Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

As we near the final portion of our Friendsgiving weekend adventure, we return to the preamble that started it all: a pause in our walk back from a reunion dinner at Reunion. At this juncture, Kira and I had made our way into the sumptuously-lit environs of the Mandarin Oriental on Boylston. The lobby was adorned in its customary elegant splendor, with a fireplace flicking white flames into the air, but stepping outside of tradition, we bypassed that space for a quiet and or intimate second floor sofa, where we took a load off our feet and paused for brief respite. 

A slow jam then – and super-slow at that – to commemorate this stop. Obscure hotel hideaways are my favorite part of any city adventure. There is something intoxicating about being half-hidden from the world while sharing a moment of rest with an old friend. It always goes to my head. 

Our wild nights now consist mostly of such moments, followed by the hurried scuttling through windy weather to reach the warmth of the condo. There we light candles, listen to Shirley Horn, sip tea, lounge languidly on the couch, and give silent thanks for not wanting to be wild anymore. 

This particular night was not that different from any other in our long history of Boston nights – we followed the tea with a viewing of an old movie – ‘Mildred Pierce’ – and then it was time to sleep. Shirley sang us through to the morning, and the melancholy arrival of Sunday, always too soon.

A Boston evening arrives all too quickly in November – at least, the darkness of a Boston evening arrives too quickly. Where we might usually take a lovely, well-lit stroll to our dining destination in warm and still-sunny weather, was suddenly cloaked in the pitch-black of midnight, and it was only 6:30 PM as we left the condo. 

I’d made reservations at Reunion – the name was fitting, and it was a BBQ joint in the former location of Masa, which Kira and I once adored. One day we’ll do a proper homemade Friendsgiving meal – this was not that day. Kira doesn’t cook, and I couldn’t be bothered. A whole turkey for two people also felt a little excessive, I don’t care if it is traditionally a feast. I’ll have enough culinary work cut out for me when I have to bring the yams and tres leches cake to our family gathering. 

On this night, it was a Friendsgiving meal in the South End, so cue the food music of ‘The Main Ingredient’ by Shirley Horn, and peel me a grape!

Comfort food is ideal for a Friendsgiving night out, and Reunion served up a decent collection of pulled pork, tender brisket, mac and cheese, collard greens, and some margarita mocktails. Of course the food wasn’t the focus of this weekend, and we slipped back into the past, into the early days of working at John Hancock together. Kira had started seeing the man she would marry, and I had just begun dating the man with whom I would move to Chicago, and we were both too young to do anything but flounder our way through all of it. Not that they were bad in any way, but they were doomed, and we didn’t see it then. 

All these years later, we could look back without hurt, honor our pasts and our history, and find gratitude that all involved parties were still doing the best we could do.

A meal of thanks and a toast to that.

It invariably happens, especially as we get older, that our favorite moments of a weekend in Boston are not in new restaurants or visiting Broadway shows, but rather the simple in-between moments caught in a quiet side street, or the sun-soaked afternoon spell in the bedroom while the first half of ‘Meet Me In St. Louis‘ plays. Is there a more perfect segue into the proper holiday season?

When we returned to the condo, we had a cup of Earl Grey tea. We watched the fountain outside, now still and quiet. And we simply breathed, taking in the moment. 

A pause, then, in our narrative, in honor of that. Take your own moment now. 

The chill in the air was welcome, as I opened the window that looked out onto Braddock Park. At the fountain, a few people worked at either cleaning it up or closing it down for the season – I feared it was the latter, even as I knew it was later than usual to shut off the water. A late lack of freezing temperatures had kept it going this long, and as Kira came out into the front room, we watched as the last few drops of water fell for the last time this season. It was time for the fountain to slumber; we would see it open again in the spring, if we were lucky enough to be alive then. The notion of gratitude for the moment – and for this weekend together – kept us grounded and happily enjoying one another’s company. Despite the hint of existential pondering, the morning felt buoyant, and gleefully familiar. 

The sun was strong, though the day couldn’t quite be considered warm. It was fall – almost Thanksgiving – and the cool air kept our steps quick. Along the Southwest Corridor Park, flowers still bloomed, valiantly defying the colder nights, and richer in color for having made the effort. Zinnias chatted in their noisy cacophony of bright hues – a reminder of the summer we mostly missed, and the promise of another to come after we got through the winter. Pushing the thought of something so far ahead of us from my mind, I refocused on our day – which began with us riding the T to our usual shopping starting point: Downtown Crossing. 

With an eye on some gift-procurement, and some future planning for a holiday stroll, Kira and I quickly fell back into our usual rhythm, finding some presents for family and friends, and a few for ourselves. As we wound our way through the stores, treading those time-tested cobblestones, we paused for a brief break at the Omni Parker House, the place where I got Kira to try her first oyster probably a decade ago. That little bar/restaurant was closed now, to our dismay, so we simply sat near the hallway where a mirror reputed to be haunted by the image of Charles Dickens (who once had a room there). 

Other mysteries of fall would remain cloaked in autumnal splendor, before falling off their tree branches and rejoining the earth from where they came. Time with an old friend brought back memories and reminiscences, from our earliest days together right through the present moment. Descending through Boston Common and into the Public Garden, we discovered the lagoon was under renovation, and surrounded by a chain link fence. Some creative cropping later, we managed to find the beauty there, before heading in the direction of the condo… and our afternoon siesta. 

Our planned Friendsgiving/Reunion/25th Anniversary weekend went off as scheduled – a feat in and of itself these days. I wanted to ride the high a little longer, but Monday morning came, and with a backlog and deluge of work e-mails and issues, my stress level instantly decimated that peaceful high – another sign that eight years of work will not pass quickly enough until I can retire. 

In that sour spirit, and the spirit of Monday mornings – and even the scary Sunday night before it – ‘The Meaning of the Blues’ feels like a fitting tune – and Shirley Horn’s ‘The Main Ingredient’ album will thread its hungry way through the next few posts. 

Rather than sum up our lovely weekend in a single post, I’m going to try to elongate the feeling of friendship and comfort that I found during this Friendsgiving adventure with Kira. We begin with this little jewel of a moment, in which we pause before the journey. The rose bouquet pictured here was in a secluded little hallway above the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental, where we stopped for a sit-down and breather after walking much of the day away. We sat there in the expensive light of decadence, not able to afford it on a regular basis, but happy to simply brush against it now and again. We took off our coats and leaned back into the couch, content to take stock of the day, and the afternoon hour, before the darkness descended.

It had been well over a year since Kira and I had seen each other last. It was enough just to be in each other’s company. Enough to sit beside a friend who had experienced loss and sorrow, and find comfort in the quiet, shared sympathy. We didn’t quite pick up where we left off – how could we after so much had happened? – but we began anew in the happy place of friendship where we’d always found safety and surety.

Rather than playing any more tricks with time, I’ll reset the narrative from the beginning, starting with this evening’s blog post, which will find us reuniting on a sunny Friday afternoon in Boston, back where it all began…