Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Winter’s Magical Light

The light at this time of the year isn’t always magical or wondrous. Mostly it is gray and dull and muted – the sky mirroring the salty, sanded streets, and the blush off the rose of snow. Some days, though, it reveals a golden glow that only shows itself just before the sun goes down, on the needles of evergreens, and the bare branches of distant oaks and maples. It is a reminder that there is still life going on during these long and arduous weeks of winter.

Here is where I find the way through the rest of January – in the glimpses of sunlight that grow a little longer with each passing day. We move a little closer to spring – sometimes I can sense it in the air of a minor thaw, or the disappearance of holiday items from the stores. Soon, there will be a box of Cadbury creme eggs heralding the impending drama of Easter. Rather than going stir-crazy, I will embrace the slow roll, and do my best to find the beauty in every day, no matter how gray. 

Mercury has moved out of retrograde motion, perhaps allowing a bit of peace and quiet after its torturous tumult of the past few weeks. The time has come for winter calm – and winter light.

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Dazzler of the Day: My Mom

This is probably my favorite Dazzler of the Day since my Dad was featured and my husband Andy was crowned a couple of years ago. This is my Mom, Laurie, who gets named as Dazzler for being, well, my Mom. While we extolled her more meaningful virtues in this earlier post, this one is all about her sense of style. Any talent I may have at putting together an outfit was created, cultivated and honed by my mother. She would set out a selection of three outfits for me to chose for school the next day, subtly teaching me how to put a wardrobe together – what matched and didn’t, what worked well together, and what sort of things would be best for accessories. My springboard into fashion was launched by regular perusing of her jewelry drawer, her scarf drawer, and the rows of shoes found in her closets. I would marvel at the way she could go from beleaguered housewife-in-a-flannel-nightgown and slippers to a Sunday stunner at church in the matter of an hour or so. “My mother taught me to be admired” as a wise woman once said, and that has proven true in more ways than I can mention. Today, on her birthday, we celebrate my Mom’s style – elegant and classic and timeless – and always dazzling. 

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Lola’s Birthday

Like many families, ours has decidedly been structured around a matriarchal tradition: my mother has been the central figure who has largely held our family together throughout my entire life. From my first moments of mental recognition, I saw that our mother was the person who really ran things in our home. Dad may have gone out to work every day and doled out discipline when we got out of hand, but I saw and understood that the real person in charge was Mom. As such, I never doubted or had any society-skewed view of gender roles in our home. I viewed my parents largely as equals, and if anything the strength and power and charge of our family resided in Mom. If I have any decent recognition of the equality among genders, it’s due to my Mom’s example. 

She taught me and my brother many things over the years, molding us into the people we would become, teaching us a certain grace and unassuming humility, mostly because we never saw her engage in ugliness or confrontations or judgment. She took the best of her Catholic faith and lived it rather than preaching or talking about it. Her work as a nurse and later a professor of nursing showed me how we could help others – not by shouting about it or heralding her own efforts, but simply by doing. 

It’s a tradition that continues to this day, as she takes care of my father in his advancing age and medical condition, as well as her three grandchildren, to whom she is affectionately known as ‘Lola’. Her two sons are also still largely dependent on her for guidance and strength, as we find our own way as adults. This is her birthday, and while she deserves this sort of recognition every day, I’m putting it into print here to honor her in the only way that I can. 

Happy birthday, Mom – we love you!

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Tracing the Lines of Time

Twenty years ago, this website was having its soft-opening, which means that this March will mark the official 20th anniversary of ALANILAGAN.com. For a personal website, that’s a long-ass run – hell, for any kind of website that’s a long-ass run, and while I may seem to celebrate myself here on the daily, this one is worthy of note. To that end, I’ll be working on some 20th anniversary celebrations leading up and into March. 

A lot happens in 20 years. Look at my hair here – not a wisp of gray on the horizon. Not a wrinkle or laugh line or furrowed brow. And not a clue about that ridiculous goatee. The glory and ignorance of youth! I wouldn’t trade or alter any of it, nor would I want to go through it all again. 

My niece asked me that the other day – whether I’d go back and change anything. I answered that for the most part, no, as that might change any number of possible outcomes that led me to where I am today. Most people would give that stock answer, and while allowing for some caveats, it’s mostly true for me as well. The one thing I did add was that I don’t think I’d want to go through it all again. Not because I didn’t have moments of elation and enjoyment, but because at this particular moment I feel the weight and the work and the drudgery of those years, as much as I feel the accomplishments and happiness that have come along with it. She may have caught me at a moment of weakness and exhaustion. 

For now, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, determined to carry on with this website in its 20th year, determined to keep it as a diary and repository of creative work, determined to move forward and find a way closer to truth and beauty – and determined to make it through another winter. Do join me – it’s so much friendlier with two. 

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Dazzler of the Day: Paul Mescal

He just joined Richard Linklater’s 20-year production of ‘Merrily We Roll Along’, and with that added bit of sparkle, Paul Mescal earns his first crowning as Dazzler of the Day. Having compiled an impressive roster of stage performances in his native Ireland, Mescal has been garnering critical praise for his dramatic work in films such as ‘The Lost Daughter’, ”Aftersun’ and ‘God’s Creatures’. And so he rolls merrily along… 

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Hope Is A Growing Bump of Green

Whenever I see someone purchasing an orchid in full bloom from the market I wonder at what will become of it. I know most people will use them as an extended bouquet of flowers, and once they’ve finished their show they will be discarded, or perhaps stuffed into some corner for a long and slow demise. I don’t have the heart to do that, so I usually don’t bother with bringing one into our home.

About a year ago, however, we had guests visiting for a weekend, and I needed something for the bathroom. There weren’t any great cut-flower selections, but there was a smaller-statured orchid in glorious full bloom. At a reasonable price for its small size, I chose that and let it entertain the guests for their stay. After the blooms faded, I moved it to the front window of the living room, where it would get the most light. (Most people make the mistake of not giving their orchids enough light after their blooming cycle is done – that’s if they care enough to even try to take proper care of them.) It remained there, and as the winter continued, I added a little fertilizer and additional humidity so it might be happy. 

One of its bare stalks began swelling, and soon a little sport appeared, sending out a wavy nest of roots. I let it stay there until it grew a bit bigger. The months passed, and after it seemed to be acclimated to its window perch, I repotted it into a new pot and some bark, continuing with the fertilizing and increased humidity. 

A few weeks ago, I noticed three little bumps appearing on the main stem of the plant, and I assumed they were roots embracing their humid surroundings. I watched as they swelled a bit, daring to hope that they might be more than roots, and as they grew longer and developed into something more, I realized they were indeed flower buds. 

I’m not getting too invested just yet, as I’ve seen buds drop off with a wayward draft or changed watering schedule and I just don’t think my heart could handle seeing that happen, so I’ll contain my excitement to a reasonable level, while still embracing a little bit of hope. 

As for what variety or orchid this is, I cannot say. It was not marked with a name and so it remains a mystery until some plant expert can give a positive ID. Until then, it is a spark of green life and gratitude in the middle of a bleak winter.

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Dazzler of the Day: Maya Moore

Maya Moor just announced her official retirement from the WNBA, crowning a career of achievements that garnered her the Arthur Ashe award at the 2021 ESPYs and the following:

  •  2011 Rookie of the Year
  •  4x WNBA Champion
  •  2013 WNBA Finals MVP
  •  6x WNBA All-Star
  •  3x WNBA All-Star Game MVP

Today she earns her first Dazzler of the Day honor, just as her book “Love and Justice: A Story of Triumph on Two Different Courts” is available for purchase. Check out her website and her work for criminal justice reform here. 

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A Mid-January Recap

Arriving at the midway point of January, we have made the first noticeable chunk of progress through winter. I spent this past weekend in Boston with the twins, and will get into our adventures later this week. For now, a look back at what came before (and a sneak peek of the twins at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum)…

Shriveled balls, because it’s winter.

Minty-fresh balls.

A gratuitous foot fetish post.

Winter precious.

Vital floral respite.

C’est mon plaisir.

Greenery out, greenery in.

The lashes of Jaxon Layne.

Return to paradise.

A morning of intention.

I’ve been A.I. since I was born, and this AI Portrait filter is absolutely ludicrous.

Dazzlers of the Day included Cheryl L. Johnson, Nathan Lee Graham, and Jeremy Pope.

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I’ve been A.I. since I was Born

The ‘AI Portrait’ filter is all the rage on various social media sites, and while I typically abhor a filter, this one has proven especially ridiculous in all the ways it distorts and translates a photo into a completely different image. It sent me down a rabbit hole of possibilities – is this how the world views us? Is this more in line with how we appear to others than how we appear in the mirror? Is this how I should have been wearing my hair when it wasn’t so gray? Lots of questions, lots of musings… and speaking of musing, my new musical muse Mia just sent over a few songs of inspiration, including this one entitled ‘One More Hour’ which posits themes of time and love and all the good stuff that goes along with a properly-examined life. 

Just a moment, right before all the song and danceWasn’t brave enough to tell youBut there ain’t gonna be another chanceIt’s not long until all that I have and everything’s stillThe minutes are racin’
Whatever I’ve done, I did it for loveI did it for fun – couldn’t get enoughI did it for fame but never for moneyNot for houses, Not for herNot for my future children

The music is a challenge – as much as the images are – as much as any piece of art can be. The ideas of time and love, and hurt and pain, and how many times we get up and do it all over again – it all mashes together as the cacophony of this song winds its way along a wavy trajectory. 

How could I love again?How could I ever ask for more?And to the road aheadInto a life I can’t ignore, how could I love again?(Move on) how can I walk this path for sure?(Lose her) with no more time to spend(Move on) I know the answer more and more
As long as I can, Long as I canSpend some time aloneAs long as I can, Long as I canBe the man I am

The funk of the past few months is something I have acknowledged. A little rut, a sunken stretch when the distance of friends suddenly aligned, as if someone simply switched off my light and no one saw me anymore. I didn’t fight it, didn’t rage against the quiet onslaught of being left to my own devices, with just Andy by my side. Part of me actively encouraged it, reveling in this alone time, daring to hint at the sort of friendship drama not seen since ‘The Banshees of Inisherin’ (without all the bloody appendages). 

Oh, life is strangeFor one more hour, I can rageFor one more hour
As long as I can (lose her)As long as I can (move on)Spend some time aloneAs long as I can (lose her)As long as I can (move on)Remember who I am
And then the dangers of losing oneself in the solitude showed themselves – in the way I would start talking to strangers, as much to repel them as to engage. The interior battle of deciding whether to find fault with the wayward cashier at Target, who seemed like she might be giving me sass, but whose sass reminded me of my own teenage rampage. The decision to not challenge the woman vacuuming the hallway on my way out of the office, who was upset I used the door closest to her and snarled that there was another door I could have used, like she owned the place. My confused smile because I didn’t quite get what she was saying at first seemed to disarm her a bit, but then her scowl returned in more cutting form. The next day, I saw her again, and I watched as another person went out the door I had gone out, right near her, and she paused again, looking up and giving the person the dirtiest look I’ve seen outside of my own mirror. They didn’t even notice. I went out the door furthest from her, grateful that my work day was done, and grateful that I hadn’t been a dick about her the day before, because her work day was just beginning. 
As long as I can (lose her)As long as I can (move on)Spend some time aloneAs long as I canAs long as I can (how could I love again?)Be the man I am

At the end of the day, setting the alarm on my phone for three separate times, ten minutes apart, I curl up in bed, a pillow between my knees to bring sleep as soon as possible. My mother once told me that was a trick the hospitals used for overnight patients who couldn’t get to sleep. When the days are filled with quiet rumination, it sometimes makes for nights that begin in sleepless fashion. I stare at these silly AI creations and lose myself in characters I never was but perhaps wanted to be, in days that I thought I spent well, even if they were mostly filled with the wasteful abandon of youth. I listen to this song, suggested by the daughter of two good friends, and I think of how she is just beginning her journey,  on the verge of entering those years where we become who we are going to become. Those years, and that person I was, feel as intimate and foreign to me as these photos. It’s like seeing myself in a strange new light, as when someone captures an angle of you in a photo that you didn’t realize was being taken, and you see what others see for the first time, and it’s jarring and disturbing and wondrous – it shifts perspective, it alters the interior image. 

Just a minute, fella, right before you go out thereAll your voices said you wouldn’t last a minute bareOne more hour and you’ll know your life is one to shareJust a minute, baby, right before we go from hereAll those people said we wouldn’t last a minute nearI’m with you and I could roll into another year

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A Morning of Intention

Beginning the day with a meditation has often been an effective method of dealing with periods such as when Mercury is in retrograde or a full moon is on the horizon. It works on all the other days as well, probably even more-so, in that it sets a tone and intention for a day filled with calm and serenity, lending a flexibility to what has been the bane of many a Virgo: our rigid need for structure and control and order. I find that if I start from a place of peace and calm, it’s much easier to deal with the hiccups and setbacks of every given day. 

So it was on a recent Friday morning that I found myself on a badly-needed day off from work, sitting lotus-style in my usual meditation spot, gently gazing around me and settling on the Norfolk Island Pine in our living room. 

Beginning the meditation by slowing my breathing, inhaling deeply in, then slowly letting it out, I allowed the eyes to close, clearing my mind by acknowledging the rush of thoughts that occupied this average morning. The human brain is startling in all that it accomplishes in a single moment of time – the decisions and connections and routes it takes for a thought to form and flood into consciousness are myriad and complex – and we don’t even think about it. That’s the secret to finding a balanced sense of mindfulness – knowing when to think, and when to simply exist. I’m not quite there yet, and I probably never will be. I am embracing the journey and the path, wherever it takes me. 

Setting the theme for a day just as it begins is a luxury I should plan for and implement in my schedule, as it does work a bit of magic in such trying times. 

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Dazzler of the Day: Jeremy Pope

Could Jeremy Pope be a future member of the EGOT club? My money’s on yes, as he has been nabbing nominations right and left, including one for his recent Golden Globes win. Having been nominated for Emmy, Grammy and Tony Awards, he’s well on his way to EGOT status – an upcoming turn in the film version of ‘The Collaboration’ in which he plays Jean-Michel Basquiat. Today he can add Dazzler of the Day to that impressive resume. 

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Return to Paradise

These orchids seemed to wink at me as I made my weekly pilgrimage to the nearby greenhouse – a reminder of the sort of paradise that feels far away in mid-January. They provided a bit of escapism, like this Shirley Horn song that is so gorgeously transportive. Close your eyes, give it a listen, and let your own ideas of paradise parade before the mind’s eye. We can fly…

It’s not a bad song to see us through a Saturday in winter. 

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The Lashes of Jaxon Layne

My godson is turning into quite the charmer, with those eyelashes and that giddy smile. He also has an intuitive timer to keep such charms to himself and away from the prying eye of the camera phone: as soon as I lift my phone to capture one of his poses, he pauses his smile, only to instantly resume once I put the silly phone down. Oh what lessons this boy is going to teach us! 

I was quick and persistent enough to catch this one quick smile, and then I pocketed the phone to enjoy the rest in person. He seems to be a happy baby, and he’s just starting to bounce around and become more active. I’ll be documenting his progress in spite of his camera-dodging efforts. 

When all else fails, a new baby can make believers out of the most jaded of us. 

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Greenery Out, Greenery In

Andy always waits at least until the Epiphany (or as he puts it ‘Little Christmas’) before taking our Christmas tree down, and it’s a tradition I’ve come to appreciate and embrace. As long as it’s out before all the needles drop, and as long as I don’t have to take part in its sad deconstruction, I’m fine with this timetable. It extends the light of the season, which this year I needed a bit as I was not feeling particularly Christmas-like until it was practically over. At that point I paused beneath the tree as I began my daily meditation, inhaling its delicious pine scent, and marveling at the way the lights and ornaments cast their enchanting spell. Anyone can get excited about the tree when it first goes up, when the season is fresh and new – it takes a different kind of person to embrace it during its last days. And it takes a very special kind of person to take it down with the honor and care that Andy uses every year. I sense that it’s a ritual for him.

He removes each fragile ornament, wrapping every single one with a single tissue, and carefully places them back in their container. Then he unwinds the lights from the branches, before adroitly rolling them back up so they can be unfurled with ease the next year. He goes about the process slowly, with purpose and deliberation, and I see how it is how own meditative practice – a way of putting another year to bed, a way to remember his own childhood and youth, a way to bring back memories of those he has loved and lost. 

For my part, I will miss the greenery, and the soft light that the tree provided to our living room. To make up for it, I will seek out greenery – such as this bouquet of eucalyptus branches, or a vase of silvery-green junipers from the yard – to take the place of the missing tree. It’s a little effort that makes a difference in these dim days of January, when so much of what the heart yearns for now – green, verdant warmth – is in such short supply. 

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C’est mon plaisir

Isabella Stewart Gardner knows how to create an inviting environment, and as such she has been a muse of mine for years, having assembled a museum where she lived and shared beauty with the world. One of the sayings she was reportedly quite fond of using was ‘C’est mon plaisir’ – it’s my pleasure – which is surely one of the most pleasing things a person can say or hear. Whenever I thank anyone for something and they reply ‘My pleasure’ instead of ‘You’re welcome’ I instantly adore them all the more – it’s simply a lovelier response.

On this Friday the 13th, as Mercury continues wreaking its retrograde havoc, let us be as lovely as we can be to one another. 

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