When Skip and I embarked upon our very first BroSox Adventure, we were in our thirties, but could do it up like we were in our twenties, and we often did. These days, in our forties, our adventures have taken on a new tone, shifting as the world has so dramatically shifted over the past few years, and all happily for the better. So it was that we entered Boston on Friday afternoon, with a sky that suddenly parted to reveal the sun and a vast expanse of blue. In our pre-planning expeditions, I’d proposed a loose sea theme, envisioning loads of time in the Seaport and walking along the harbor. In the back of my head, I also had a back-up plan of a Downtime/Downtown theme if the seaside proved unwieldy for weather or any other reason.
Luckily, the sea and the water cooperated, and we began with an omakase style diner at Zuma, which was a belated birthday gift for Skip. Andy and I had enjoyed this very dinner a few birthdays ago, but this time I would be sharing it with someone who loved sushi as much as I did, and the meal did not disappoint.
As we sat there enjoying each of the many courses, a lovely woman at the table next to us overheard some of our banter, and when her husband left the table for a moment she leaned over and asked if we were a couple.
“Oh God no,” I blurted out, to Skip’s bemused chuckle, and he promptly brought her up to speed on our friendship. After her husband returned, we went back to our own conversations and I expressed concern/confusion over why some have assumed we were a couple. “I talk to everyone like this,” I said.
“No, you don’t,” he countered. “We have our own banter.” And I realized he was right. It was a combination of whatever separate ways we might have with wit, and the way those wits complemented and collided at times. It was the language of friendship – the kind that is unique to each friend – and I would understand it more as the weekend wore on.
The next morning we arrived in the Seaport, taking an early stroll along the harbor, drinking in the scent and sight of the ocean. On the way, Skip waxed rhapsodic about a certain New England clam chowder bread bowl that he got at Fanueil Hall, and suddenly there was no other choice for lunch. We wound our way back along the harbor, ducking onto the edge of downtown before arriving at the food hall and paying through our eyes for a bread bowl that was worth every one of its many pennies.
The sea was in the air, and our seaside excursion was demanding a siesta. In the unsaid agreement of two friends who could feel their way together without cluttered conversation, we headed back to the condo for an afternoon siesta and some stoop gazing before the game.
Skip had brought a few games, including one called ‘The Mind’ which requires the players to be ‘in sync’ with one another – and we did passably well. It re-enforced the notion of being at a place in our friendship where we simply maneuvered our way effortlessly through the ebb and flow of a Boston weekend where downtime and quick naps were more important than bar-hopping or midnight wanderings through Chinatown hunting for Peking duck. Not that our adventures on either front are at an end ~ we just found enough fun playing a few games while looking out over Braddock Park before departing for the game.
As for the game, it was a bit of a bust. The Fenway frank was easily the best part, as the Sox did not play well at all, and when they were down 11-2 before the 8th, we both had had our fill, so we joined the throngs in departing the carnage a bit early. That meant we also missed a surprise appearance by Neil Diamond for his signature Red Sox song ‘Sweet Caroline’, but I think we were both ok with it. The weather had turned on us, and it was dipping into the 50’s by the time we shuffled back into the condo for a relatively early night.
Getting older is always a crap shoot. Sometimes it’s gratifying and grand – the gaining of certain wisdom and knowledge more than worth the wrinkles and gray hair – and sometimes it’s terrifying and worrisome – the health issues, the loss of people you know and love, the changing world that feels so strange and unlike the world in which we grew up. The only way to get through it with any sense of safety and happiness is to create a circle of friends and family who always have your back, who make the space where you feel comfortable and appreciated. When you find your tribe you suddenly feel like you can make it through the tough times. Skip is part of that tribe for me, and I’m grateful for getting to share another year of BroSox Adventures with him.
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