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October 2019

Three mothers of friends I know have passed away in the last month, making this a somewhat sad fall. There’s no balm for losing a mother, I would imagine. Andy still feels the loss of his Mum, and I think of her whenever I see cardinals. A few have been visiting our backyard over the last few weeks, and we find comfort in this, as if she’s nodding at us, saying hello on these sunny fall days.

The weight of the world is on our mothers. Many of us don’t realize this as we’re growing up, and we take them for granted or treat them with less kindness and care than they deserve. Seeing my friends lose their Moms makes me treasure mine a little more.

There is so much loss in this world, so much pain and heartache, and whenever it feels unbearable I tend to turn to my Mom for comfort and solace. I can’t imagine the loneliness for those who aren’t so lucky.

Apologies for this maudlin post. We shall return to our regularly scheduled frivolity shortly. Some things just merit a moment. Some days are about contemplation, not celebration.

Today Suzie and I are making a quick overnight trip to Washington, DC, where we haven’t been for a number of years. (The last time we were in town was for Chris and Darcy’s wedding; this time is far less happy.) I booked a room at the Dupont Circle Hotel because they are ideally located, and every time I’ve stayed there it has been a pleasant and lovely experience. (They had me at heated bathroom floors.) Happiness is a hotel that knows how to take care of its clients.

It’s also a hotel with a restaurant and cocktail bar, which this place has in elegant spades. I still recall the ‘Alan’s Love’ cocktail, and whenever my name is spelled correctly, and gin is involved, I’m fully on board. Hopefully it’s still an option. A recent refurbishment has me more excited than usual about trying it out again. I’ll report back in a few days…

On this anniversary of Madonna’s ‘Erotica’ album release, I give you this sultry recap of hockey butts, hot-ass florals, and sleepovers, all fueled by photos from that Madonna era. 

Last week began with this lazy mouse-house post.

Reversing roles, or upstairs/downstairs.

A new #TinyThread appeared.

One hot-ass post.

Maybe I need a new project…

The must-read: Andy and I hosted our first sleepover with the Ilagan twins. 

A trick of time and light. 

Fall fragrances by Tom Ford.

My hero walks in downtown Albany. 

Shirtless male celebrities: a collection.

A feather fell in Boston many, many years ago.

My handsome husband celebrated his birthday.

Hunks of the Day included Christian Dante White, John Lam, Ansel Elgort, Dylan Larkin, Dan Tai, Aristotle Polites, and Wes Nelson.

Ou te caches-tu, Alegria, pour ces enfants de la rue qui n’ont meme pas de quoi se payer un rire. Ce soir, nos cris de joie deviendront cris de rage alors que des milliers de jeunes coeurs se perdont au plus profond de notre bienveillance. Vivement que le chant d’Alegria entraine ceux de nous qui ont la volonte d’agir!

Translation: We have no illusions. The children of the streets will not see Alegria. Laughter is still a luxury they cannot afford. Tonight, our cries of joy will become screams of rage that millions of young hearts will again freeze in the gutters of our goodwill. May Alegria become a rallying cry for those of us who have a voice.

A gray feather, small and delicate and fine, floats like a tiny puff of smoke before snagging itself on a leaf the color of a canary. A sky of blue, backdrop to swiftly-moving clouds, does not betray the turbulence of the days before, but the trees still drip with remnants of the rain. Balmy October days are unexpectedly delightful in a mean sort of way, tricky enough to convince you that a bit of summer still lingers before the undeniable curtain of cold descends for good.

How sad, I think as I write this, that you will never feel the same emotional thrill I feel when listening to this song. How could you? You weren’t there in that time in my life when I was hearing it. It’s a lonely thing, that we don’t share such memories. You have songs that will instantly bring you back to certain moments in your life, and I won’t know what or how it moves you. Even if we listened to it together doesn’t mean we will both be transported to that time and place. Music affects us differently. I suppose everything does. It’s a wonder we find any commonality at all, so wondrously variable are our experiences and perception.

Most of us have those songs that mean something solely to ourselves, and maybe one or two other people, whose melody evokes a memory so indelibly seared upon our brains that it’s jarring when it surfaces again. That’s what ‘Alegria’ does to me. From the very first clanging of the bells, I am brought back to a few weeks in Boston, when I was searching for the condo, and falling madly in love with any gentleman who crossed my path. I didn’t know what the song was about, I didn’t read or understand French, but I sensed some heartache and pain at work, something that was supposed to be worked through for healing and heart-mending. I listened to the song alone, as I did most everything in those days. It forced me to be my own best friend. Solitude is soul-shaping, for better or worse.

Perched in its tree and lit with the autumnal splendor of the sun – a splendor that only comes at this time of the year when the leaves are shades of cooked corn – the little gray feather twists and turns in the wind, but refuses to fall from its place. Performing such a delicate balancing act, like an extension of the bird it came from, the feather seems to wink at me, telling me that somehow everything will be all right. I do not know that then. I do not trust it.

Then, just like that, the feather releases. It lets go. It flutters away on the briskest of breezes, giddily tumbling into the sky in whirling fashion.

I wish I could let go like that, but back then I was too frightened.

Maybe that’s what saved me.

I didn’t follow the feather to see what came of it.

It was better to keep it floating in the sky of my mind.

For reasons that will be obvious to anyone who knows me, the man pictured here is my new hero. I say that without snark or sarcasm, because it has been my dream to wear a robe 24/7, and he looks to be living that dream. Sir, I commend and salute you. Keep on rocking on.

Looking out into the backyard from the dining room window, I was struck by the reflection of water wavering on the tree leaves. It suddenly reminded me of a day from early in the summer, when the water played similar scenes on much fresher leaves. Only the trained eye could make out the differences here – the plants past their prime, the trees beyond their bloom, and the sun long since peering down from its zenith. But if you don’t look that hard, it almost feels like summer again.

In certain situations, I don’t mind being tricked. Especially if it reminds me that summer will come again.

Dipping into a lull that I still am not quite sure to attribute to the season or the lack of creative excitement in my life of late, I’ve been trying to channel inspiration wherever I can find it. Felt like a good enough time to revisit some projects and see where I might be headed next. The artistic spirit in me finds it works best when in the midst of planning or making something, rather than resting on previous projects, so I’m putting out the usual feelers into the universe, seeing what strikes my fancy and renders my creative juices. Anyway, a look back is always good at such times. How can you know where you want to go if you don’t acknowledge where you’ve been?

• Once Upon A Watercolor ~ 2019
• PVRTD ~ 2018
• The Delusional Grandeur Tour ~ 2015-2017
• Bardo: The Dream Surreal ~ 2011
• A 21st Century Renaissance ~ 2010
• A Night at the Hotel Chelsea ~ 2009
• The Circus Project ~ 2008
• StoneLight ~ 2007