Category Archives: Boston

Some of our Boston celebrations are just around the corner, and the city is in the midst of unfurling its spring flower buds with glorious abandon. The city is especially magical at this time of the year, when you happen to step beneath a blossoming apple tree and inhale its perfume, or when the morning dew rolls off the puckered pout of a Narcissus cup. Braddock Park bursts with its own charm as pockets of crocus scream to be noticed amid a sea of ivy leaves. The fountain might already be running by the time of this post, and if it’s not it should start any day now – the steady gurgling a comfort when the front windows are open to the night air. I could spend an hour sitting at the table, looking out over the street and watching the dog-walkers and kids ambling by.

On nice evenings I’ve been known to bring a cocktail outside and settle onto the top of the steps, extending the comforts of home right up against the street and the friendly neighbors. If I have friends coming over I’ll often wait for them there too – that way I get to see them as soon as possible and not waste one moment out of their presence. Nothing makes me happier than seeing Kira or JoAnn making their way along the Southwest Corridor Park to start a Boston adventure, or waiting for Andy to return from the car with a last piece of luggage for an anniversary weekend. It’s all happening…

Having just had a wonderful winter weekend in Boston with Kira a few weeks ago, this trip felt like a bonus and a bit of a companion piece to that excursion. Originally, I was going to take us to the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum, as Kira has not yet been, but when she said she had tickets to the aquarium, our plans were made. It’s been a few years since I’d last been, and more than a few since Kira’s days of working at the gift shop there, so this was a happy time to revisit the place under the sea.

Before that, however, our wild and crazy Friday night entry consisted of a Vietnamese beef stew dinner that I whipped up, and a quick catch-up of the previous weeks. Winter is traveling along rather nicely, and meeting up periodically makes the passage of time seem a little bit quicker – a boon to the wretched weather months. We sat in the cozy condo looking out over the street and enjoyed a hot, homemade dinner. Candles glowed warmly, and a pot of tea was about to start whistling in time for dessert.

We woke early, perhaps a bit of a cruel plan for a cold Saturday morning, but the aquarium is better if you can beat the crowd, so we splurged on an Uber there and avoided walking in too much wind. The night before I had had a restless sleep thanks to the gusts that rattled windows and blew through the tiniest cracks and fissures.

Once inside, the dim light of the sea drew us underwater, and I was reminded of the peace and tranquility of visiting the aquarium – not entirely unlike the serenity found in a museum. Beauty and nature provide both inspiration and relaxation. We let out sighs of relief as we marveled at the colorful forms of the sea anemones.

The intelligent and watchful eyes of the octopus were on rare display. Almost every other time I’ve visited this magnificent creature, it’s been hidden in a corner. On this lucky morning, she sat regally near the front of the tank, observing us as we observed her, her arms languidly unfurling their tentacles, calm and secure in her elegance. {For a fascinating read on this cephalopod, check out ‘The Soul of an Octopus’ by Sy Montgomery.}

The penguins stole the show, mostly by noise and show of force, with the Little Blues making the kind of screams that would be tarrying coming from birds three times their size. It’s always the little ones that make the biggest commotion. (No word on whether Lilico was still part of the tribe.)

After the aquarium, we continued our impromptu tour of classic touristy Boston with a stroll through Faneuil Hall, and lunch at the Union Oyster House, which has always been too crowded for us ever to get seated. That’s the beauty of an early lunch – there’s usually an opening.

We wound our way through Downtown Crossing before heading back for an early afternoon siesta. A nap would make up for our morning start, and despite the wind, the sun poured into the bedroom as we finished watching ‘Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evilâ’ and enchantments of Savannah set our minds to beautiful daydreams.

We saw this amazing little work of art while strolling through the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston a few weeks ago. It evoked cozy scenes like the ones seen in this similar display, and offers an opportunity to contemplate perspective. When I was taking an Astronomy course at Brandeis, I marveled at the ratty clothes our professor wore. Even by the sub-standards of professorial garb, this guy just didn’t give a fuck. The same went for his hair and beard, neither of which he bothered much with (certainly nothing in the way of product or even a comb by all indications). As the course went on, and his wardrobe revealed itself to be a revolving set of three or four shirts and two or three pairs of pants, it dawned on me that his area of expertise was such that in a philosophical stance the notion of clothes was indeed quite ridiculous.

This was a man accustomed to viewing our world not in the day-to-day minutiae, but in the grand, epic, millions-of-light-years perspective. Our lives were but a teensy-tiny fraction of the universe, less meaningful than a single grain of sand in all the beaches of all the planets. He would occasionally do his best to get across how vast the universe was, how immense our own solar system was, and how our little solar system was likely one of infinite systems. It brought a humbling perspective that I carry in my head to this very day.

Whenever I worry too much about silly things or get upset over minor annoyances, I think of that professor, and that astronomy class. I picture the great unending reach of the universe, or even just the immensity of our own earth, and suddenly nothing seems to matter as much.

There’s a danger in that too. When you approach the precipice of complete nihilism which one can draw too near at such times of shifting mental tectonics, there is a worry that suddenly nothing matters. I approach that line when I think about things too much. That’s when it’s best to refocus on the smaller bits of frivolity we find in this life, the little pieces of charm and enchantment that may not matter in the grand scheme of things, but which pass the day in a pleasing way.

The main purpose for this Boston visit, aside from seeing Kira of course, was to gain some inspiration and ideas for a new project. Perusing the beauty at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston is one of the best ways to begin that process. Surrounding oneself with such storied artwork is a form of meditation. It brings a measured sense of calm and serenity, while illuminating the passage of time in peaceful fashion.

We started with the Ansel Adams exhibit, immersing ourselves in the black and white visions of America’s prettiest natural parks, as well as some similar photography that showed off portraits of our country in all its stark, disturbing and heroic beauty. From there, we toured some American art, then some Renaissance work. It was almost lunchtime, but the fancy restaurant there, Bravo, was closed for renovation.

We instead made a quick tour of the gift shop then headed back to the condo for a siesta. The sun was bright but the wind was still biting. I scrolled through the OpenTable availability and reserved us a table at the former location of Tremont 647. Lamenting its closure, the replacement, ‘Whaling in Oklahoma’ sounded promising with its quirky name and Japanese-inflected offerings. Once our table was secured, we settled in for a viewing of a winter classic: ‘Beautiful Girls’. By the time the movie was finished, the sun had gone down and it was time to get ready for dinner.

Those are the moments in life that some people miss, but for me they’re the most important. They ARE life – all those little in-between snippets of down time and waiting, the space before and after the big events and highlights, all the filler that ends up being the substance when you look back at a day.

We bundled up again and hurried to Whaling in Oklahoma, where I began with the Shiso Peach mocktail. I won’t take you through the rest of the meal – for all that cliched culinary chaos you’ll have to peruse my TripAdvisor profile. It was, in a nutshell, a delicious collection of plates, and we left with the promise to return in short order. (They also do brunch, which we’ll give a whirl on my next visit.) The night hadn’t warmed up any while we were enjoying our meal, so we shuffled along in hats and scarves, gloves and hoods, and soon enough entered the warmth of the condo.

At the little dining table in front of the main windows, we sat and held cups of hot mint tea. An early Saturday night, and a far cry from the wilder days of our youth, this was a happy moment. We were older now. We felt less of a need to escape, to push our boundaries outward. It was enough to sit there in the company of a friend, staying warm and cozy on a winter’s night, enjoying the quiet and stillness.

Arriving with the Vietnamese chicken dinner already cooked, along with a shrimp and bulghur wheat salad, I entered the chilly Boston condo early Friday afternoon. It was a semi-sad moment, as the Christmas decorations were still up, and the remnants from our Children’s Holiday Hour littered most of the table and counter space. I smiled weakly at the memory, then quickly set about to clearing it all up until next year. At this point the last thing I want to see is anything to do with Christmas. January is the time for clearing the slate, and a Virgo finds nothing more satisfying than cleaning up for a fresh start.

I turned the heat up and unpacked, then put all the holiday stuff into storage. There was time to run a few errands before Kira arrived.

The afternoon was frigid and windy. A brutal onslaught of cold air would hang on for the whole weekend, rendering our usual walks much less enjoyable. I hurried back as soon as possible and began preparing dinner. With the heat on, and a few candles burning, things were warming nicely. Outside, the wind blew, and I texted Kira that she was in for a rough trek from her workplace to the condo. I made a pot of tea and relaxed into the warmth.

My first few days spent living in the condo, way back in 1996, proved similarly cold, yet inside there was always warmth. The bedroom remains cooler – the bay window back there lets more air in – but a few extra candles make up for it. As does a hot shower in the adjacent bathroom. On this night I managed both before Kira arrived.

When she rushed in bringing some of the outside cold, we lamented our winter weather and location, cursing ourselves for not having made enough fortune to winter elsewhere. Still, I wouldn’t change the chance to be cozy in the midst of such a cold night, and when all you have is tropical weather, there’s no way to really appreciate the heat when it returns. On this night we hunkered down beneath heavy blankets, sipping lemon ginger tea, and making plans for our visit to the Museum of Fine Arts the next morning. We would need to dress warmly…

{To be continued…}

On a newly-poured section of sidewalk on Massachusetts Avenue, a few fallen leaves from autumn have left their mark in and on the concrete. These faded markings gave me inexplicable joy when Kira and I stumbled upon them on our last visit. Nature will find her own beautiful route, paving a path in ways you never quite thought possible. City trees have been battling concrete for years, and just when it looks like the concrete has won, something like this happens and my faith in the world is briefly restored in the most whimsical of ways.

When the winter turns stark and all the world blends into a dull palette of grays and browns, there is still magic to be found if one looks closely enough. This is a subtle magic – it doesn’t scream or shout out to be noticed, it doesn’t blare its beauty in loud tones of garish saturation. The world is slumbering – do not rustle its rest. There will be time enough to put on your parades when spring returns. For now, we sleep, or walk quietly in a concrete forest littered with echoes.

There was rain threatened for the first part of the weekend and, much worse when rain is concerned, wind as well. The weather was changing and a temperature drop was imminent. Somehow, I avoided the wet stuff on the ride from Albany to Boston, but as I parked and headed to the condo, there was a discernible damp chill to the rushing air. I had only a few hours before the rain was scheduled to start, so I did some power shopping and planned to stop at the market to get the ingredients for a risotto. Kira and I hadn’t seen each other in months, and I was going to make her dinner so we wouldn’t have to brave the elements, especially when they were about to turn so dire. Still, a few hours was ample time to find some beauty left in the light, and that’s what these few photos capture.

As I went along on a quick shopping spree, the day advanced and turned colder. The wind picked up and it was a cruel one, whipping and lashing about with no respite. I’d round each corner hoping for a spot of relief, but they only revealed another rush of icy air. The storm was coming.

As if an antidote for this shift in weather, the very beginning of the holiday shopping season was at hand. A few places had Christmas music playing, but I didn’t mind. Someone recently said that people who put their Christmas trees up earlier were happier people. I say fuck putting up a tree this early – at least in our house – but more power to anyone if it makes them happier. That would only serve to stress me out, given that we use a live tree and there’s no way it would make it to Christmas, much less little Christmas in January when Andy tends to take the tree down. That said, I embraced the early signals of the season. The day was so bleak those signs warmed the heart just when it was needed.

The bustle of a market on a Friday afternoon was a happy confusion. I procured the necessary items for a quick dinner, then dragged the shopping bags and groceries home. By the time I made it back to the condo, it was already dark. The wind had only grown more vicious and the rain began just as I started unpacking the bags…

Let’s begin with one of the most annoying aspects of our Boston abode: the drumbeat of a rainstorm as it falls on the air conditioner unit that hangs outside the bedroom window. I will never complain about having a bay window in the back of our condo; I’m told they are a luxury in Boston. But I need to find a way to combat the loud drumming of water falling on the metal AC. It is incredibly loud, like a snare drum that magnifies every drop of water, drilling it into your head in some mild form of water torture. Once in a while, it’s soft enough to be a comfort, but anything more than a sprinkling has it sounding off like a half-time show. I’ve thought of putting a piece of shag carpet out to lessen the impact, but I don’t want to make it too inviting for birds or other critters. Suggestions are welcome.

Now onto one of my favorite aspects of the Boston abode: sleeping with the windows open in the fall. When the nights just start turning cooler and the breeze blows in from the ocean, it’s time to open the windows and air out any remaining stuffiness of summer. I love hunkering down in a fuzzy robe, sitting by the window, and allowing the wind to rustle the curtains and remind me of how cozy the condo can be.

A few weeks ago I had the lucky circumstance to be in Boston and experience both extremes. The first night was ravaged by a storm, and I was awakened at about 3 in the morning by the rattling and pounding of rain upon the air conditioner. Tossing and turning in bed, I cursed the timing of the thing, even if I was glad to get it over with before the start of the next day. After getting its tears out, the next night was breezy and cool, but not taking any chances on a 3 AM wake up storm, I moved myself out onto the couch, which I will sleep on once in a great while. The front windows were open and the fountain in the middle of Braddock Park was trickling its water down in the most soothing fashion: the exact opposite of the tumult of the night before. Soon the fountain will be turned off for the season, and I was grateful to be there at that moment. A thick, plush blanket was all I needed as the night turned colder. The sounds of gently falling water and the occasional whisper of a breeze masked the distant noise of the city. Alone in the condo, I felt a profound feeling of peace settle over me as I settled into sleep.