As per tradition, Andy and I strolled through the Boston Public Garden in commemoration of our wedding day. It was as gorgeous as the original, if slightly cooler and breezier. This time, though, there was music – and not only the honking of agitated geese at the presence of one too many ducks, or the excited squeals of youngsters at the line of tiny ducklings in the wake of their parents.

As if we’d been transported to another continent, the sounds of an erhu carried on the wind. We traced its origin to a gentlemen sitting on a bench before the pond, and we sat down on a neighboring bench to listen. The music traveled throughout the park, perfectly complementing our walk, and the fluttering of cherry blossoms along the way.

On this particular morning, a straw boater hat provided both aesthetic pleasure and practical function, shielding a bit of the sun from my eyes, and allowing the cool breeze to travel through its woven structure. Though it was Derby Day (an unplanned happy coincidence), the denizens of Boston did not yet seem ready to embrace the hat, at least according to Andy’s tracking of puzzled reactions. No matter. It worked wonders.

The hat was a bigger hit with those at the Bristol Lounge of the Four Seasons. It’s where we had our wedding lunch, and is the only place we return to when revisiting our anniversary spots (I’m saving the original restaurants for a special one – maybe ten or twenty).

As the day unfolded, we walked around the city, enfolded by blooms soft and bold. Another year, and another season, were under way.

Today marks our third wedding anniversary, already well-documented here, but this is my own personal message to my husband, who still reads what I write. We spent a mostly lovely weekend in Boston, where the city was in full bloom. There was a certain pallor over the days, given recent events, but the city is on the mend, and the spirit remains strong.

It is, not surprisingly, one of my favorite times to be in the city. The flowering cherries and crab apples light up the sky, as do the American dogwoods, blooming on their bare limbs in foliage-free derring-do. The tulips are in their prime, and the daffodils, thanks to cool nights, are still hanging on too.

 

Exquisite and enchanting, it’s the stuff of fairy tales ~ or wedding anniversaries. Or both.

After a lunch at the Four Seasons, we barely had time to digest and build up some hunger for our final dinner of the festivities, at Mistral. Tying on a bow tie was my exertion for the day.

First there was the ceremony, then there was a walk in the park, and then there were some pictures.

Peonies were in bloom wherever we went, it seemed. The lobby of the Taj was filled with them, and Suzie brought a bunch for a wedding bouquet. (To think I had almost foregone a wedding bouquet… sometimes the Matron of Honor saves the day.) The day dawned, and the sun was in the sky, pouring into our room.

As you can see, the story about me wearing ripped jeans to my wedding was not a tall tale. I’m too short for tall tales.

Our guests convened in our hotel suite before a few sidecars at the bar downstairs. Then it was off to the Rehearsal Dinner at the Top of the Hub. (And the last night of a bachelor…)

The next two days will be filled with several more pre-programmed posts, as Andy and I have only just returned from Boston, and they’re a recap of said event three years ago. No matter what goes on in the world, and no matter where my head is at, looking back to May 2010 always brings me a sense of peace and calm and happiness. It began with our arrival at the Taj, with a suite overlooking the site of the ceremony, the Boston Public Garden.

Rather than re-write history, and make you re-read it, I’m only going to direct you to the original links. Those of you who have already seen it can come back here on May 8…