A night alone in the condo carries its own sense of magic and healing. There, one can be silent and still. One can embrace the quiet and the solitude and, if it’s meant to be, come to terms with it, reconciling oneself to the wonders of the world. No matter the storms outside, inside there is tranquility. Such Boston brownstones have stood for centuries; humans will come and go, but Boston will remain.
When it comes to Boston, one of my earliest, and some of my happiest, memories involve the Red Sox, and on this morning I headed to their home to do some shopping and exploring. Much has been made of the area in the last ten years or so, and it’s very much worth a look now.
I woke early to try out the new Time Out food court in Fenway, as well as find some drapes at West Elm. The former was fabulous, the latter was lackluster, though I did settle for some clearance curtains that will work until a better alternative can be found.
My previous day’s bout with loneliness had mostly been quelled, but as I made my way past Fenway Park the streets were disconcertingly empty. For the last few years, I’ve only ever seen those streets bustling and busy with hordes of people: hot-dog vendors screaming about their wares, ticket-sellers shouting in Gahhhd-awful accents, and baseball paraphernalia hawkers squawking about their merchandise. On this Saturday morning, the place was a ghost-town, eerily bereft of excitement and celebration, and I felt the sad sense of missing my pal Skip. I almost texted him to see if he wanted me to pick up a baseball hat for him, but didn’t want to interrupt whatever weekend plan he was enjoying.
Walking on to Time Out, the day brightened and I shook off the unfamiliar remnants of vulnerability. Mamaleh’s was offering an incredible bagel sandwich with lox and capers and some wickedly delicious spread that brought it all together. I sat by a window looking out at the grassy court and the people wandering outside. I was feeling more like myself, ok with being alone again. The spell had been broken. Besides, JoAnn was arriving in a few hours, so I had to get back and prepare.
I decided to walk instead of taking the T, following the well-trodden path that Skip and I had taken after many a Red Sox game, minus the hooting and hollering crowds, and honestly a little quainter for it (if less fun). The Fens stretched out to one side, and a stream filled with geese and waterfowl glistened in the mid-day sunlight. A respite of beauty in the midst of the city, and on this sunny late morning a most perfect place to slow my pace and drink in the day.
There wasn’t much time for dawdling, however, as I needed to change and put up the curtains before JoAnn came in from the Cape. We were going to walk through Cambridge – all the way from Porter Square to Central Square, culminating with a dinner at Cuchi Cuchi, which JoAnn has been wanting to try for years.
At the condo, the sun slanted in through the bedroom and I changed into some ridiculous lounge-wear. A velvet robe works wonders for the sullen soul. Moving to the front window, I opened it a bit more to allow the sound of the fountain to lend its calming music to the afternoon. This might very well be the last time we get to hear its sweet melody this year; soon it will be drained and winterized for its seasonal slumber. A sad thought indeed, and I sat down at the table and took it in while waiting for JoAnn’s arrival.
It turns out these in-between moments of waiting and stillness are just as important as the main events, and I thought back to previous times when I would wait for a friend to arrive. There has always been something joyful in that anticipation, in the full richness of something promised. The goal is to enjoy the before, during and after with equal fervor. I’m working on all of it, and so is JoAnn. She arrived and we immediately picked up where we left off, practically mid-conversation, before heading off to Cambridge, and the endless escalator of Porter Square.
Bopping from shop to shop, we made our way along Massachusetts Ave, picking up a silk scarf at a Tibetan store before arriving at two hat purchases in Harvard Square. Nobody wears a hat better than JoAnn, so when she found one at Anthropologie, we were helpless to say no. While it’s still not quite the magnificent off-set piece of millinery magic we found at Galvanized all those years ago, it’s spectacular in its own right. We’ve both come to make peace with compromise and loss, and in the magnificent waning afternoon sunlight, we arrived at our dining destination.
There’s nothing as soul-sustaining as sharing a meal with a long-time friend, especially if that friend has become a part of your family. JoAnn and I have known each other since 1998 – and we’ve been through a lot in the ensuing two decades. War buddies in a way, we’ve survived and held onto our friendship like it was some golden thread keeping us alive. We laughed at our hapless server, we ate well, and we stopped for dessert at another place in Central Square. It was the perfect evening between friends. Classic us in the best possible way.
The next morning was just as beautiful as the entire weekend had been, and we reluctantly headed back to our respective lives, promising to see each other in the coming holiday months. We both need to look forward to something – we run better that way. A bright and magnificent October weekend had come to a close, yet we did not mourn it. We celebrated that it happened, that after all these years we could still find love and laughter amid the debris of so many fall days.
