As it was, just as the light drained from the sky and the fountain turned even more magical, it was time for us to board the Graveyard and Ghost Tour that I’d promised to take with the twins. I wanted something to rival last year’s Codzilla boat ride for thrills and chills, so this seemed like a logical next-step in progressive horror. If you can’t count on your Guncle to properly frighten you, what can you count on in this world? The guides to the pair of buses that were about to depart arrived in character, staring us down, or, in the case of the more frightening one, pounding his head against the side of the bus. Our guide was blessedly not quite as intense, as Emi had already indicated she was not getting a bus with the guy banging his head on any available surface. 

One of the mainstays of my relationship with my niece and nephew has been a reconnection in the fall, from the treasure hunts I’d assembled in their much-younger days to the more frightening stories we would read and the movies we would watch in more recent years. This tour of the graves and ghosts of Boston felt like a fun way to gain early entry to another spooky season of fall. We made our first stop at the Copse Hill Cemetery, which we’d seen from a distance on last year’s Freedom Trail walk. 

Unlocking the chained entrance to the cemetery, our guide led us up and down paths and gravestones that had been there for centuries. Moving among the long-dead, our group spoke in hushed whispers, if we spoke at all, while the twins listened with rapt attention to the tales of those buried here. We passed the thin Spite House – and heard the tale of brotherly betrayal – then exited the graveyard and returned to the bus. The next stop was the Granary, where many of America’s historical figures were resting (except for Benjamin Franklin, who apparently hated Boston; the monument that was emblazoned with ‘FRANKLIN’ belonged to his parents and sister, I believe – the man himself was laid to rest in Philadelphia). John Hancock’s ‘pen’-shaped monument rose in the dim distance, while Noah marveled at the news that the man who built Faneuil Hall had to try three times before it took. The graveyard wasn’t as spooky with the tour groups in it – there is safety in numbers, right? – and soon we were back on the bus, pausing at the apartment on Charles Street where one of the Boston strangler’s victims met their early demise, then we returned to our starting point by the wharf. 

The night was another warm and beautiful one when we began the walk back to the condo, and soon we stopped at the Omni Parker House to check out the mirror of Charles Dickens that we’d just learned about: each of us paused and stared until tears were coming out of our eyes (well, Noah’s at least) but no one saw the visage of Mr. Dickens. The light in the hallway did shut mysteriously off at that moment, so we made a hasty exit from the hotel. 

A troublesome spirit must have tagged along, for when we got back to the condo my patience was at an end, and after the twins almost burned the place down I sent everyone to bed without movie or dessert. We needed the sleep anyway, as we had to wake up early the next day to avoid Labor Day traffic. 

Back in the light of day, and the sunny refusal of summer to slow down or stop, we drove back along the Mass Turnpike, turning off at Lee for a spot of tea at the Red Lion Inn. We were close to home now, but no one wanted to rush along the end of what had been a mostly fun and enjoyable weekend away. In our little nook at the Inn, we sipped our tea, finding a bit of coziness even in the midst of a hot day. We walked around Stockbridge for a bit, taking a secluded garden path behind the library, and then got back on the road – our summer coda concluded. School would arrive in the coming days, and summer would recede.

Last year the twins and I made a last-summer-minute visit to Boston for Labor Day, and it went so well that we decided to do it again. Such a move to recapture former glory is always risky, and given the way the world has gone of late this one felt especially perilous, but for the most part we managed to have a good experience. Time spent with family feels especially important these days.

We arrived a little before noon on Saturday, in an unplanned sweet spot between the crazy Friday traffic and college arrivals for the new school year. The day was sunny and warm – summer looked to pretend she’s been a doll all this time when we all knew better. Our first order of business was to pick up some snacks from Eataly then return to the condo for a siesta before dinner. This was the first time I have been back in Boston since Dad died, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Noah and Emi acted as a buffer and comfort for this entry, taking my mind off what might have otherwise been a more contemplative experience. 

After procuring some food, we spent some time eating and talking over the things that concern thirteen-year-old kids these days, and then it was time to take a leisurely walk along the Charles River. This may be its most resplendent time – and it was this time of the year when I made my very first walk along its beautiful banks. The twins rambunctiously walked/ran ahead and behind, and somehow we made it to the Hatch without incident, where we crossed back toward downtown. After meandering through the Public Garden in the Golden Hour, we skirted Boston Common and made out way to Chinatown as the sun was going down. 

Dinner in Chinatown was Noah’s idea and request, and we found a place which had one of the best bok choy dishes any of us had ever had. Simple joys shared with loved ones take on a special sheen when experienced in a new/old city. After stuffing ourselves silly, we walked all the way back to the condo in the hope of burning some calories. It was a beautiful and comfortable night – and summer smiled on us as we turned in for the night. 

Right before I woke, I had this dream, and first visit, from Dad. If I was unsure about whether I’d still feel him here, it was confirmation that I always would. After drying my tears, I felt comforted and ok – in fact, better than ok, and my good mood inspired the day as I woke the twins and we headed over to Cambridge for a brunch of ramen noodles at Porter Square. From there, we walked to Harvard Square taking a familiar route I’d traversed many times during my years at Brandeis. We spent some time going through the Harvard campus, perhaps sewing the seeds of a future college goal with the twins, perhaps not. 

Our server at Tia’s was a buffoon, delivering Noah’s dinner ten minutes after Emi and I had received ours, but it resulted in an exchange that the twins loved so it was worth it:

Server: “Our kitchen is as bad as the New York Jets.”

Me: “I don’t know what that means.”

Next table over: [Smirks and snickers]

With another half-hour to go before we were due at the tour, we found a fun fountain that had a few kids running through it, as streams of water would randomly and without warning shoot up at various heights, illuminated by colorful lights. The twins watched, completely transfixed, as kids mostly younger than them dashed in and among the lights and shooting water, trying to dodge getting wet while thrilling at every splash and unsuccessful avoidance. On the cusp of aging out of such adventures, they wanted to join in as much as they wanted to appear that they were supremely uninterested in joining in – the adolescent push and pull of conflicting emotions and wishes – and if we weren’t due to sit on a tour bus for the next hour and a half I’d have encouraged them to run through it and enjoy these last days of summer and youth.