Monthly Archives:
September 2016
11
September
2016
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September
2016
10
September
2016
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September
2016
A Reminder…
Tomorrow is the one day a year we go dark here, in honor of 9/11. It’s been a tradition since this website began in 2003. (Yes, I’m an online dinosaur, where blogs have the inverted age calculation of dog years.) Anyway, see you back here on Monday, for our usual morning recap. Until then, spend some time with friends and family if you can.
10
September
2016
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September
2016
Whimsy in Washington
You can find all the stock photos of Washington you want online, so there’s no need for me to bring you more of the White House or the Capitol Building or any number of monuments. I prefer to see the hidden delights that DC shrouds in the folds of its statuesque arms. As we take leave of our Capitol City for now, here’s a look at some lesser-seen treasures.
10
September
2016
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September
2016
Smithsonian Solitude
Alone for the day, I entered the afternoon refreshed from a stop at the Mandarin Oriental. Back on the National Mall, I moved past the Arlington Monument to the Castle, which was backed by gardens and the Freer Gallery, in which a very famous Peacock Room was unfortunately shuttled for renovation. There was an exhibit in its stead, a take on the infamously-designed room, but a sad substitute for the real deal I’d wanted to see. Undaunted, I moved onto other gems.
Along the paths, hidden gardens beckoned to lucky visitors who took the time and care to explore their every corner and crevice. One of the many wonderful things about the Smithsonian is that there is always something new to be seen, and I could visit a hundred times and never have the same experience. That’s sort of how Washington has been to me, thanks in part to my infrequent but not entirely uncommon visits.
The Moongate Garden is nothing short of magical, with corners of seclusion and places to pause. Plants and stone sculptures conspire to create outdoor rooms of requirement – for those time when one needs a little quiet and solitude. Even on a popular holiday weekend, there were unpopulated pieces of the garden where I could find a necessary spot for myself.
Though my knowledge of plants is extensive compared to some, it’s no match for the wondrous variety on display here. I didn’t know the orange bush above, whose white bracts (not shown here) are used to attract pollinating butterflies and bees, but it had a slight sweet scent that was a glorious balm on this warm day. Inside, the Freer Gallery offered art and beauty of a different sort, but no less enchanting.
There are stories that aren’t always told in words, tales that wear their message in a few colors of paint, histories that hide behind artistic code. In the gardens of the Smithsonian, what is all that beauty obscuring? What lies behind such pretty veiled things?
On this sunny day, beauty has driven away the darkness, even if it lurks just under the surface, waiting for night to descend. Re-energized by my museum visit and the gardens of the grounds, I am reminded of how art and gorgeousness work to erase any doom, even as they leave a dull ache… because when you brush the sublime, all the rest of it seems a little sadder.
10
September
2016
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September
2016
Monumental Moments & Afternoon Respite
One of the only major monuments that I hadn’t seen, despite myriad visits to Washington, was the Lincoln Memorial. This time that was my only charted goal, and on a sunny but pleasantly-not-too-warm day, I walked all the way from my hotel to visit Mr. Lincoln. The path took me through George Washington University, where signs were welcoming the incoming class home. I looked upon such things with amusement for myself, and a tinge of empathy for those just starting their college careers.
As I neared the monument, I was once again struck by the foresight and planning that the designers had when laying out the entire National Mall, as well as the size and scope of it all. These are impressive works, and every American should visit at least once.
It’s both inspiring and depressing to contrast the work of previous Presidents to certain candidates attempting to disgrace the office today. When you think about what this country means to the world, and especially to those of us lucky enough to live here, it’s unfathomable that a clown like Donald Trump has come this close to entering such hallowed ground. I pray he doesn’t succeed.
But rather than get bogged down in the current political state of affairs, I preferred to look at the glory of the past. The sun was warming my walk as the day advanced, and the area around the Washington Monument is exposed. I did my best to stay to the shade afforded by trees, but when I saw signs for the waterfront, I remembered a stay at the Mandarin a few years ago, and figured it was the perfect midway stopping point for a refreshment.
Much has been made of my adoration of a hotel lounge, and this was one perfect instance which exemplified that fondness. The Empress Lounge is an elegant stretch of space with refined furniture and impeccable Mandarin service (even if I was asked not to occupy a table that had been set for afternoon tea, when there was literally not a single other person in the place, nor would there be for the duration of my stop.) No matter, I found another seat that was not expecting invisible company and settled in for a Mandarin Dream.
Outside of the sky-high windows, a pretty courtyard meandered to a perch overlooking the Potomac. In spring, cherry blossoms would blanket the area in soft pink, but at this late stage of the season things were a deep green, accented by the fiery blooms of a crape myrtle here and there. The Mandarin Dream is a refreshing mix of vodka, pomegranate juice, and pear nectar – not too strong, and served with a decadent cherry – perfect for a fine summer afternoon.
There was one more stop to make before dinner, and I knew it would be a place of peace, even if I’d never been there yet…
09
September
2016
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September
2016
Dinners With An Old Friend
My quick Washington jaunt was structured loosely around dinners with Chris. After my welcome-to-town brunch, I decided to keep the days to myself, and the rest of that first one passed in the blissful arms of the Topaz Hotel. Soon enough, and early dinner hour beckoned by the wine on-hand in the Topaz lounge – a very happy Kimpton tradition.
While Chris maintains his distracted on-the-go persona, always looking and planning for the next thing to do, I was happy to relax and enjoy the company of a guy I’ve known for over twenty years. Breaking bread with a friend is one of life’s greatest treasures, and Chris scoped out a pair of lovely restaurants for my stay: Dabney’s and Hazel. The dishes at each tasted even better than they look here.
Though we are in pretty regular contact (preferably through texting, ahem) there is still nothing that can substantially substitute for shared company. It’s not the momentous events that solidify a friendship, it’s all the little in-between time that forges such lasting connections. Of course, I’ll still write the occasion letter and send it off in the mail, old-fashioned style, and as that’s how our friendship began, it’s a tradition that will continue. For this weekend in Washington, however, there was no need for postage.
We delved into the past, and two decades in we find there is more to discover about each other (though I have a feeling Chris simply wasn’t listening the first time around) – and that will always be the hallmark of any worthy friendship: the way we feel comfortable sharing more and more of what we once kept secret. And the way we can look back over all those years and laugh about so much of it. When you realize that, you understand that what was important wasn’t necessarily what you thought was important. That always makes me relax a little more in the moment.
Sometimes it takes a good friend to remind you of the joy in the world.
(Especially if you’re devouring some excellent food at the same time.)
09
September
2016
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September
2016
Brunch With A Baby, Followed By A Dog Park
You may be wondering if this is even my blog anymore, based on the title of this post and the relatively family-friendly fare of late. If one set out to deliberately arrange a morning scenario that put me entirely out of my comfort zone, it could not have been executed better than this one, in which I accompany my pal Chris to brunch and a visit to a dog park.
We began with a ride in a Fiat filled with two adults, one child, and an excitable dog. Yes folks, a Fiat. So dog and baby were all but in my lap, and we could not make it to the brunch venue fast enough. I tried not to breathe in the dog hair, as an allergy attack was not on my agenda, and I did my best to keep the baby suitably entertained (and was surprisingly successful as he repeated my name for the duration of the ride).
We rolled into Tico and I made apologies to the server for whatever was about to happen, but brunch passed in remarkably smooth fashion (the wonders that a kid can find in opening and distributing the contents of several packs of sugar), and before I knew it we were on our way to a dog park. Read that again and think about it: a dog park.
I wasn’t really paying much attention to the dogs, until one started to take a dump right in the middle of the pack, the results of which were promptly sniffed out and even licked by some of the ragamuffin mutts there. I gave a disdainful look to all who were present, and was about to scream whether anyone was responsible for this shitting dog, before asking Chris, who was fussing over some plastic bags, who the owner was. Turned out it was him. Like I can tell dogs apart from one another.
Thankfully such a scene didn’t last long, as I needed to get back to the hotel for a nap. Getting up at 4:45 in the morning to make an early flight takes its toll. The Topaz greeted me with my choice of queens, and I gratefully settled into one before dinner.
09
September
2016
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September
2016
Returning to My Delusions in DC
After a brief break afforded by a perfectly-lovely summer season by the pool, The Delusional Grandeur Tour was back in travel status with recent trips to Rehoboth Beach, Washington, DC, and this weekend in Boston, MA. On this blog, the DC postings begin today, as I give you a piece of the sky en route to our fine Capitol city (and the jacket I wore upon entry).
It’s been a while since I’ve flown – at least a few months – which is all sorts of wrong, as it’s one of my favorite things to do. Stepping back into the familiar, if dilapidated, air of Albany Airport, I eased back into travel mode, and the delicious state of absolute anonymity. Albany is a small town, and it’s much easier to get lost somewhere like Washington. I looked forward to that as much as I looked forward to seeing a friend.
The Topaz Hotel was the Kimpton property of choice this time around, and they offered a wonderful home base and the signature stellar service that sets them apart from most hotels these days. A hotel is a happy slice of heaven, especially when it’s as fine and spacious as the Topaz.
Greeted by a gentleman at the front desk who was amused by my “I am wicked early†comment (he asked if I was from Massachusetts because no one else said “wicked†anymore) I was able to get into my room a bit earlier than check-in, which is always a boon after a flight, no matter how short.
I texted Chris and let him know I was already in town, so he picked me up for brunch with his son, and their dog. A visit filled with new experiences had begun…
08
September
2016
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September
2016
Good Morning, Madame
A favorite meal, at any point in the day to be honest, this is a Croque Madame. Anytime you incorporate an egg onto a meal, I’m on board. And anytime you add ‘Madame’ to a title, I’m a fan.
08
September
2016
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September
2016
School Memories: Slipping Through My Fingers
SCHOOL BAG IN HAND, SHE LEAVES HOME IN THE EARLY MORNING
WAVING GOOD-BYE, WITH AN ABSENT-MINDED SMILE
I WATCH HER GO WITH A SURGE OF THAT WELL-KNOWN SADNESS
AND I HAVE TO SIT DOWN FOR A WHILE…
I clenched my Trapper Keeper with arms folded across my chest, even if it would have fit nicely into my new backpack. It was the only armor I had, and I held it over my heart as if that might shield me from missing my Mom. We gathered at the neighbor’s house for the traditional ‘First Day of School’ photo, then made off in a loose pack to McNulty School. This was the day I’d been dreading since the first back-to-school commercials had begun airing a few weeks prior.
I’m not sure why. At the time, school had been an easy and relatively enjoyable thing. I was a straight-A student (gay-A student?) and I never struggled with schoolwork the way some of my class did. I also didn’t have any real social anxiety after the first day or two. This was back before we entered adolescence and puberty, when boys and girls got along and were easy friends without any sort of separation or teasing, back when it didn’t matter what you wore, where you lived, or where your parents worked. Childhood was the great equalizer – the innocence of childhood, that is. We aren’t born hating or categorizing or judging others – we learn that – and in those early grade-school days I hadn’t experienced the darker side of it. Still, I didn’t want to leave the safety and security of home, and I certainly didn’t want to leave my mother’s side.
SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME
I TRY TO CAPTURE EVERY MINUTE, THE FEELING IN IT
SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME
DO I REALLY SEE WHAT’S IN HER MIND
EACH TIME I THINK I’M CLOSE TO KNOWING, SHE KEEPS ON GROWING
SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME
It had been a few years since I’d hidden under the table, crying with the other boy who was afraid to leave his mom, but I still dreaded the arrival of school. Even now, I get a wave of heartsickness when those back-to-school commercials start. The familiar dread creeps into my stomach, the same way a recurring nightmare has one gasping for air, no matter how much you know it’s not real or actually happening.
SLEEP IN OUR EYES, HER AND ME AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
BARELY AWAKE, I LET PRECIOUS TIME GO BY
THEN WHEN SHE’S GONE THERE’S THAT ODD MELANCHOLY FEELING
AND A SENSE OF GUILT I CAN’T DENY
Those early fall mornings, filled with fog, and so brisk before the sun broke through, were a tense time. The smell of toast and the warm glow of the kitchen lamp above the table were comforts, but only mild ones. The subdued rustling of a newspaper was the only whisper made as we all adjusted to the early hour. My brother and I finished our breakfast then walked across the street to meet the Mitchell girls for the walk to school. In their kitchen, we waited awkwardly for the three of them to get their stuff together. It was noisy and loud and chaotic – a different scene from our subdued home – and one that held its own allure and drawbacks. Every friend’s house we went to seemed strange and exotic, as I’m sure ours seemed to them. Some I envied, some I dreaded, and all were fascinating.
By that point, I’d almost outgrown the sadness I felt at leaving home every morning, but it would rear its head again as sickness and other manifestations of deeper problems added to my angst. I wasn’t quite there yet, and in that purgatorial fog I held on tight to the supposed ease of being a kid.
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES
THE PLACES I HAVE PLANNED FOR US TO GO
WELL, SOME OF THEM WE DID, BUT MOST WE DIDN’T
AND WHY, I JUST DON’T KNOW.
SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME
I TRY TO CAPTURE EVERY MINUTE, THE FEELING IN IT
SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME
DO I REALLY SEE WHAT’S IN HER MIND
EACH TIME I THINK I’M CLOSE TO KNOWING, SHE KEEPS ON GROWING
SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS ALL THE TIME…
I don’t know if my parents ever felt those pangs of not wanting us to grow up, not wanting to send us out on our own. Maybe that was their way of making sure that we could do it, and for that I’m retrospectively thankful. (I’ve seen far too many kids today get coddled and pampered, and I worry how they will deal with the reality of a world that’s not going to treat them so carefully.) Back then, from the child’s perspective, I’m sure I felt a little slighted, but I remember thinking (while on a summer vacation with my Mom and brother) that maybe we were all a little sad at how things had to change.
SOMETIMES I WISH THAT I COULD FREEZE THE PICTURE
AND SAVE IT FROM THE FUNNY TRICKS OF TIME…
SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS…
Whenever the first week of September rolls around, I feel the same dread and worry, even all these years later. It feels even more urgent of late, as many of my friends are sending their kids off to school. They’re on the other side of it now, and I don’t envy that either.
SCHOOL BAG IN HAND, SHE LEAVES HOME IN THE EARLY MORNING
WAVING GOOD-BYE, WITH AN ABSENT-MINDED SMILE
07
September
2016
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September
2016
Autumn Messenger
The sweetly-scented, daintily-flowered pretty little vine of the sweet autumn clematis is an attractive, if slightly unwelcome, harbinger of fall. If you see it in bloom, you know the darker seasons are right around the corner. Still, better to go out in a blaze of bright beauty than a dried mess of faded form and long-ago-withered flowers to which so much of the garden is quickly reverting. Though there is the risk of being less noticed than those backyard attention-getters (which stun at the height of summer when everyone is there to witness the show), there is something to be said for waiting until the end to shine. I appreciate such studied patience, and I enjoy saving the best for last.
07
September
2016
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September
2016
Dancing with Summer Memories
CLOCK STRIKES UPON THE HOUR
AND THE SUN BEGINS TO FADE
STILL ENOUGH TIME TO FIGURE OUT
HOW TO CHASE MY BLUES AWAY
I’VE DONE ALRIGHT UP ‘TIL NOW
IT’S THE LIGHT OF DAY THAT SHOWS ME HOW
AND WHEN THE NIGHT FALLS
LONELINESS CALLS…
Summer, morning, mid-to-late 1980’s. School was out. What adventures of a summer day waited for us to conquer them? Slowly coming out of sleep, I felt the first tension of growing up, deciding what to do with the day and stressing out about it. Did I stay in bed, savoring the morning hours of rest that didn’t exist during the school year, or did I get up and make the most of each moment of freedom? Through the sunny haze, I hear the new Whitney Houston song come on the radio, and suddenly I perk up. Giddy at everything – the start of summer, the perfection of a cheesy pop song, the sun streaming into the bedroom – I get out of bed and dance my sleepiness away. The decision is made. I savor the moment and can’t wait to see where the day takes me.
OH! I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY
I WANNA FEEL THE HEAT WITH SOMEBODY
YEAH! I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY
WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME
The big decisions then were where we would ride our bikes, how far we might go, what baseball cards we could find. Soon, I’d make my way downstairs to see whether my brother was already out and about, but for now I listened to Whitney, and that song would form the backdrop to a childhood summer that is all happiness and simple adventures.
When we weren’t burning rubber through the neighborhood, we were playing hide and seek or splashing about in the pool. We slowed down only for dinner and maybe lunch, and a bedtime so early there was still light in the sky. On the cusp of adolescence, I didn’t realize the waning days of carefree innocence. I didn’t know that summer would not always be this way. Part of me suspected, however, that this was good, and since all the adults around us had been telling us for years that childhood was the best and easiest part of life, I believed it and reveled in mine as much as I could.
That wasn’t always much, and I was far too serious far too much of the time, but on sunny summer mornings when Whitney Houston was extolling the virtues of love and dance, I moved to the music and made a memory of the moment that I hold to this day.
I’VE BEEN IN LOVE AND LOST MY SENSES
SPINNING THROUGH THE TOWN
SOONER OR LATER THE FEVER ENDS
AND I WIND UP FEELING DOWN
I NEED A MAN WHO’LL TAKE A CHANCE
ON A LOVE THAT BURNS HOT ENOUGH TO LAST
SO WHEN THE NIGHT FALLS
MY LONELY HEART CALLS
Three decades later, I find myself at the end of summer, on a weekend in which I’ve made a trip to Washington, DC based on a whim (and an incredible deal on Expedia). I tend to avoid DC in August, but my weather app revealed a weekend that looked to be in the low 80’s with reasonable humidity, so I took a chance, booked a room at the Topaz Hotel, and told my friend Chris I’d be down if he was available to hang out. The Delusional Grandeur Tour was back on the road, and there was still some summer to be had.
On the eve of Labor Day, we are finishing up dinner at Hazel. After catching up and contemplating our Big Chill touchpoints, we walked around a bit before stumbling upon a DC gay hotspot, Nellie’s, where music and laughter were blasting out of its multiple floors. After a bit of cajoling, I got Chris to go in, and we made our way upstairs, where a sea of people danced to a throbbing mix of new songs and classic ones, seamlessly melded together by a genius DJ. It was hot, but as we cut through the mass of bodies, we found a nice perch near a wall of open windows that turned the whole floor into a balcony overlooking the street below. With a wrought iron railing, and a view to another second-floor restaurant scene, it was reminiscent of New Orleans. This was a different time though, and Chris and I were older than most of the denizens breaking sweats on the dance floor. I watched with wonder and happy amusement. It was a good crowd, and everyone was smiling and laughing and enjoying themselves. It was, in many respects, the perfect antidote to a summer that began in such alarming fashion. I felt at peace and took in the moment.
SOMEONE WHO, SOMEONE WHO…. SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME,
SOMEONE WHO, SOMEONE WHO… TO HOLD ME IN HIS ARMS.
I NEED A MAN WHO’LL TAKE A CHANCE,
ON A LOVE THAT BURNS HOT ENOUGH TO LAST.
SO WHEN THE NIGHT FALLS, MY LONELY HEART CALLS…
Chris went to grab us a beer (when in Rome…) and I sat there for a bit, still watching.
If you’ve lived your entire adult life as a gay man, you get used to feeling out of place, so when you walk into a gay bar there’s a huge feeling of relief and calm that most straight people will never experience. I felt that familiar peace, and more: it came galvanized by a sense of community and belonging. I looked around on this late summer night, and all the happy people there reminded me of what glory and honor there was in being where we were right then. Across the room, a slice of America in our Capitol city: gay, straight, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, male, female, transgender, young, mature, tall, short, thin, voluptuous – a veritable patchwork quilt of breathtaking and gorgeous variety.
Then, I recognized the beginning of an old song, tonight born from the last notes of a Beyonce track: I Wanna Dance With Somebody Who Loves Me.
DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE WITH ME BABY?
DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE WITH ME BOY?
DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE WITH ME BABY?
WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME
People who hadn’t even been born when this song came out raised their hands and joined in the chorus, everyone belting it out in thunderous unison. It was one of those crests of music and movement that makes a night out worthwhile.
I thought back to that summer almost thirty years ago, when I tumbled out of bed and moved to the beat of a brand new morning. So much had happened since then, but instead of feeling tired or weary I felt a renewed energy. Moving slowly away from the edge, I entered the crowd, dancing like I danced on that summer morning so long ago. Surrounded by strangers, I didn’t feel alone, and I let myself go as we all sang along to Whitney. It only lasted a minute or two before Chris returned, but a new memory was made that is going to last a lifetime.
DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE?
SAY YOU WANNA DANCE?
DON’T YOU WANNA DANCE?
06
September
2016
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September
2016
A Promise Unkept
I make the same promise every year, but here it is again: next summer I will grow zinnias. Whenever I see the bouquets at restaurants or hotels spilling over with the happy over-saturated hued of zinnia blooms, I make this very vow, but I always forget, or simply don’t muster the space or will to do it when the time to do so is at hand.
They remind me of my grandmother, of carefree childhood days, of the spark of a colorful flower that thrills in an otherwise dull vegetable plot.
Yes, the world needs more zinnias.
I promise to do my part.
06
September
2016
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September
2016
Summer Carries Through September
Going out in a blaze of glory, summer weather returns this week to upstate New York. I just returned myself from Washington, DC (posts to come) so I’m in catch-up mode once again, but The Delusional Grandeur Tour is on fire, and just when I thought the wind had gone out of my touring sail, a re-energized itinerary has me going places once again.
As for today, let’s ease back into the work week gradually and peacefully, with this beautiful Japanese anemone, doing its part to close out the season in fine style. Our cup plants are still throwing a few of their yellow daisy-like blooms out, on toppled stems, but the finches don’t seem to mind. A September garden Renaissance is a brilliant thing to behold.
05
September
2016
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September
2016
Summer Goes to Seed
As the last summer holiday fades into memory, and the grass heads go to seed, it is time to acknowledge the indomitable approach of fall. As much as I eventually came around to this summer, and as glorious as the weather has been, I think I’m ready.
Fall always reenergizes the system. The lackadaisical leisure of the hot and steamy months gives way to the crisp new order of cooler nights and brisker days. New seasons of school and television signal new beginnings, and sometimes the return of old favorites with new twists. It is a time to reinvent. I love that sort of thing. Autumn is evolution in action.
While the bombast of summer blooms on the surfaces seems to wane, there are actually just as many pops of color waiting to explode. Fall is more about texture too, as seen in the feathery fronds of this ornamental grass. The sky is at its bluest at the start of fall, and in the asters and mums come some of the brightest colors the temperate season has to offer. (And we haven’t even gotten to the fiery-hued gourds yet…)
