Recent renovations to the interior of my parents' home have added modern amenities, but did the Ozzie Smith poster have to come down?

Thanksgiving brought me to the accommodations I know best but have strangely never reviewed before: my parents’ house. (Disclosure: our stay was free of charge, probably because I’m a travel writer.)

Located just north of Boston, my childhood home is easily accessible from Logan or Manchester Boston Regional airports. The complimentary shuttle service my dad provided was on time, and while the trunk of his Honda Accord was able to fit all of our luggage, getting the stroller and big bag in it did take some planning—something to consider should you visit. (Maybe getting rid of the minivan actually was a mistake.)

Upon arriving at our accommodations, we were promptly greeted with kisses from my mom while our driver proved quite helpful with unloading our baggage. (Your stay may not include the kisses.) Throughout our visit, both parents did an admirable job of cooking and cleaning for us, although past experience shows it’s best not to refer to them as “housekeeping.” Highlights included an apple coffee cake, salmon, and fresh muffins from the nearby Gingerbread Construction Company.

The concierge lounge, called “the family room” provided a comfy place for friends and family to gather. My infant daughter—who took her first step there last week—took full advantage of the soft wall-to-wall carpet. And the smells of the next meal being prepared in the adjacent kitchen kept everyone hungry.

Recent renovations to the bedroom in which we stayed brought a modern touch, but did cost the room some of its boyish charm. While the color television—with cable!—that the previous tenant was never allowed makes for a nice addition (as does any device that brings Wolf Blitzer into the bedroom), the room’s distinct character took a hit with the removal of the Ozzie Smith poster. Although the pushing together of two twin mattresses into one giant bed allows for a moral looseness that wasn’t tolerated during the bedroom’s previous incarnation (not that it was being tested), there were no complaints about that lack of authenticity.

As for the amenities:

• Lest the recently redone bathrooms encourage you to linger in solitude too long, the prospect of using one-ply toilet paper—a specialty of the house—will have you avoiding going off on your own for as long as possible (guests who import their own kinder, gentler toilet paper, risk being ridiculed for having lost their New England toughness—and don’t even think about trying to smuggle in some wet wipes).
• On-call babysitting allows you to take your best girl out for a night on the town (might I suggest Toro in the South End?).
• The liquor cabinet is open to all and features featured a full bottle of Woodford Reserve. Rumor has it, however that bottles on Old Man Everson‘s bar that date back to the late-1990s (my college years) might be a bit watered down.

As for that bottle of Woodford, here’s the recipe for the new house drink: a Manhattan (replacing the old house drink: triple sec on the rocks).

1. Fill a plastic Dan Majerle 1988 Dream Team cup from McDonalds with ice (the house is without a shaker).
2. Pour three shots of Woodford Reserve into the cup using the Air Force Academy shot glass my brother bought my parents, who rarely drink, for Christmas during his freshman year there.
3. Pour a half shot of sweet vermouth into the cup using the same shot glass.
4. Complain to my mom about their being no bitters in the house.
5. Stir with a butter knife.
6. Pour two-thirds of the drink into one glass for yourself and the other one-third into a glass for my dad, using the butter knife to keep the ice in the plastic Dan Majerle 1988 Dream Team cup from McDonalds.
7. Add a cherry.

Photo: Jeff Everson