The day dawned bright and sunny. Kira and I slept in no later than usual, padding out to the kitchen by nine o’clock, and sipping on some Spicy Ginger tea. Only a bit of shortbread made up the rest of our morning meal, so full were we from the night before. Groggily, we recounted the previous evening’s chow-down, and vowed to order less the next time around. But it was worth it, we agreed. It’s always worth it with a friend.

I presented my loose itinerary to her, with a few of the requisite stops to find some holiday gifts (I realized I still had some gift-buying to do for my family and friends). After walking through the Prudential Center and Copley Place, we turned up Boylston and found things for the twins and my boss, at Marshall’s and Nordstrom Rack. (Hey, if you can’t get economical with a three-year-old, how can you save anything at all?) After that, we walked through the Boston Public Garden, whereupon we met up with this fuzzy fellow and his compatriots, flirtatiously jumping about our legs hoping for a treat to drop from our hands. There were no treats to be had today, but he posed for this photo anyway.

Exiting the Garden, we walked along Charles Street, peering into the antique shops, and almost falling prey to a Christmas-tree-adorned pair of bright red corduroys, before I realized that I just couldn’t get my head around corduroy (or its accompanying $198 price tag ~ poor-man’s-velvet my ass). We were both getting a little peckish at this point, but before heading to a Thai place I had in mind, we made a slight across-the-street detour to The Liberty Hotel, and their whimsical upside-down Christmas tree presentation.

After a few minutes of relaxing, and an indulgent bathroom stop to wash my hands with their Molton Brown Thai Vert soap, we headed back out, turning in the direction of Government Center. There used to be a Thai restaurant along the way near the foot of the street where I first kissed a man, but it was no longer around. Disappointed (I was fiending for some Pad Thai, and so was Kira) we changed tactics, hoping for some fish-and-chips or raw oysters at the Union Oyster House. As always, it was too crowded, so we fought the crowds at Faneuil Hall and made our way to the waterfront, where The Chart House stood, and which we figured would be decidedly less busy. The journey was riddled with holiday cheer, however, and it’s impossible to be too angry or annoyed with people when they seem so happy over the season, the holiday decorations, and the sunny day. I listened and smiled as strangers wondered at the enormous tree before us.

After lunch, we braved the more treacherous crowds of Downtown Crossing to find my Mom a gift at Macy’s, which we managed just as the crowds were surging. We found a cashier and finished up before the lines suddenly appeared. The day was dimming. I was undecided about taking the T back or walking, but Kira suggested the walk, so we went along Boston Common, and the beginning of the Freedom Trail, stopping to see the skaters on what I think is called Frog Pond.

While you’ll never get me on a pair of ice skates, I loved watching the people whiz by (or barely stumble by, depending on skill level). It was the perfect holiday postcard, a cross between Currier & Ives and Norman Rockwell, and as bitter as you all want to believe I am, I still get happy at the holidays because of scenes like this.

We did not stay long. The evening was approaching, and the temperatures were dropping. A rough wind picked up a bit before our final stages of this year’s stroll, and we meandered along a few Newbury Street shops as the sun went down behind the city. By the time we reached the condo, it was dark. We sat for a bit recounting the day’s events, considering it a tradition worth carrying on. I walked Kira to the T station and hugged her good-bye.

It was dark by the time we started out. Dusk falls quickly at this time of the year, and when Kira arrived at the condo the sun had been gone for several hours. Our holiday stroll weekend had begun, and we settled in for a brief warm-up before heading out. Since arriving earlier in the day, I’d had the heat up, and now it was toasty and warm and perfect for the encroachment of colder temperatures. We caught up quickly, going over the travails of Thanksgiving, then bundled back up for a walk to dinner.

For one of the first times, I didn’t have a dinner plan. There were no reservations, and no general notion of what to eat, but we headed out onto Tremont Street, walking towards Downtown. The wind whipped around us, and we shuffled hurriedly to generate some warmth. We turned in the direction of Chinatown. Suddenly hot tea and Peking duck seemed the right way to go (as per these happy memories). For the latter, we decided to try the place we’d eaten at a couple of summers ago.

It was still open at the ten o’clock hour, and rather unpopulated (the way I like things), and we sat down in a corner booth to a pot of tea. I contemplated asking for a beer (a friend said that a beer was actually the best thing to cool off hot, spicy food), but since I wasn’t planning on going too spicy tonight, I settled for the tea and water. (Strange behavior for an alcoholic, I know.)

We ordered the Peking duck and a pork dish, and, since my eyes are always bigger than my stomach, some steamed dumplings. Kira could take it all home the next day if there were leftovers (and there would be – lots). The tea warmed us instantly, as much inside as it did cradled in our cupped hands. The dumplings arrived first, more drops of savory warmth into our stomachs. The chill of the night was a dim memory.

By the time the duck arrived, we were giddy with anticipation, and the giddiness turned to delight as we assembled the Mandarin pancakes, the filigrees of green onions, and the hoisin sauce. There’s nothing that a little Peking duck can’t fix, or a dear friend. Stuffed and elated, we sat at the table remembering things past, and then it was time to depart. The next day was our Holiday Stroll. I just hoped it wouldn’t be cold enough for a bunny suit.