Category Archives: Boston

Rising relatively early for a Saturday in Boston – we typically sleep in a bit, being weekday working girls and all – our manicures were scheduled for the first slot – at 9 AM sharp. The nail salon was just a few blocks from Braddock Park, and we made the quick walk as the heat and humidity began their steep climb for the day. I’d originally imagined a new set of brilliant nails in blue or turquoise, then decided. clear coat would probably be the best choice for my first time. Kira wanted a dark shade of ruby to match her velvet dress. 

For all my talk and supposed tendency for fanciness, a manicure has always felt like a silly and unnecessary indulgence, particularly for someone who would just go home and put his hands in the dirt to fix the not-quite-proper placement of a Siberian iris in the garden. But this was the weekend before my birthday, and I went along with the bit of pampering to satisfy my own curiosity about the whole manicure thing. Would I love it or hate it? Would it be dull and boring? Would it disappoint? Would it thrill? As we sat down in the waiting area, Kira was called over to select the color she wanted. Meanwhile, no one asked if I wanted to select a color, so I assumed they would just me. clear coat since I was a guy. (Newsflash: the world is still sexist and hung up on ancient gender ideas.) That didn’t bother me much – for the first time, I sort of wanted to see what it was like without a coat of polish, even clear, and so I sat down at the manicurist’s station, right kitty-corner to Kira, who immediately began conversing with me. 

“Are you going to stop talking?” I asked not quite quietly enough. “I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing experience?” The manicurists started laughing as I tried to re-inhabit the calm of the moment. There was filing and dripping and scraping and soaking and more dripping of different bottle droppers, and finally an extended hand massage that was lovely, if a little awkward for the length. If the manicurist had only gone with a clear coat we’d have been able to more actively occupy the time but what do I know? I was done in about fifteen minutes, well before Kira, so I returned to the waiting area and examined my nails.  

They were immaculate. Even without polish, they shined, gleaming in the light, and perfectly defined, free from dead skin and encroaching cuticles. It was life-altering, and I was hooked. It informed the rest of our morning, and I finally understood the love of a manicure. Kira finished up and showed off her set of nails, both of us ready for the day’s festivities. 

It was beautiful out, and we made our way downtown for some shopping and an early lunch of banh mi so as not to spoil our dinner plans. Like most of our jaunts, our day was spent in enjoying all the in-between moments, the brief pauses of cool respite in hotel lobbies, where we’d stop to step out of the heat and collect ourselves. 

The fountain in front of the State House looked especially cool and inviting, but we refrained from taking a dip, opting to return to the condo. Boston was heating up, and we hadn’t even started getting ready for the evening at Encore. 

A hot summer day spent walking in Boston demands an afternoon siesta, and mine was spent mostly in meditation. Then it was time to get dressed for our dinner and gambling night. These were the moments that could so often be more fun and exciting than the actual destination…

The weekend before my birthday, I headed to Boston to have a quiet pre-celebration with Kira, as much to re-connect with a dear friend for my special day as to commemorate our last meeting in summer. It’s been a good summer for Kira and I, perhaps culminating with her visit here last month. Back in Boston, we had planned on getting all dolled up for a dinner at Red 8 at the new Encore Boston Harbor, and try our hand at some slot machines. (Neither of us have any idea how to gamble, but we were game to give it our best shot – or pull? – and we’ll get into that in a bit.) For this entry post, I’d just arrived in the city, and Kira had just gotten off work, and we wasted no time in settling into happy habits and hitting the town.

With her new work hours, we had some daylight left, and we passed the gardens of the Southwest Corridor Park as the sun slanted down, still hot and humid with the fine summer we’ve been fortunate to have. 

We stopped in a few places on Newbury, then picked up some meat and cheese at Eataly for a light dinner, after which we headed back out once the sun was done. Because the night time is the right time, here’s a bluesy B.B. King song performed by Otis Rush to kick off this gambling odyssey, and a Friday night when the weekend was full and ready to unfurl in whatever majesty it decided. 

Boston on a summer night is a magical place. Even the most common tourist stops carry a different sort of mystery then, shadows lending enchantment, while a Friday night features its own sort of frisson. 

Kira was trying to break in a new pair of shoes – never a practical or sane decision, as I’d warned countless times – but no one listens to me so we pushed ahead until she couldn’t take it any more and had to slip on a pair of flats she’d brought in a bag. I warned her not to pull the same nonsense for our trip to the Encore – stay tuned to see how well anyone heard me. Spoiler alert: not even a little. 

We walked back to the condo in the August night, Boston quietly alive even after all this, all these years of a pandemic, all these years of so much strife, and we walked in unspoken gratitude. It was good to be back in the city, to close out this banner summer when things felt just the slightest bit hopeful. As we settled in for the night, we got to talking about manicures and how I’d never had one, so Kira said we should get one the next day, and after looking online, I found a nearby place that had an opening, and my very first manicure was booked. Kira would have pretty nails for our gambling excursion, and so would I…

When Skip and I embarked upon our very first BroSox Adventure, we were in our thirties, but could do it up like we were in our twenties, and we often did. These days, in our forties, our adventures have taken on a new tone, shifting as the world has so dramatically shifted over the past few years, and all happily for the better. So it was that we entered Boston on Friday afternoon, with a sky that suddenly parted to reveal the sun and a vast expanse of blue. In our pre-planning expeditions, I’d proposed a loose sea theme, envisioning loads of time in the Seaport and walking along the harbor. In the back of my head, I also had a back-up plan of a Downtime/Downtown theme if the seaside proved unwieldy for weather or any other reason. 

Luckily, the sea and the water cooperated, and we began with an omakase style diner at Zuma, which was a belated birthday gift for Skip. Andy and I had enjoyed this very dinner a few birthdays ago, but this time I would be sharing it with someone who loved sushi as much as I did, and the meal did not disappoint. 

As we sat there enjoying each of the many courses, a lovely woman at the table next to us overheard some of our banter, and when her husband left the table for a moment she leaned over and asked if we were a couple. 

“Oh God no,” I blurted out, to Skip’s bemused chuckle, and he promptly brought her up to speed on our friendship. After her husband returned, we went back to our own conversations and I expressed concern/confusion over why some have assumed we were a couple. “I talk to everyone like this,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” he countered. “We have our own banter.” And I realized he was right. It was a combination of whatever separate ways we might have with wit, and the way those wits complemented and collided at times. It was the language of friendship – the kind that is unique to each friend – and I would understand it more as the weekend wore on.

The next morning we arrived in the Seaport, taking an early stroll along the harbor, drinking in the scent and sight of the ocean. On the way, Skip waxed rhapsodic about a certain New England clam chowder bread bowl that he got at Fanueil Hall, and suddenly there was no other choice for lunch. We wound our way back along the harbor, ducking onto the edge of downtown before arriving at the food hall and paying through our eyes for a bread bowl that was worth every one of its many pennies. 

The sea was in the air, and our seaside excursion was demanding a siesta. In the unsaid agreement of two friends who could feel their way together without cluttered conversation, we headed back to the condo for an afternoon siesta and some stoop gazing before the game. 

Skip had brought a few games, including one called ‘The Mind’ which requires the players to be ‘in sync’ with one another – and we did passably well. It re-enforced the notion of being at a place in our friendship where we simply maneuvered our way effortlessly through the ebb and flow of a Boston weekend where downtime and quick naps were more important than bar-hopping or midnight wanderings through Chinatown hunting for Peking duck. Not that our adventures on either front are at an end ~ we just found enough fun playing a few games while looking out over Braddock Park before departing for the game. 

As for the game, it was a bit of a bust. The Fenway frank was easily the best part, as the Sox did not play well at all, and when they were down 11-2 before the 8th, we both had had our fill, so we joined the throngs in departing the carnage a bit early. That meant we also missed a surprise appearance by Neil Diamond for his signature Red Sox song ‘Sweet Caroline’, but I think we were both ok with it. The weather had turned on us, and it was dipping into the 50’s by the time we shuffled back into the condo for a relatively early night. 

Getting older is always a crap shoot. Sometimes it’s gratifying and grand – the gaining of certain wisdom and knowledge more than worth the wrinkles and gray hair – and sometimes it’s terrifying and worrisome – the health issues, the loss of people you know and love, the changing world that feels so strange and unlike the world in which we grew up. The only way to get through it with any sense of safety and happiness is to create a circle of friends and family who always have your back, who make the space where you feel comfortable and appreciated. When you find your tribe you suddenly feel like you can make it through the tough times. Skip is part of that tribe for me, and I’m grateful for getting to share another year of BroSox Adventures with him. 

The darker the night, the brighter the day. Our midnight return home felt very far away the next morning, when we woke to sunshine and the brightness of a new day. All around, the flowers were in bloom, transitioning into the bearded iris and roses and snowdrop anemones that put forth their own enchantment. As dark as the previous night had been, I never once felt afraid, thanks to the company of Kira. A good friend can do that – inspire confidence and courage when the world should by all accounts be a frightening place. At my best, I hope I can offer a little of the same in return. Our time together in Boston has been a comfort for all these years because I think it makes us both feel a little less alone.

Whether it be run-ins with witches, bedeviled roundabouts to dinner, or a midnight rush to beat the bad spirits, we survive by relying on each other. All bewitching, no bewilderment. 

Every time we share a weekend like this, I feel a little better about everything. Good friends have such restorative powers. That makes a Sunday departure somewhat of a sadder affair, even as the sun casts its own spell in the petals and beard of an iris. 

The stage has been set for the summer to come. I’ve invited Kira for a weekend by the pool, and we shall return to Boston when we get another chance. Little glimmers of hope to make our goodbye less bitter and more sweet. 

He’s a fool and don’t I know it,

But a fool can have his charms…

When a brush with a witch occurs, I think you carry a bit of that magic with you. Whether a protective talisman, a charm of safe passage, or some dark bit of pixie dust that keeps others at bay, this magic works in different ways. As we sought out a place for a late dinner – one that was getting later by the hour – we followed another woman up a bridge and down into the depths of Lolita. 

We started under the rainbow, a fitting turn of events that tumbled us upside down and left us disoriented and turned all around. There was no more pretending it wasn’t dark out, but as is the case at this point in these sorts of stories, we didn’t feel afraid. It was an adventure, and in the dark environs of Lolita we had some sparkling water and regained our composure. 

Refreshed and hydrated, we crossed another bridge and made our way to Nebo, which had available tables outside, so we took one and ordered our long-awaited dinner. An opener of octopus made it more than worth the wait – and the walk – as did the lasagna. Perhaps a little too satiated, we began the long walk home on feet that were too old to be walking that much, but I insisted we try burning some of the meal off. 

Our path brought us back along the Boston Public Garden, a place of comfort and peace even (and sometimes especially) in the evening. We paused at the angel, as bewitching and beguiling as any other entity in the city. If there was magic here, may it rub off on us. We need the help. 

It was approaching midnight, and we took cover for the rest of the way home along the Commonwealth Mall. The cover of trees led us back to the condo, where I rushed in just as midnight began its dozen rings. Collapsing like Cinderella, Kira’s feet were done in from the walk and the sandals, so I heated a bucket of water and added some essential oils and Aveda soap for a soak while I took a quick shower. We would sleep well, under the spell of a magical day in Boston. 

Shrouded in an evening fog that was just starting to lift by the time we got up and going on Saturday, Boston held its entrancing spell as Kira and I ventured forth in the morning. We were looking to find some plumbing parts for the kitchen sink pipe that was leaking. (Pause for reaction to me doing any sort of plumbing.) 

Around us, Boston continued in full bloom, and the sun began to peek through the dissipating clouds. We found some pipe at the hardware store, then proceeded to Newbury Street to restore our shopping senses. Now that the initial thrill of the Levain Bakery has died down, we were able to try a couple of their cookies without waiting in line. The recipe I have does quite come close to the ones on offer here, so at $5.00 per cookie, it’s not exactly a bargain. Still, we indulged, and after walking quite a ways, with the heat on the rise and the humidity not that far behind, we wound up in the South End, resting at the former location of Francesca’s Cafe – a site that brings me back to Boston in the 90’s. 

It’s a Caffe Nero now – one of many – but it provided this exquisite lemon coconut frulatto that absolutely made our afternoon. As the day’s heat reached its crescendo, we paused in the shaded nook of this cafe, watched the world pass by for a bit, then resumed our journey home. It was time for a siesta. 

Somewhere on our journey home, we passed a woman with dark hair who gave us a mysterious smile that made it seem like she knew too much. I can’t explain why I felt it, but I immediately said to myself that we had just passed a witch. Now, I don’t mean that in a derogatory of negative way – in fact, I carry witches in high regard, and view them with a sort of reverence and respect. I tried explaining myself to Kira, but she wasn’t getting it, and maybe it was better that way. I just know what I felt, and I suddenly realized my view on people had changed, and I was seeing things in a way that opened up the possibility of magic and enchantment and a world I’d always shut off from lack of understanding or wanting to understand. 

Back at the condo, I did a meditation while Kira took a quick nap on the couch. The afternoon light spilled into the bedroom, where I sat down lotus-style and slid into deep breathing and closed eyes. The beauty of meditation is that it can be done wherever you might be. It’s the best sort of travel companion. 

Once the meditation was done, and Kira was up and about, we made motions to start the second half of the day. We set up a couple of drinks – a Paloma for Kira, and a calamansi mocktail for me – and brought them out to the front steps to watch the people peruse Braddock Park. A favorite past-time in favorable weather, we savored the minutes and the company.

The weather turned slightly, the winds picking up a bit, and I remembered our brush with the witch, and her smile. Was she a good witch or a bad witch? The world went a little quieter suddenly, and the day took its first turn onto dusk. 

We finished out drinks and dressed for dinner. Unprepared with a plan, we decided to wing it with a stroll through the South End toward the seaport. A hex must have been placed, as we lost our bearings and our sense of where we were just as the sky went dim. I thought I might be losing it when I heard the opening chords of ‘Willkommen’ from ‘Cabaret’ in my head. It came out of nowhere, and I made Kira stop walking to find out if this was my long-waited and forecast break with reality. 

In a little park surrounded by trees, I saw the ghostly flickering of a movie screen, and the menacing Emcee of Joel Grey peeking out from the reflection of a mirror. It could have been the stuff of horror, but instead struck me as a whimsical turn of events – finding an outside showing of ‘Cabaret’ for a small group of elderly folks set up with chairs and blankets. Our adventure continued…

“Leave your troubles outside. Life is disappointing? Forget it!” ~ ‘Cabaret’

When I arrived in Boston on a hazy and breezy Friday afternoon (following a hellacious drive where I witnessed an awful accident as it happened on the other side of the Mass Turnpike) there was the scent of sea on the air. Not everyone noticed it (Kira couldn’t find it when I asked her) but when you’ve been landlocked for weeks, you notice the shift. And you definitely notice the sea, which is something that I have always adored. When the breeze comes in from the water like that, it can make for interesting weather, not always nice, but in this case it was a recipe for the perfect stretch of days with some sun and light breezes, and the ocean buffer kept Boston in the low 80’s as opposed to the 95 degree nonsense of upstate New York. At this moment, there was a fog-like haze to the city, obscuring the tops of buildings, allowing for spirits to pass into the earthly realm. 

There has always been something grandly beguiling about Boston in the spring – the way the flowers nod and scent the air with their loveliness, the way the nights warm just enough to provide a comfortable atmosphere for a stroll, or the way the denizens arise as if from a winter-long hibernation, refreshed and slightly groggy, ready to see the world all over again and partake in its beauty. It turns out there has been something bewitching at work too, a magic I’ve noticed peripherally in the last few years, something that hints at something more, but that has proven elusive and difficult to pin down. 

The lure of the sea had been calling to me for years. One of the things I always loved about Boston was its proximity to the ocean – the salty water that offered exit to the rest of the world after the vast expanse of its body. While rarely venturing to the seaside, it was always a comfort to know it was there, gently buffering the hot weather or easing the sharpness of the cold, and sometimes making both worse and conjuring storms more devastating than anything inland might have to endure. Though I kept mostly away from the water, its presence was felt anytime there was water in the air – humidity, showers, snowstorms. You could smell it then, and it was a comfort, the way a home is made more cozy when battered by a winter storm. Proximity to danger somehow lends a safe place even more security. Humans are strange that way. 

On this Friday, Boston was bewitching in its usual spring charm, and would prove to be doubly so in more literal hauntings. Kira arrived early – her shift in work hours was finally accepted and she wanted to surprise me, so we began our evening around 5. I was already in the process of setting up a light meal when she texted me that she had arrived, so we eased into dinner gradually, drawing out the process and enjoying the minutes more than we might otherwise have done. Time seemed to operate differently on this weekend as well, keeping us slightly off-balance, and perhaps more susceptible to shifts that would otherwise go unnoticed. 

We made one foray into the evening air, for some dessert at the market, and the air was warm enough that we didn’t require jackets – the first time that’s happened on a visit to Boston this year, and a very happy sign of the season. We slept with the windows open, a sea breeze wafting all the way through the condo from the front to the back. The soothing sounds of the Braddock Park fountain mingled with the muffled tones of Les Baxter coming from the stereo. A Friday evening that fulfilled its promise of holding all hope…

For me, that will alway be Boston.

From childhood moments to coming-of-age events, Boston has provided the backdrop to some of the most pivotal events in my life, and while not all of them could ever be construed as happy or even enjoyable, the overall arc is one of rich and wonderful experience, especially when it comes to our wedding day, and all the lovely anniversaries that followed. That continues this weekend, as we once again enjoy this fair city that is at its best at this time of the year. 

After a relaxing Friday evening entry into Boston, Saturday dawned with sunshine – a deceptive peek at the beauty to be had when weather and atmosphere agreed. We knew that wouldn’t last, and with storms forecast for the afternoon, we hurriedly grabbed an Uber to the seaport, where our seaside Spring Stroll was scheduled to begin. 

The sea had been calling to us for years, yet for some reason we largely, and unintentionally, steered clear of its magic. It was there on nights when the fog streamed in from the water, and all of Boston had the smell of ocean and seaweed carried on wet winds, and I always longed for it then, but we never really did anything about it. Until this weekend. 

We planned the bulk of our day around the seaport – walking and strolling along the harbor amid the seagulls and the lapping water. Spring was definitely in the air, and we absorbed the moment as best we could, knowing that storms were brewing, feeling the subtle shift in the air as the hours ticked by. 

Here, in this city, where old and new combined and collided on cobblestone streets and brand new construction, we wound our way along the water, greeting the spring season in this virgin stroll. 

The sun was strong, and the air warm enough to remove a jacket for a picture or two. It felt like such a simple joy, yet when I think back on the last two years, how grandly epic such simplicity really is. There can be grace and grandiosity in every moment, no matter how seemingly simple. 

We enjoyed an early lunch at a Mexican restaurant, then made our way back downtown for some shopping. By that time the rain had arrived, and we headed back home as the first drops began to fall. Such was our first Spring Stroll. 

I’m being bold enough to hope for another. 

We won’t cast a hex by proclaiming this the first annual Boston Spring Stroll, we will merely celebrate it as the first, and perhaps last, time Kira and I performed such an endeavor, and if it grows into something beyond this moment, so it shall be. For now, this initial spring weekend in Boston was a simple exercise in spending time with a cherished friend, walking down new streets and avenues in a favorite city. 

Of course, every Boston stroll – holiday, spring, or otherwise – begins with the Friday afternoon/evening entry to get thing rolling. It’s usually my favorite part of the festivities, because it’s all about anticipation and planning and the moments when the whole weekend holds full of possibility. Here, Boston greeted us with floral beauty – and the very first blooms of the season.

While Kira finished up her work day, I perused Newbury Street and picked up some dinner amendments before heading back to the condo for the best part of the day: the afternoon siesta.

As Kira made her way from Mass General to Back Bay, I finished cooking a tamarind fish curry dinner (it being a Friday in Lent) and put out a spread of appetizers. We toasted to the Spring Stroll, and our planned seaside adventure. 

Sharing a dinner with a friend remains one of life’s overlooked indulgences, and I continue to find gratitude in such simple acts of camaraderie. Kira and I talked and caught up over the meal, and made tentative and loos plans for the next day, which looked to be fraught with some sort of rain. Not out of place for a spring stroll, I suppose, but no less annoying for that.

As the day closed, we realized we had stayed at the kitchen table talking and laughing and there was no time for a movie. It made for a night of deep sleep, and a re-entry into Boston living, at least for the weekend…