[Continued from here.]

“Strength shows not only in the ability to persist, but in the ability to start over.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald

During the night the winds arrived. Harsh, driving, window-shaking gusts seeped through the tiniest cracks in the brick and mortar of the condo’s outer shell, filled with such ferocity that it shifted the sheer curtains which did little to keep out the cold. I’d never worried about the condo’s ability to withstand the weather, but on that night the wind was the strongest I’d ever witnessed. I pulled the blankets up to my neck and burrowed deeper into the bed.

The winds continued as dawn arrived. Our Holiday stroll weekend was coming to a close, much to our great regret. It had been a lovely few days, but with more snow on the way it was time to return to upstate New York. Before that, however, we had a few quick morning errands, and a breakfast at Charlie’s right around the corner. Bundled up and battling the wind, we hurried down Braddock Park and sidled up to the counter in front of the grills and toasters. A lackluster order of huevos rancheros was disappointing, but the company was still good, and Kira and I plotted our trip to the market for provisions in anticipation of the Boston Children’s Holiday Hour. Better than that was talk of our next get-together in January. Since the red line to Cambridge was out of commission on weekends, we didn’t get to Porter or Harvard Square, something we will rectify after the New Year. There are Tibetan stores with warm scarves that need our attention, and a couple of cozy dinner spots that we have yet to try. On the day of departure, it’s a small comfort to think of our next meeting.

Finishing our tea and breakfast, we bundled back up and made a hurried shuffle to the market, where we selected a bunch of seltzers, some cookies, and a few other items that would last the week until the children convened for their holiday hour. As much as I love those gatherings, I’ve come to the realization that I’m better in smaller scenes, with one or two good friends, and the peaceful coexistence that Kira and I have perfected in the last two decades would be missed.

With bags weighing us both down, and the wind whipping all around, we waited at Huntington for the light to change. I leaned into Kira hoping for a wind break, falling into her enormous scarf/blanket, then let my head rest briefly on her shoulder. After everything that had happened over the past few weeks, I felt exhausted and wiped out. It all came over me at once, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or shout out of frustration or relief.

We crossed the street and ducked into a cafe for something warm. In a secluded seating area, we found two ridiculous chairs and waited for our coffee and hot chocolate to arrive. It had been a banner Holiday Stroll weekend, quieter but somehow more enjoyable than previous bombastic weekends in the distant past. We paused there, mostly silent, as the light of Sunday morning swept through the windows beside us. In that stillness we found something closer to the true meaning of Christmas, as two friends simply sat together, crossing life-paths, and it was enough.

{See also Part One, Part Two, Part Three, and Part Four.}

[Continued from here.]

We were due for a rainy Holiday Stroll after a few years of decent strolling weather, but the rain came almost as a blessing, slowing us down and insisting we stay in the condo a little longer. I made some breakfast burritos and we sipped some tea as the rain descended. Christmas music played in the background; on a guitar ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ sounded after ‘Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella’ and the morning felt tranquil, surrounding us with the softest blanket of gray, the quietest fall of rain. 

This, then, was how the Holiday Stroll began. 

Like our wedding anniversary in May, or the BroSox Adventures with Skip, or my Broadway weekend with Mom, the Holiday Stroll with Kira is one of my favorite events of the year. While some events wax and wane with luster and sheen as certain years are shaded with sorrow or excitement, our Holiday Stroll has remained a sparkling jewel, thanks to Kira and a seasonal glow that dispels any darkness that might try to creep into the weekend. 

This year we kept things light on planning, with a tentative idea of stopping in at the Boston Craft Fair to visit Meredith and Gloria. Meredith was selling her gorgeous handmade boxes – gifts unto themselves, and perfect for the holiday season. As we wound our way through the fair, we stumbled on a magnificent hat booth – Meshugenah Hats – run by a fabulous pair of twins. They were as colorful and intriguing as their fantastic millinery, and we will be revisiting their wonderful wares as soon as possible. 

We found Meredith’s booth and said a quick hello before selecting a box made of gorgeous Japanese paper. It was so good to see both Gloria and Meredith, and how wonderful to have them as part of our Holiday Stroll in Boston. Nine years into our tradition, we still thrill at adding new elements and friends to our wanderings. 

After our craft fair tour, we checked the weather and the rain had stopped. A happy circumstance as we walked along Boylston Street just a block or two, where we paused at Bar Boulud for some mussels and frites. As we sat looking out at the street, the Santa Speedo Sprint rushed by in a fortuitous bit of timing. Nothing says ‘Merry Christmas’ like a bunch of guys in their Speedos. We walked a bit more, and then it was time to return to the condo for a siesta. And a holiday photo shoot in matching outfits. These zany things make the yuletide gay. 

A silly siesta is just what this holiday season called for, and we certainly got silly. I will not torture you with the parade of selfies that resulted. I’ll hang onto them for when real life bogs us down again, as it surely will. But for those afternoon hours, we laughed and cracked each other up, two friends doing a whole lot of nothing and loving every minute of it.

The afternoon passed quickly, and soon it was time for our dinner out. Keeping with the casual vibe of the weekend, I’d made reservation at Southern Proper. One enjoys fried chicken for Christmas, right? We put on some street clothes and headed into the South End. Festive sights like this Christmas tree kept the darkness at bay, and as we turned onto Tremont Street, the magic of the season made the night bright. 

On the way we stopped at the South End Buttery for some more sparkling water and a bemused bartender stood watch as Kira got a phone call that changed the trajectory of the night, and the whole Holiday Stroll weekend. 

Since it is not my tale to tell, I won’t divulge the details. Kira handled it quite well, and after everything else that’s happened this year, it wasn’t a tragedy – just a shock. We spent dinner at Southern Proper talking it over, the way old friends tackle their lives together, sharing and commiserating, trying to make sense of the nonsensical, and doing our best to be supportive, to see each other through whatever might come. 

Our Holiday Stroll may be intact, but our lives had irrevocably altered. Not just in that moment, but in the weeks and months leading up to it. We were the same people who had met each other in the fall of 1998 – and yet we weren’t. Life has a way of battering and blunting the very things you strive to protect the most. It spares nothing and no one. 

Outside, the night had turned colder. The wind was picking up. I couldn’t get warm and we hurried back to the condo. It was warm there. A bouquet of eucalyptus stood sentry in the bathroom, against a brick wall. We were home for one last night before we returned to our regular lives. 

{To be continued…}

[Continued from here.]

Cheeseboards were on sale at Crate & Barrel, but I refrained from the extravagance of getting one for a single night, figuring I could use a large plate when it was just me and Kira. I did make a stop at Eataly to get some charcuterie items before the risotto dinner, and here are the results. A new book on ‘dry’ cocktails included a recipe for a Blood Orange Sunrise (more on that experience later, and it’s a good one). We paired that mocktail with meats and cheeses and pepper biscuits and Marcona almonds and cornichons. Next time we’ll just make a meal of these items and pig out right proper. Appetizers are always somehow better than dinner anyway. The beauty of being with someone as easygoing as Kira is that we no longer feel the need to impress one another. There is great comfort in that. Safety too. Two things I need more than ever this year. Such was the realization that struck as we finished up our dinner and Kira began the dishes. (I cook, she cleans, and we both prefer it that way.)

The best parts of these holiday get-togethers aren’t the fancy dinners out or the strolling about the city – it’s those little jewels of time where the world feels full and perfect and as close to cozy that this dark time of year can get. One of those moments happened after dinner. To set the scene, allow me to quickly describe what I have dubbed the ‘spa shower’. It’s an easy ritual that Kira and I developed during an especially cold winter a couple of years ago.

The bathroom and bedroom end of the condo is always the coldest, even when the heat is cranked up. The bay window – a boon and beautiful bonus for a bedroom – is a double-edged sword when it lets in the heat of summer and the cold winds of winter. Getting into the shower, especially in winter, is a chilly experience. To combat this, I decided to boil a kettle of water and pour it into the bathtub to raise the heat and humidity. Before this, I sprinkled a few drops of essential oils into the tub – some lavender and lemongrass and geranium and a bit of clove for holiday spice. When the hot water hits the oils and the tub, it gives off a glorious plume of steam, filling the small space with warmth and peaceful perfume. It’s an instant embrace that makes getting into the shower a pleasurable routine. We call it a spa shower, and it’s part of any proper winter weekend in the condo. 

After this, clean and moisturized with some Beekman Boys goat’s milk lotion, I shuffled into the living room and snuggled into the couch while Kira finished the last of the dishes. This was it – the highlight of the Holiday Stroll weekend – coming the night before the stroll itself. And I realized it right then and there, which is not customarily the way it works. Unforced, unplanned, unexpected, I returned to a childhood feeling of warmth and safety, before everything became so dangerous, before everything turned so cold. In a pair of pajamas, my feet bare but brushing against the softness of our new blanket and pillow, and backed by another pillow against the cushion of the couch, I felt a coziness I’ve not felt in years, as if I was small enough to disappear into this little corner of cuddliness and look out at the whole of the immense world from a single lofty window.

Holding the moment as long as possible, I made a memory, something to grasp onto when the winter arrived with its bluster and boorish behavior. We moved into the bedroom and returned to a movie tradition, ‘The Man Who Came to Dinner.’ Sleep came before the end of the movie, as it usually does after a full day. The next morning was slated to be our loosely-plotted Holiday Stroll 2019, and steady rain was forecast until the afternoon. We would sleep in as long as possible, a rare luxury for both of us. After my jewel-box of a moment, everything else would be a bonus.

{To be continued…}

[Continued from here.]

Kira wasn’t due at work until 11:30, so we had some of the morning to get a head-start on grocery items for dinner. I would make a risotto while she was at work, and an easy side vegetable, all of which would be ready when she came home at the end of the day. At the entrance to the nearby Whole Foods Market, I contemplated getting a little Christmas tree, so swept up in the season did I suddenly feel, but Kira wisely steered me back into reason. 

We ambled our way along Massachusetts Ave and stopped at the hardware store for light bulbs. Apparently I’m the only one who knows how to change them in the condo. Not unlike the way I’m the only one who knows how to launder bath towels. Or clean out the refrigerator. Ahh, digression… not becoming for the holidays but I don’t really care. 

Arriving at the Newbury Street TJ Maxx, it was time for Kira to head to work, while I worked on our matching holiday outfits for a fun photo opportunity later in the day. If you can’t be silly and stupid and carefree during the Christmas season, when can you do it? I’m hellbent on finding that out. 

Kira had been cold the night before, and the small throw that had sustained us in the fall was but a trifle of a thing that was more for decorative purposes than real warmth. I examined similar throws in similar scant sizes before deciding to make the trek to HomeGoods in Downtown Crossing to find something more substantial. We needed a real blanket to see us through the winter. 

I found a fuzzy one in muted shades of gray and white, with a mottled snowflake pattern, along with a big pillow in gray and white plaid, overlaid with embroidered snowflakes. After a few more shopping stops later, it was time to head back to the condo and begin dinner preparation. There is something gratifying and rewarding about cooking a dinner you are sure someone else will appreciate and enjoy. 

Passing through Copley Square, I paused at every tree, and made a quick stop at the Lenox Hotel. It brought back happy memories, and the scent of the lobby reminded me of birthdays and joy and love. Sometimes the day provides enough warmth and light to last through the night. 

Before I started the long stir-crazy stir-fest that was risotto, a cheeky photo shoot to send some blog traffic stats into overdrive. Modeling the latest in ridiculous holiday garb, I tried out this Ralph Lauren nightshirt, a smaller version of which I had on hand for Kira. Those pics yet to come… As for these, here’s some wisdom I mentioned earlier in the day to Kira, “Christmas is not about being sexy.” 

I stand as testament to this. 

In the words or sentiment of Jesus (the reason for the season), I turned the other cheek. 

{To be continued…}

For our 9th Holiday Stroll (or thereabouts), Kira and I turned it into an extra-long weekend, and it still went by much too quickly. The Boston sky was deep blue when I touched down on a Thursday afternoon. The forecast was for a little bit of everything – the typical Northeastern challenge posed by our variable weather patterns. I made the most of the waning blue, as rain and wind were due nearer the end of the weekend.

Arriving with a batch of Mexican wedding cookies, but not much else in the way of culinary provisions, I made a last-minute decision to try out a grocery-shopping app which promised delivery in about an hour. This would be a super-casual weekend, both in activities and dining options. Neither Kira nor I were up for anything very fancy this year. What we yearned for more than anything was comfort and warmth, and I thought back to a simple dish of creamed chicken over toast and butter that my Grandma had made for us when we were kids. It was a basic roux of butter and flour which I punctuated with some fresh garlic and herbs, but otherwise stayed true to its rustic simplicity. Kira helped dissemble a rotisserie chicken and dinner was soon on the table as the temperature dropped outside. 

The holidays candles were lit, emitting their pine fragrance and recalling winter forest scenes that could have been real or imagined, a trick of memory or wish. Christmas spirit slipped into the condo like Santa through the chimney. I kept one eye on the fireplace when I wasn’t peering outside.

On the street below, the fountain had been drained, but decorated in boughs of pine and Christmas lights. I’d never seen it done up like that, and it made for a much happier visage than the bare and waterless feature which will see us through most of the winter. 

Inside, warmth and coziness spread out around us. The wet bar was lit up in holiday splendor, its wood illuminated unlike any other time of the year. We had a holiday mocktail of cranberry and seltzer to go along with dinner. Taking our time with it – the entire weekend was still ahead – we eased into the gentle pace of things. There was no need to rush. My shopping was already complete. All parties had been wiped from our social schedule. We had a few things to prepare for the Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, but nothing too extreme, as that would also be a casual affair. All in all, it was a peaceful beginning to our Holiday Stroll weekend. 

To cap the first night off, I presented Kira with her Christmas gift – which is the reason I told her in advance to bring a big-ass carrying bag. This slow-cooker was no small box, and she’s been talking about getting one for a few years now. It was time. I’ll bring some recipes when we get together next month. But I’m getting ahead of myself, which is easy to do when you rush to tell a happy story…

{To be continued…}