Category Archives: Boston

At every milestone event in my life, it somehow happens, whether by chance or conspiracy, that I find myself alone for a few moments. Sometimes the moment is intentionally orchestrated, as was the case with this window of time on my 40th birthday, whereby I made my way to the Boston Public Garden and took a quick tour through the waning afternoon beauty.

For some reason, Boston always seems prettiest when viewed from the Public Garden. Whether it’s surrounded by the verdant ripe green of summer, or the bare-limbed stark gray of winter, the Garden frames the city in a majestic manner that no other standpoint affords.

A line-up of fowl stood sentinel on the shore of the pond leading up to the footbridge. They took in the afternoon sun as it slanted through the drapes of a willow tree.

Of all the times to be in the Garden, this may be one of the most magical. The early morning sunlight is also a thing of beauty, but there’s something richer about the light just before it goes.

After the ducks and the geese, there was one special friend dressed in white that I longed to see.

A birthday greeting, perhaps, from an old friend.

A few years ago I celebrated a birthday in Boston (maybe #34 or 35) and after cocktails at the Fairmont Copley with Andy, I treated myself to a pair of silk pajamas from Anthropologie. They remain, to this day, the most expensive pajamas I own, and I still wear them on special occasions. This year, marking my 40th, I went the same route and found these ridiculous pants at the same place. I can make more use of these, however, as they work well for poolside lounging, which this week looks to afford as well.

On my birthday, however, they served to characterize the day with a bit of whimsy, crafting a luxurious outfit in which one could indulgently lounge around a hotel suite and bask in the first moments of being a 40-year-old.

Give me a chance to pose and strut and act all sorts of undeservedly glamorous, and I’ll take it. It was my birthday, and I would act ridiculous if I wanted.

Kick your shoes off and join me. It’s going to be one wild ride…

One of the very first trips I remember taking as a child was a bus excursion to Boston. Suzie was there, as were our mothers, and we toured the New England aquarium, which is probably part of the reason I became so enamored of sea life and aquariums. (And Chinese paper yo-yos, which were on sale in one of the bull markets outside of the aquarium.)

For my 40^th birthday, I returned to the aquarium, as much for nostalgia as for my continued interest in everything under the sea. From sea turtles to sea horses, porcupine fish to penguins, it was exactly as I remembered it. True, it hasn’t changed much over the years, but there’s something comforting in that too.

The smell alone reminds me of childhood, the sound of squawking sea birds rekindling the awe and wonder upon the realization of how varied and interesting the life on this earth can be. Since that first visit the ocean has called to me, and in various ways I’ve tried to answer her – in saltwater and reef aquariums, in visits to the coastal terrain of Maine and Florida, in documentaries on whales and sharks and sea life.

Some primal mystery has kept me intrigued by that boundless expanse of salt water that touches all land in some way. A deep undulating rhythm of tides, a hypnotic pull of currents, conspire to confuse in dizzying, rapturous sensation. If you’ve ever stood on the edge of the ocean and felt the sand slowly pull you deeper, in conjunction with the spinning tug of the tide, you know this delicious wooziness.

It reminds me that everything is connected. Water and sand, light and air, humans and animals.

And always, always, the penguins.

Upon the occasion of turning 40, society dictates that a big hubbub is to be made. Hype and hoopla, usually my stock in trade, are expected, and the grandest of events are to be scheduled and set into motion when one reaches that vaunted age. As mentioned, this is largely the predicament imposed by a society that increasingly fears its aging as much as it wants to celebrate its wisdom. I’m for the latter and unaffected by the former, so when my 40^th rolled around it actually took some internal persuading to make the day into something more substantial.

As for the way I honored the occasion, things were kept remarkably simple, with an indulgence in the form of a very sweet suite at the Lenox Hotel. It provided a home base (out of necessity, as my brother had told me he was going to be in the condo on my birthday) and so I reserved the Judy Garland Suite ~ a very generous gift from my parents. (Ms. Garland stayed in the hotel for an extended period, and they subsequently created a suite in her honor.)

Stepping back into a world of elegance, a world that seems to have gone by, but a world where exceptional customer service and personal touches still matter and make all the difference, we entered the suite and found this happy confluence of gifts ~ some chocolates, a card, a bottle of prosecco, and our very own stuffed Lenox lion. The beauty of a boutique hotel, and its personal charms, was in gorgeous effect.

When looking for birthday ideas, and being quite familiar with the city, I was on the hunt for something unique, and distinctly Bostonian. When the description of the Judy Garland Suite crossed my radar, I was instantly sold. It’s an expansive jewel-box of a space, wondrously appointed (with whimsical touches like a ruby red slipper on one shelf) and elegantly assigned with built-in bookshelves, and couches and tufted headboards of velvet.

Golden sconces and sumptuous drapery lent a timeless elegance to the scene, while two television sets (one in each living space) added the modern amenities that were mostly lost on me. (Who needs TV with so much beauty around?)

A little bit of upstate New York found its way into our accommodations, in the form of the Beekman Boys, whose Beekman 1802 bath products were newly acquired by the Lenox in a perfect alchemy of good products and good people.

The ‘Fresh Air’ products aligned fittingly with the environmental policies that the Lenox was one of the first to institute. (Yes, I will re-use my towel!)

We spent the afternoon settling in, and as with most gorgeous rooms we’ve had the privilege of borrowing over the years, it was enough just being there and soaking up the atmosphere. The complimentary bottle of sparkling wine added to the air of enjoyment, and we clinked to the eve of my 40^th birthday.

We would take an Uber to the Liberty Hotel, where we would dine at Scampo for my last meal as a 39-year-old, but for the moment we paused, alone in our quiet suite, and contemplated the stillness, the beauty, and the happiness of a late afternoon in the heart of Boston.

There’s no place like home, and home is where the heart is.

While waiting for my birthday massage, I walked into a South End community garden, where long rows of plots were bursting at the seams with flowers and foliage and vegetables. It was an escape to paradise in the middle of Boston, and my heart has always thrilled at the prospect of discovering these lesser-known spots filled with nature. Like some secret garden, they are made more precious from their very secretiveness, as if the whimsy of the world whispered only to you this enchanting confidence. A silly notion, perhaps, but no less lovely because of that.

Those stalwart summer annuals – zinnias and cosmos – which I’ve unfairly dismissed over the years, reminded me of why they were so popular in the first place. Their vibrant colors, coupled with their blooming power even at this late stage of the gardening game, have put them on my list of things to grow next year. As we head into the final stages of summer, it’s a comfort to think that there’s another one coming.

I was also pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the vegetables on hand – the bright cheery squash blossoms and their resulting bulbous gourds hanging perilously heavy (the largest ones safeguarded by a tenderly-placed net beneath their growing carriage).

Vines trailed over fences and overhead, creating nooks and alcoves of hidden delight, small spaces away from the prying eyes of the city, where treasures like these cherry tomatoes could grow and ripen for the enjoyment of their caretakers.

An Asian woman in a floppy hat – one of the only people I encountered here – beckoned me over to a cage covered in leaves and tendrils. She didn’t speak English, but she pointed excitedly to the pendulous squash hanging like fairy tale lanterns. With a smile and some laughter, she was just as thrilled as I was at discovering this secret stash.

There’s a certain child-like innocence that a garden brings out in most of us, a sense of wonder and magic that adults seem to find more and more difficult to access. It’s one of the joys that gardening has maintained in my life, no matter what else might be going on.

Beauty is a balm for the soul, and for the battered heart that feels so much in such a cold world.

The dahlias were beginning their show, as the phlox was finishing up. Fall was on the edges of this garden too, and soon it would be everywhere. For now, though, a suspension of summer in the heat and humidity on hand.

And it seems I was wrong: we weren’t the only ones in the garden that day.

This rascal made the most racket, but no one seemed to mind.

My over-riding feeling on turning 40 was that it was just another day, so arrangements for the moments leading up to and including my birthday were low-key and casual (even if there was an itinerary). We drove to Boston for a long weekend, and arrived at the condo, where we set up camp for a couple of days. A quick and easy dinner at Cinquecento (to which we arrived courtesy of Andy’s new Uber skills) was followed by an early night. I needed to rest up for all the relaxation and fun that the next day would bring.

For my 40’s, I want to be more relaxed, more playful, less worried and concerned about things that don’t really matter. I want to let go of certain things, and hold onto what was always most important to me – friends and family and love and beauty. I want freedom from the constricting binds of jealousy, envy, unfairness, injustice, and hatred. I want redemption from the past – from the hurt and pain and heartache that accompany most of our journeys to 40. Mostly, though, I just want to have more fun. I don’t ever really allow myself to do that. Something is always holding me back.

For the last weekend of my 30’s, I relaxed into a few days of celebratory ease, and it began with a wonderful visit to Etant Spa in the South End. I’ve gone there for a massage before, and it is always a luxurious treat. A massage is more than mere self-indulgence: it provides a bit of nourishment for the soul, a blissfully tranquil state of perfect relaxation. That has always done more for my health and well-being than exercise or healthy eating ever could.

Having a massage early on in this long weekend provided the best point of entry for the proceedings. Everything that followed was tinged with the sweet shadings of a lighter touch, the removal of daily work concerns or home tasks, and a reinvigorated state of being. The eyes opened up to play then, and everything felt more alive. An art installation I might otherwise have overlooked, and certainly not have jumped on, called to me.

Entitled ‘InMotion: Memories of Invented Play’ by Amy Archambault, it was a fitting embodiment of what I wanted to do as I entered my 40’s.

A dinner at Douzo was next. The last days of my life as a thirtysomething were coming to a close. Quietly. Happily. Contentedly.

This fall marks our 20th year with our Boston condo, and it’s where I’ll be spending part of my birthday weekend. It has held a special place in my heart for all this time, filled with happy memories, a few lasting tears, and the comfort of a home that has never let me down. Come rain or shine, winter or summer, day or night, it has been ever-ready to embrace me at my best and worst, providing safety and surety in a world that crumbles just when I think everything is all right.

The street on which it is located has only improved over the years. In the early days, the fountain in the island didn’t even run. Now it spurts its happy streams of water, and the giddy cadence of splashing drops makes beautiful music in the middle of the street. A luxury in the fast-paced noise of the rest of the city. More on such magic this fall…

When brainstorming for birthday ideas, I suddenly started to feel the pressure of living up to the whole ‘Big 4-0’ aspect of this particular anniversary of being born. Whenever that happens, I tend to panic a little at the daunting prospect of marking such a milestone in expectedly-astounding fashion. At such moments, I go into survival mode, and rather than trying to live up to the build-up and create some over-the-top experience, I will find a solution by going the opposite way: keeping things quiet and simple and uneventful. That’s the way this 40^th birthday celebration is being designed, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be a few flashes of extravagant indulgence. (I’m still me.)

Being that my brother told me he would be saying at our place in Boston on the eve and morning of my birthday, celebrating my 40^th in Boston could only be comfortably accomplished by booking a hotel. Admittedly, this is a bonus for me, in light of my love of hotels, so it all worked out in the end, and with the generous offer of my Mom to make it special, I searched some of the places I’d always wanted to stay, but never had reason to, given our own digs in the city.

After perusing a few options (the Ames Boston Hotel, the Mandarin Oriental, the Langham and the Liberty) I came back to a nearby classic: the Lenox Hotel. A long-time fan of City Bar (and the gorgeous Lemon Verbena soap in the restroom) I’ve spent a fair share of moments passing through or taking momentary respite in their pretty lobby, and I’ve always wanted to spend a night or two there. I’ve also taken note of their celebratory support for diversity and marriage equality, as well as their unparalleled commitment to environmental ‘green’ initiatives.

A family-run boutique hotel, the Lenox has long been one of those classy bastions of Boston, its regal red sign rising above the bustle of Boylston and calling out a storied past where luminaries have enjoyed the hospitality and elegance at hand.

The final thing that sealed the deal? The Judy Garland Suite. How could I not spend my 40^th birthday in a room named after Judy Garland, especially one that looks so pretty? Some things are meant to be.

When faced with the question of whether to take the T or walk back to the condo following the Red Sox game, the beauty of the evening and the crowds already beating their way to the T stop made our choice a simple one: we hoofed it. With the Prudential Center as our beacon and guide, and Boylston Street easily leading the way, we extricated ourselves from the throngs, for the most part, and made it easily back for a disco-nap.

Along the way, there were more glimpses of the hidden beauty of Boston, often forgotten or simply overlooked, such as in these sunset-drenched photographs of the walk back. There are some better-known landmarks as well, resplendent in the golden hour.

Following such richness, a disco nap in preparation for a wild and crazy night out was needed. For this spouseless weekend, I envisioned a throwback to bachelor times, to harmless but audacious antics and the sort of trouble that would make for a good story that we would reveal at a later/safer date. After a quick nap, we were traipsing through the South End and hatching after-dinner plans.

By the time we finished a meal at The Elephant Walk, it felt late. We paused by the Trophy Room, warily eyed the menu on the wall, then moved on. It seemed that neither of us was up for a crazy night out, as we found ourselves back at the condo, and Skip was teaching me how to play gin rummy. As I knock on the door to 40, this is what has already happened. Playing cards on a Saturday night while the younger folks take on the adventurous mantle of those who don’t know any better.

To tell the truth, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Today I may be plunging into the crowded cesspool of a baseball game in Fenway Park, but last weekend I spent a quiet day of shopping with Kira, and these memories are what I’ll be accessing in the midst of all the hot dogs and beer. Most cities are filled with hidden spaces of peace and beauty, slightly off the beaten path, or simply unknown, unrecognized, or unvisited by the masses. I always wanted to write a story on these secret niches in the midst of all the madness, but I didn’t want to give them all away. For now, a glimpse.

Hat-shopping for me ended up with shoe-shopping for Kira, a strange and unaccustomed turn of events that equally thrilled and annoyed me. Shopping should be a joy and a luxury, not a task, so I turned my bad attitude around and joined in the fun. By noon we were both tired and hot and in need of refreshment, so we stopped at a waterfront restaurant, where we sat in the shade and had a touristy lunch, enjoying the breeze off the harbor. We had our very own ‘Death in Venice’ moment watching the shirtless guys kick a soccer ball around in a nearby park. Kira toyed with the idea of joining them for a bit, but chickened out. Even with a new hairstyle, she will only do so much.

Replenished and refreshed, we made our way back toward the condo, stopping at Lord & Taylor in a last-ditch effort to find a hat, which we eventually did. Nearby, the Prudential Center offered one of those semi-secret courtyards that only one or two people at a time seem to enjoy. We ducked into it, and entered a sanctuary of verdant beauty.

The sweet scent of a pair of fringe trees (Chionanthus) – a favorite of Thomas Jefferson (he planted them liberally around Monticello) – greeted our entrance into the shaded place. We paused, inhaling their delicious aroma, and I recalled another fringe tree I’d sniffed with Kira. The fragrance signifies summer for me.

Flowering plants bloomed in large groups, in the lightest whites and the palest pinks, and the city, as most of us think of it, felt suddenly removed and far away. Kira and I paused there, stilling time as best as we could, but eventually we walked onward, returning to Braddock Park, and the time of the day when the sun was coming in through the bedroom.

We unloaded our goods, and tried on a few items, having fun with this brief siesta. We eased into the five o’clock hour, slouching into the same chairs where we began the day, and briefly looked back on our adventures. Kira had to catch a train, and I wanted to retire early for the morning drive home. When next we meet it will officially be summer. This was a perfect sneak-peek.