along in her sneakers and begging me to take a picture. She beckoned me to join her, but when I looked at the edge, I could see water coming up through cracks in the ice, and the thought of crashing through and having to walk all the way home in freezing wet shoes kept me off of it. Kira didn’t mind – she took a few spins and had her ice skating moment.

We crossed the bridge and looked at the lights beginning to come out as the sky dimmed. It was a perfect holiday afternoon, and a lovely end to our holiday weekend. We traveled along Newbury for a bit then crossed over to Boylston. At the Lenox, we paused for a fireside break and one last moment of peace and holiday contemplation.

That night, I would return to my quiet life: a still house, a Christmas tree that Andy had installed while I was away, and a comfortable bed. 

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