As often happens for our anniversary weekend, the Kentucky Derby was taking place somewhere (I assume Kentucky) so the hats and fascinators and people watching were about to turn splendid. Not many were turning it out on Friday night, but every day should be a hat day, so I flipped one on for photo purposes only.
I purposely left the itinerary vague for this portion of the journey, as I wasn’t familiar with what we might find at the harbor. The Palm Restaurant wasn’t quite in the Seaport, and with questionable weather I kept us closer, which meant the Boston Harbor Hotel. More than a happy compromise, the bar at the hotel was one of those wondrously old-school places ~ dark wood and moody lighting ~ with an abundance of classic and new cocktails on the menu. My idea of heaven. Andy’s too, especially when he discovered they could make a Brown Derby, his new favorite.
Our exuberant server, who found just about everything we did or said ‘a true pleasure’ smiled and kept us supplied with special chips and peppers and olives. Heaven just kicked it up a notch.
I opted for the Last Word, my spring go-to cocktail, and continued feasting on the small bites before us. A group of fancily-attired young people walked by ~ a prom or something similar was happening and they were boarding a ship. The world conspired in celebration.
I don’t spend much time in this section of Boston ~ and I should. It’s classic and historical. It reminds one of how important this area once was with its reliance on incoming ships. The same stones that line some of the streets have been here for hundreds of years. These stones saw the American Revolution. They were washed with the blood of soldiers. They have endured silently, watching with blind eyes, waiting with no sense of time. There are ghosts here too. That’s part of the wonder of Boston. Steeped with the stuff of history, it lives and breathes in and of the past. Not in a dusty, antiquated way ~ in a vibrant, life-affirming stance ~ stalwart and enduring ~ the kind of history that now finds two middle-aged married gentlemen hurrying to a fancy dinner at The Palm…
The restaurant was just across the street. Andy switched to a Hemingway daiquiri (not quite as good as the ice-filled version that Hawthorne serves, which is the one that won Andy over a few years ago). Memories build on memories, and the tapestry of our shared history is richly woven into shared days and nights like filaments of gold, sparkling with love and happiness and wonder…
