Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

A flash of feathers and a fluttering of brown and gray alerted me to the presence of a large creature right across the street from our brownstone in Boston. It was much too large to be a pigeon or squirrel (both regular denizens of the street) and soon enough a head popped up, then went down, then popped back up again behind a car, and as it traversed the sidewalk I saw it was a turkey. More incredible were the four or five baby turkeys waddling in its wake (turklings?) How this turkey family came to be living across the street from me in the middle of a metropolis is a mystery. There must have been a nest in the shaded little square of bushes, and since I’m told turkeys are highly territorial (kids have been attacked while straying into their supposed territory near school bus stops) I don’t see how one would make a nest on a relatively-well-tread street.

Yet there it was. There they all were. Against all odds and reason, they kept to their corner while curious and amused onlookers whipped out their phone cameras and aimed for the best shot. I watched from the safety of our second floor vantage point, puzzling out what circumstances could have brought them to Braddock Park.

In addition to listening about their rumored territoriality, I heard that they were dumb as rocks. Some are so stupid that they reportedly look up at the sky when it’s raining, open their beaks, and drown themselves. I suppose the validity of that is as suspect as their vicious territorial nature. One never knows quite what to believe these days. We watched them a little longer before leaving for a show; the neighborhood children were transfixed and every passer-by paused in befuddled delight. Turns out turkeys make the people come together.

The next morning we looked for them again. Some of the neighbors were looking too, but the turkeys had disappeared. I saw the nosier of them poking around in the little garden, trying to prod anything to come out, but there was no one there. Maybe something got them in the night – a raccoon or possum or dog. Or maybe they had decided they’d had enough of city life and took off to somewhere more rural. More likely it was the work of humans. We’ve always been the most destructive species.

An early summer night in Boston is often filled with the sweet fragrance of elderly linden trees, and on this late evening the perfume was prevalent as soon as we skirted Boston Common. Following the show, we walked over to the Four Seasons, where we each teetered on the edge of ordering that amazing multi-layer chocolate cake, but ultimately refrained. The server remembered us from last time, and insisted on a second pour of a sparkling rose. Who am I to say no? Across from the hotel the Boston Public Garden was shrouded in the shadows of more linden trees, while in the lobby the post-celebration vestiges of a wedding spilled out from the elevators. Everyone, it seemed, was having a happy night.

We took an Uber back to the condo, where I promptly crashed. We had brunch reservations back beside the Public Garden the next morning; it’s so much nicer in the sunlight. As the air conditioner hummed in the window, and the quiet Boston night settled around us, the next thing I knew Andy was waking me and asking what time it was. I looked at my phone and panicked: it was 10:30 and we had 11:00 reservations.

Luckily, in times of dire need and urgency, I can be ready in ten minutes, and with both of us rushing we walked into the restaurant a minute shy of 11 AM.

A Bellini and Croque Madame made for a lovely pairing while we looked over at the Boston Public Garden. The day was splendid 0 sunny with just a small smattering of clouds to add interest to the blue sky.

On almost every trip to Boston, I try to make a stop in the Public Garden. It holds a special place in my heart, and on this day it was doubly fun as Andy was along for the stroll. We passed the spot where we got married over nine years ago (our 10^thwedding anniversary looms happily within the next year – yes, plans are already being made!) There were fleets of ducks landing in the pond, and the pair of white swans stood together on the island. Squirrels were about, dodging dogs and children, and the lingering bracts of the Chinese dogwood held their white starbursts brilliantly against the sky.

It was a beautiful day.

It’s been years since I first (and last) saw ‘Miss Saigon’ and unlike some of those British mega-musicals from the 80’s (‘Les Miserables‘, ‘Cats‘, ‘Phantom of the Opera‘) this one didn’t show much promise of aging well. Fortunately, thanks to some clever re-staging and earnest performances, the show was surprisingly effective. Most of that goes to the irresistible score, delivered by a company of pros. That helicopter scene is still a bit of a gimmick, but a genuinely powerful one. Andy was impressed, and that’s all that mattered on this quick little trip to Boston as summer officially got underway.

The sun welcomed us back in the early afternoon, and as Andy took a nap to restore himself from a sleepless night (and drive) I made a quick shopping expedition, more memorable for the walk through Boston in full summer bloom than any extravagant purchases. We are not quite to the searing heat that can cripple a city – the kind that comes with the first heatwave and then sticks around until October – but the sun was out and it was on the warm side of things. I stayed to the shady side of the street, where it was easier to notice the little enclaves of cool respite, gardens where hosta and ferns gently swayed in the slight breeze. There are many of these tiny squares, and more expansive vistas along the Southwest Corridor Park, where local denizens have been steadily improving the flora in every available space of dirt. It’s come a very long way from the barely-tended stretch of unkept landscaping standards that once populated that place. A long and beautiful way.

I picked up a few items at Eataly – some razor thin prosciutto and a trio of fresh apricots – then returned to the condo for a siesta and a snack. Andy put some Cole Porter on and we got ready for an early dinner in Chinatown. In keeping with the show, it was Vietnamese, and though I was not planning on a steaming bowl of pho, the air conditioning was blowing directly on my skin so I went for it.

With a little time left over, we stopped at the Avery Bar at the Ritz Carlton – a favorite haunt for a fancy cocktail, and right around the corner from the Boston Opera House.

In the cool splendor of such a venue, we found our seats and the show began…