Monthly Archives:

October 2012

The Sexy Sillage of Tom Ford

It was the fragrance I wore when I put on that plaid suit, and since that time it has signified October and the height of Fall. Tom Ford‘s ‘Amber Absolute’ – one of his Private Blends – is my scent for this month. With its smoky amber base, and hints of incense and patchouli, it perfectly embodies this time of the year, when fragrance can afford to be a bit heavier, like our coats and sweaters. This one is a warm one indeed – it smolders and crackles – it practically smokes, but it maintains a grounded earthiness. Best of all it lasts for literally days. Forget the ethereal wisps of summer, this bad boy is here for the duration.

Sadly, and incomprehensibly, ‘Amber Absolute’ was discontinued a few months ago (Andy got me the last bottle at the Boston Saks Fifth Avenue for my birthday) but can still be found on eBay and in some stores, so get it while the getting is good.

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Waiting for My First Job

Sitting by the elevator on the upper floor of the Limited/Express/Structure building in Fanueil Hall in the Fall of 1995, I listened to ‘Waiting in Vain’ by Annie Lennox. To this day, I cannot listen to it without thinking rather fondly of that time in my life, when I got my first official job on my own. For that moment, on the leather chair by the elevator, Ms. Lennox was wailing about waiting, as I sat waiting for my final interview of the day.

I’d spent the entire morning, and the first part of the afternoon, traipsing through Quincy Market and the tourist traps, so desperately did I love Boston and want something to do with it. I came to the epicenter of tourist life, because despite its cheesy trappings, there was something old-school and comforting about the area where my Mom had first taken me and my brother so many years ago. I stopped in at every bull market and store front, inquiring whether anyone was hiring, scoping out places where I thought I might fit in (there were none), and filling out applications on all sides of the cobblestone walks. It felt hopeless. No one was interested, no one was hiring, and no one was impressed with my backpack. (There, you see, I wasn’t always what I am today.)

As I neared the very end of my path, which was right where I started, the stand-alone multi-floored building that housed the Limited and Express and Bath and Body works, and what was then Structure, stood blankly but forbiddingly to my left. I looked up at it, shrugged, and gave it my last bit of effort.

For some strange reason, the idea of working in a clothing store had never crossed my mind. I was looking for a quieter gift shop of some sort, where I could lazily lounge around selling bits of Boston to hapless tourists. Yet suddenly the universe sent me up to one of the top floors, where the elevator opened to a cove of men’s sweaters, displayed pristinely on a black table before me. I stepped out into the rather empty store, where music played and display lights sparkled. Lifted up from the ground, I felt safely removed from the city – in the same way I’ve always felt when looking out from the window of any high-rise in Boston. A sudden, small sanctuary ~ a respite from the unfruitful day. I asked one of the workers if they might be hiring. He told me to wait while he got a manager.

This is when I sat down and listened to Annie Lennox. I shifted in my seat as she sang about waiting in vain for love. Around the corner, a woman came walking toward me. I felt tired and bedraggled, at the end of my tether, and ridiculous with a college kid’s back-pack strapped to my shoulder, but she shook my hand, introduced herself as Barrie, and took me into the back office. We sat down and she had me fill out an application, then asked me some questions. Was this an interview then? I had no idea. It was my first lesson that very few things in life would ever be explicitly spelled out, particularly when it came to jobs. There was a code language involved, more ‘How-would-you-feel-about’ or ‘Might-you-be-interested’ than ‘Do-you-want-the-job-because-we-want-to-hire-you?’ So much obtuse carefulness made my head spin, but I was too tired to care, and I figured nothing would come of this anyway, so I just recited the most honest answers I could, my mind already on the commute back to the dorm.

“Why do you want to work here?” she asked as one of the final questions.

I paused, mentally running through the stock answers of building a better fashion world, helping others in their quest for sartorial improvement, or my simple dream of working in Boston – the one I’d had since I was a child. But none of them seemed to impress, so I blurted out the most basic truth that came to mind:

“Because I like to shop, and I’m good at it.”

I laughed as I heard myself say it out loud. She stopped me.

“No, that’s great,” she reassured me. “The best workers we have are the ones who love to shop, who know the merchandise, and who know how to talk to people about clothes.” I stopped laughing. For perhaps the first time in my life, the notion that I might actually be great at something truly astounded me. I’d been good at a great many things, but great at none of them. Here, for the first time, without any help from parents or friends, in a store and a city where nobody yet knew me, someone – a stranger no less – saw something of value in what I might do. I will always remember and be thankful to Barrie for that – she gave me my first chance to see something that no one else had seen, even myself.

In a month, I would become their number one performer, opening up more credit cards than anyone else, racking in the highest ADS (average sale amount), and getting the most shifts of anyone other than management (about 35 hours a week – which I didn’t realize at the time was practically a full-time job) – all the while going to Brandeis full-time. My days, and most of the nights, were full – with commuting, working, and school – and I look back at that schedule then and wondered how I did it. At the time, I didn’t even notice. I loved it, I was good at it, and, for the first time, I felt like I belonged.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #7 ~ ‘Best Friend’ – Spring 2012

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

The Madonna Timeline is on an MDNA Deluxe kick, as the next selection veers from ‘I Fucked Up‘ to ‘Best Friend’. Another stellar bonus cut, this one details the dissolution of Madonna’s marriage to Guy Ritchie, rounding out that album’s anger with revelatory lyrics of wistful regret, jittery beats, and additional ambivalence. The pain and loss is fully evident here, the darkness of divorce looms over all, and it seems that she is willing to admit that it’s a bit of both their faults.

I miss your brain, the way you think.
But I don’t miss the way you used to drink.
I miss our talks – the Universal Law
You had a way of seeing through my flaws.
It’s so confusing – I thought I met my match 
An intellectual with talent – what a catch.
You always said we’d be better off as friends,
It was inevitable that it would end.

Driving along the highway in Massachusetts, I am racing to pick up my friend Kira. She has returned to the area from Florida after her own marriage faltered. Listening to the lyrics, I thought of what it took to bring her back all this way with her children, but without her husband. No matter how clear-cut or simple some things seem, a relationship is never one of them: we have no idea, even and especially when we think we do, what really happens behind closed doors.

Your picture’s off my wall, but I’m still waitin’ for your call,
And every man that walks through that door,
Will be compared to you for ever more.
Still, I have no regrets ’cause I’ve survived the biggest test.
I cannot lie and I won’t pretend but I feel like I lost my very best friend.

While Kira pretended to be strong, and maybe it wasn’t just pretend, part of me felt that there had to be more to it. Perhaps this was her way of dealing with it, by a mixture of denial, of anger, of frustration, of fear. In many ways she seemed fine – the same, sweet Kira I had first met at John Hancock fourteen years ago, when we were both in our early twenties, before and after several heartbreaks.

I miss the countryside where we used to lay,
The smell of roses on a lovely summer day.
You made me laugh, you had a clever wit.
I miss the good times, I don’t miss all of it.
You wrote me poetry, you had a way with words.
You said you wanted more than just a pretty girl.
Maybe I challenged you a little bit too much,
We couldn’t have two drivers on the clutch.

I had met her husband, and he seemed like a nice enough guy. Quiet, like Kira, but willing to smile, if one worked at it. I didn’t pry, and I didn’t want to know, but we owe our friends the offer of listening, so I did. As the weeks passed, I would see Kira rather regularly, as we planned for the big 40th birthday celebration of our friend JoAnn. Slowly, she seemed to regain her footing, to be okay with the way things had worked out. The Spring blossomed into Summer, and after the party I didn’t get to see her as much. It wasn’t until the very first weekend of Fall that we got back together.

Your picture’s off my wall, but I’m still waitin’ for your call,
And every man that walks through that door
Will be compared to you for ever more.
Still, I have no regrets ’cause I’ve survived the biggest test.
I cannot lie and I won’t pretend but I feel like I lost my very best friend.

We weren’t supposed to meet that weekend. I’d called ahead to see if she wanted to hang out on Saturday, but she was busy so I never gave it another thought until my Friday plans got changed, and I headed into town a day early. Figuring I’d just call to see how she was doing, I asked if she might be able to hang out on Friday instead, and we agreed to meet for dinner and drinks. Some friends are so close and attuned to your moods and spirit, that the sheer sight of them sets you at ease, makes you feel a little warmer and better about the world. Kira is one of those friends for me. No matter what has gone on – and sometimes it’s a lot – she never fails in making me smile. On this evening, we needed to see each other, but I didn’t know why until dinner, when she said the divorce papers had gone through and it had happened just a few short days ago.

I thought that she’d be happier about it. Not that divorce is ever something to be happy about, it still seemed like the final sense of closure she needed. I asked the question that some might have deemed too personal: had she secretly hoped that they would get back together? It was a reasonable wish, and after ten years as a couple, and parents to a little girl, how could it not be a possibility? She admitted that yes, over the last few months apart she had, somewhere in the back of her mind – and sometimes the forefront – wished and hoped that they might work it out, that he might move back and stay with her. The fact that he didn’t fight the papers, that he actually signed and set them into quick motion, was the last sign that it had come to an end. And Kira was, according to her own admittance, shocked that it had come through so soon.

I argued that maybe this was the best way for it to happen – the way it’s sometimes easier to just rip the band-aid off instead of slowly tearing it painfully away over a long, drawn-out period of time. Maybe enough time had passed. Maybe this was the universe making a dramatic move in order to jar her into awareness. Maybe she just needed to take a moment to mourn what happened – she never really allowed herself that sadness, had never even cried over what had been lost. I thought it had been strength, but that can last for just so long.

It’s so sad that it had to end. I lost my very best friend.
Not gonna candy-coat it and I don’t want to pretend.
I’ve put away your letters, saved the best ones that I had.
It wasn’t always perfect, but it wasn’t always bad.

We talked it over, and I offered what feeble advice I had to give, but that wasn’t why we needed each other. Sometimes you just have to see someone who understands, and who wants nothing but happiness for you. Sometimes the sharing of any pain lifts a bit from both of you, and you’re both better for it.

Still, I have no regrets ’cause I’ve survived the biggest test.
I cannot lie and I won’t pretend but I feel like I lost my very best friend.
Yet, I have no regrets, ’cause I’ve survived the biggest test.
I will not lie and I can’t pretend but I feel like I lost my very best friend.
It’s so sad that it had to end.

Song #77: ‘Best Friend’ – Spring 2012

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Walking in the Maine Woods

A few years ago, our trusted inn-keeper Greg recommended that we tour the Wells Reserve while in town for a Fall weekend. This expansive area of coastal Maine wilderness is the perfect excursion for anyone looking to land themselves in the midst of meditative nature, where you can walk in solitude for long stretches, and not run into anyone other than chipmunks and waterfowl should you wish for such contemplative quiet.

Once the forest folds in behind you, the stillness and silence sets in, and suddenly the sound of falling leaves takes on a thunderous aspect. It’s amazing how much we can hear when the noise of our normal existence dissipates, in a place where there are no cars or cel phones. The murmurings of wind through the reeds, the startled chirps of a chipmunk, the hurried scraping of a scrambling squirrel ~ each a small part in the quiet cacophony of the forest floor.

As varied as the sounds, so too do the scents offer a wide palate of olfactory experiences. The briny musk of the marshland, the sour decay of wet leaves, and the pungent spores of moss and mushrooms, punctuated by the occasional exclamation points of various, and thankfully hidden, scat all combine to create the cologne of the earth. It is the scent of life.

There are paths here, some made of wood, some made of pine needles, some made by the simple repetition of human footfalls, but each of them leading into another. Only a few times does the trail ever come to a standstill – usually at the water’s edge. You can walk a very long time, and still never get completely lost.

The toadstools bring to mind fairy flights and wanderings of woodland nymphs.

There are hints of humans as well ~ in a broken branch, a muddy footprint, an empty bench.

Mostly though, we are here alone.

And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Ogunquit Booty

I’m not even going to attempt to christen myself ‘Hunk of the Day‘ until I can get back into some sort of fighting shape. That said, some of the weight I’ve been gaining has fortuitously gone straight to my ass, offering something for the booty and the mind, at the same time.

Let this make amends for my misleading ‘hairy woodpecker‘ post earlier. (Even though I delivered exactly what I said…)

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My Hairy Woodpecker

Were you really expecting something else? You need to look into that.

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Sexy Sunday Football

“The main reason for the tremendous popularity of football in America may be our subconscious fascination over the fact that each play starts with the quarterback squatting between the center’s legs in the classic pose of sodomy.” ~ Norman Mailer

Former New York Jets player Scotty McKnight is our pin-up guy for Sunday Football Shenanigans. I’m still learning about the game, so sometimes a player’s cuteness will supersede whether or not the player still plays.

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The Family in Ogunquit, And A Word on Destiny

Sadly, with his recent case of painful gout, my Dad couldn’t make it to Ogunquit on this trip. Mom made the journey though, and was our companion (and dinner ticket) for all the Autumn splendor. Dad was here in spirit – in the corned beef hash at breakfast, the duck at dinner, and the sparkling water of Perkins Cove. Gram was here too, not just in the open resting place of the ocean, but in the appearance of a Boston terrier and a long-haired dachshund. No matter where I end up, Ogunquit will always be filled with memories of ghosts living and dead, and will forever offer comfort in that realm.

Andy collected some sand from the beach to bring back his Mother’s gravesite, thereby connecting her to this special place as well. We all feel completely at home at only a few places in the world ~ this is one of them for me. Boston is another. Upstate New York, where I was born and raised, strangely holds a distant third. I don’t know why it should be so, but sometimes we don’t choose these things – they’re chosen for us. I’ve never tried to fight that, never tried to force things differently. I’ve just accepted that this is how it’s meant to work out. The only time people have problems is when they fight the universe.

On this trip we had the privilege of having lunch with two friends we met last time we were in town – Eric and Lonnie. They were kind enough to include my Mom as well, and we met up at MC Perkins after our leisurely stroll along the Marginal Way. There are some people whom you feel you’ve known far longer than you have, those who instantly insinuate themselves into the fabric of friendship as if they’ve been there all along ~ the friends who become extended family when you’re away from home. Eric and Lonnie are certainly those friends.

We enjoyed a delicious and gregarious lunch, and can’t wait to return the favor when we come back next Spring. The more time we spend in Ogunquit, the more wonderful people we meet. It makes visiting a joy, and leaving such a sorrow.

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Secret Gardens

One of the perks of being a visitor in Ogunquit is that we sometimes see things that others miss (including things that we’ve missed in our dozen years frequenting the area). Case in point: the Dorothea Grant Common at the Ogunquit Heritage Museum. The museum was closed for the season, but the small stretch of grounds around the little building beckoned us to explore its leaf-strewn path, so we made a slow amble beneath the trees, walking the grounds as the sun peeked through the pines and oaks. Faded gardens, about to go to bed for another year, were still discernible beneath the blanket of wet leaves.

It’s always a thrill to discover a hidden garden. It makes the flowers that dare to remain so much more special and, in their late-hour way, more spectacular. On this particular perfectly-Fall day, more leaves had fallen in the windy night, and a hidden band of marauding squirrels threw acorns down at all trespassers. It was, in a word, idyllic ~ at least for this Hawthorne-loving Fall-o-phile. We walked around the path, hearing the occasional chirp of a chipmunk and inspecting the once-glorious gardens, now lost in their seasonal death spiral.

Andy always greets the annual slumber of a garden with sadness and despondency, but it offers a sort of welcome relief for me. When you’re the one hoisting cow manure and chopping up unruly clumps of Miscanthus, Fall can offer a gratifying perspective. (And since Andy mows the lawn, a bit of this relief is most certainly shared.)

Two roads diverged in a wood…
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The Fall in Ogunquit

Upon entry into Ogunquit for our annual Columbus Day weekend visit, I promptly fell victim to a cold. That and the iffy stance of the weather would be enough to try the happiest of souls. This being Ogunquit, however, no matter how sick and no matter how dreary, it was impossible not to enjoy our time in this ‘Beautiful Place by the Sea’. Spring and Summer have their own sunny pull, but Fall is magical in an entirely different way.

Ensconced in the cozy environs of the Naughty Pine Room at the Ogunquit Beach Inn, and hosted by our favorite Inn-keepers Greg & Mike, we felt instantly at home. Venturing into that first day’s gray and misty surroundings, we met up with my Mom for a introductory lunch at the Cornerstone Restaurant – the new artisanal pizza place that functioned as a warm and welcoming port in the passing storm. With its old-fashioned incandescent light bulbs, dark vaulted wooden beam ceiling, and an open oven view, it was the ideal spot for an autumnal break.

Pumpkins, squash, and other gourds spilled abundantly across most of the entrances, while bales of hay and cornstalks added to the seasonal feel of many doorways. Fall in New England is unmatched anywhere else. We know the weather that is to come, and we hold onto Fall and celebrate that it’s still with us using every fiery trick we can muster.

The grasses have gone to seed, waving their feathery grain fronds in the cutting wind. The sun, though weakened, slants through the afternoon, eliciting a bit of warmth where it manages to take hold. For now the battle between wind and sun is evenly matched, but soon the temperature will side with the moving air – soon the sun won’t summon the heat.

That slumber has not quite begun, but we are at its doorstep, dancing the final days of Fall away with a fatalistic flourish. Nature burns itself in beauty.

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Return from Paradise ~ Fall 2012

Having just returned from Ogunquit, I am not quite ready to face the day at work. I was out for an entire week – the first time I’ve taken off a full week since I started working for the state almost a dozen years ago. That’s right, take it all in: I’ve never taken a whole week off from my job until now. Call me what you like, I’ve been reliably  consistent, but for Andy’s pre-birthday surprise in Ogunquit, it was worth it. Give me a chance to catch my breath (and pack for Boston) and I’ll recount some of our vacation adventures.

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Light Caught in a Doorknob

My favorite place to be in the early afternoon is our bedroom in Boston, when the sun is slanting through the blinds and filling the room with light. Granted, I am not there as often as I’d like, and perhaps that is the reason for its pull. This weekend, my heart will heed that call.

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