Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Of Slumber, Sweet and Soft

It seems some of us have taken to sleeping more than usual as we wind our way into winter. Both Andy and my Dad have been sleeping much more than usual, with naps that last deep into the day. I find myself more sleepy than usual too, thanks partly to the reduced daylight, and the weather that makes one want to linger in a warm bed for as long as possible. Sleep is a beautiful indulgence, unappreciated by too many of us, and underutilized as well. Much healing, and healing of a profound sort, can happen in our sleep. The body works its magic then, when it can focus on what needs repair rather than the rigorous exertions required to keep us awake and functioning at any given moment. We all need rest and recuperation. 

Hunkering down for some long winter naps is a recompense of the dark and stormy seasons. On gray weekend afternoons, when the sun doesn’t really bother to truly shine, I’ll slip up to the attic, pull a few sumptuous blankets onto the bed, and read until my eyes gently close. There are far more destructive ways to pass a day, especially during the impending holiday rush; this is a pleasant and peaceful alternative. If there is a cup of tea waiting for me downstairs when the nap is done, the coziness might continue. 

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Dazzler of the Day: Douglas Sills

My adoration for Douglas Sills was born instantly, intensely, and irrevocably the moment he set foot onstage as the lead character in ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’ in the 90’s. In that show he gave the performance of a lifetime, cementing his stature as a powerhouse in front of an audience, as much as he had proven himself to be behind the camera. His turn as Percy, alternately swashbuckling and fanciful, filled with foppish flourishes and pivoting into deadly-earnest drama at the drop of a feathered hat, was the sort of revelatory showcase that seals a history-making moment on Broadway. I still remember that theatrical season, mostly due to Sills and his indelible creation. Decades later, we would have the privilege and joy of seeing him back on a big Broadway stage with his scene-stealing role in ‘War Paint’ with Patti LuPone (who infamously once flashed him on a dare) and Christine Ebersole (hello Big and Little Edie). Lately, he’s been giving hearts a tug on the Broadway-infused fabulousness that is ‘The Gilded Age‘, where his pseudo-French chef proved one of the downstairs highlights of the first season. I can’t wait to see where he takes us next – until then he is the Dazzler of the Day

 

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Afternoon Stalks

Illuminated by the descending sun, in that afternoon light that is made all the more glorious for its fleeting trajectory, these straps of fountain grass have dried completely into the straw-colored stalks you see here. Topped by the plumes of their seedheads, little mops of fluffy tentacles, they sway and move in the slightest breeze, creating their own symphony of light and sound. Against a blue sky that has somehow retained more color than late November skies typically harbor, the grass rustles and murmurs – sometimes in a whisper, sometimes in a hiss, sometimes in a harsh tear – dead and dry leaves rubbing wickedly against one another. It is the music of another world, not usually heard or understood or appreciated by human ears. 

In our backyard, the squirrels rush by in small groups, chasing each other in some mad quest for more seeds and acorns, while the birds still haunt the bare stalks of the cup plant and seven sons’ flower tree, hoping to find some missed fruit of late summer hidden among the stems. Andy and I watch them go by, and though the day has grown relatively warm for this time of the year, it’s still cozier to be on the inside looking out. 

The sunlight leaves quickly after that. During my meditation, I sense the rapid draining of light from the sky, as the candle before me grows brighter in comparison. It was a sunny day, much appreciated in November, and gone much too soon; there is less than a month left of fall, and then the entirety of winter beyond that. 

I keep the music of the grass in my head, the sweetness of its rustle and cut, the way the most tattered things still manage to make something beautiful when singled out and heard. 

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The Diabolical

“It is hard for me to make sense on any given level. Myself is fabricated, an aberration. I am a noncontingent human being. My personality is sketchy and unformed, my heartlessness goes deep and is persistent. My conscience, my pity, my hopes disappeared a long time ago (probably at Harvard) if they ever did exist. There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it, I have now surpassed. I still, though, hold on to one single bleak truth: no one is safe, nothing is redeemed. Yet I am blameless. Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this—and I have countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing…” ~ Bret Easton Ellis, ‘American Psycho’

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The Holly Without the Ivy

We begin in even quieter form than we did last year, when we had both holly and ivy to kick off the season. Today, it’s holly alone, and we’ll have to add the ivy at a later date. Maybe it’s better to space them out a bit, to allow for a longer and more lasting season. This year it’s going to take some Herculean efforts to push me into holiday merriment, so it will be best to keep expectations low, to take in the little moments of quiet and stillness, or maybe take a few walks in the woods if the weather allows. 

Reconnecting with nature is the goal this winter. That will take some planning and work, as my habit at this time of the year is to retreat inside, replacing the daily walk around our little house with spells in the attic, or channel-surfing by the fireplace in the basement. If I put out the intent to get outside more, maybe I’ll manifest the action. Let this be an earnest intention to make the attempt. 

“The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown.”

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My Christmas Wish List, If You Are So Generously Inclined

The older I get, the less I need, and the slightly-less I want. Still, who in their right mind would pass up the opportunity for gift-getting? As proof that the universe conspires to help those who ask for it, there’s currently a sale going on at Tom Ford, so any of the underwear items (size small, as they run rather roomy) found here would be very much appreciated

The latest offering from the exquisite Frederic Malle line of fragrance, ‘Uncut Gem’ has all the notes I love, and a moniker that is as timeless as it is slightly saucy. 

Mr. Turk is also offering some Black Friday sales at the moment, though that doesn’t really put a major dent in the price points, but a girl can dream. (Especially of pants like this, which, due to their slim fit, I now require a 33″ in the waist – but for all else I’m still a 32, thank you very much.) Or forget the pants altogether, as I tend to do when I’m working from home, and focus on a gorgeous shirt like this, size large.

Bonobos has the best fit for pants (waist size 32″, length 30″) as they allow for the kind of meaty caboose that holiday eating will deliver, whether we want it or not. These Italian stretch chinos in Mineral look lovely, though my heart really belongs to these velvet penguin pants

When all else fails, and you long to be someone who makes me smile over the holidays, there’s always my Amazon wish list, a hodge-podge of whimsical desires (to which I’ll be adding more affordable selections as certain smart people have indicated I’m reaching for the stars). 

What do you want for Christmas?

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #169 – ‘Beautiful Stranger’ ~ Summer 1999

{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.}

How strangely beautiful that just as our weather turns foul, this summer bop comes along with sultry memories of heat and sun, and the restless infatuations that once made up a summer night. Sandwiched between Madonna’s brilliant ‘Ray of Light’ album and the soon-to-be-stomper of ‘Music’, this William Orbit soundtrack tune set the aural stage for her ‘American Pie‘ cover and found Madonna in-between projects just as I was in-between boyfriends. 

A summer in Boston can be gorgeously disconcerting when one is between boyfriends, and shuffling along from crush to obsession to debilitating bewilderment is not made easier by the tricky heat and humidity of the season. Those dizzying days blur together now, somewhere between retail work at Structure and my first office job at John Hancock, somewhere in my early-to-mid-twenties, when everyone is allowed and expected to act the supreme fool with all the unjustified and false self-confidence of youth. Everything was stultifyingly serious and silly at once – as deadly as it was ridiculous – and Madonna decided to throw her fuckery into the ring with this song created for a goddamned Austin Powers movie (which I still have not seen). 

I immediately put the swirling psychedelic opening onto my answering machine (because we had manual answering machines back then, and CD players) and used the title of the song as my screensaver. It was the 90’s for fuck’s sake – we were doing the best we knew to do, and more often than not failing miserably. As a die-another-day Madonna fan, I felt she could do no wrong, and I fell giddily under the spell of this song, just as I fell under the spells of all those beautiful boys who crossed my path at night. 

Haven’t we met?You’re some kind of beautiful strangerYou could be good for meI have a taste for the danger…

A Boston summer night, with all its mystery and sparkle, unfurled beyond the stretch of steps that led up to the condo. Watching the street below, I paused there as the street lamps glowed yellow, lighting the ways of workers winding along their paths home, or revelers just embarking on the start of a night out. All potential opportunities, all possible love stories – because isn’t that what every night was at that point in life? Even when we pretended it wasn’t, it always was. I knew it, and I knew my heart wouldn’t stop yearning just because I told it to stop. 

If I’m smart then I’ll run awayBut I’m not so I guess I’ll stayHeaven forbidI’ll take my chance on a beautiful stranger
I looked into your eyes and my world came tumblin’ downYou’re the devil in disguise that’s why I’m singin’ this song
To know you is to love you

He said his name was Freddy. At least, I think he did. He lived just a street or two away, near an incongruous mimosa tree that lent its perfume to that strange stretch of summer, and he seemed a little too magical to be true. He passed by only in the deep hours of night, and we smiled our smiles that bordered on snickers because we both had no idea what we were doing. 

Those summer nights mixed with liquor in ways that were both wonderful and disconcerting, and on one particular late evening, we wound up on my couch, as young gents are often wont to do. It wasn’t like it usually was – rough and hungry and frantic, when two young men are so into each other they devour all in sight, driving tongues and appendages deeply and relentlessly into whatever is physically possible – this was almost like a moment of stilled time. No hurried pulling off of underwear, no rushed grabbing of backs or fronts, no quick tumble onto the bed while still joined desperately at the mouth. Instead, we sat silently. No one moved. The air felt still too. Even with the open windows everything had stopped, stilled like a movie moment out of ‘The Matrix’. 

It was the strangest thing. He didn’t want a drink. I didn’t want another. We simply stayed sitting there, not even talking, and no one moved to break the spell. It was impossible to tell if this was weird for him too, but he remained silent, and so it became less weird for me. I already half-believed he wasn’t really there.

You’re everywhere I goAnd everybody knowsTo love you is to be part of youI pay for you with tearsAnd swallow all my pride

Ta-da-da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da-daBeautiful strangerTa-da-da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da-daBeautiful stranger

The dim light of a lone lamp near the door was all that glowed in that moment. A little more came from the street outside, and the uppermost floors of what was then the John Hancock tower sparkled in the distance. Afraid to seek out his eyes and be seen in return, I slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and slid my hand across his chest. Was he even real? And if he was, what did he even want? I straddled him decisively then, to pin him down in case he was a ghost. He didn’t squirm or try to get away – instead our lips just barely touched, our noses only lightly grazing one another, and never before or since have I had a wisp of a kiss that left me wondering whether or not it had actually happened. Hovering over him, thighs upon thighs, I watched as he slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons of my shirt, and then leaned his head into my chest. 

I pulled him closer into me, my chin resting on his soft hair as he breathed in the scent of my skin. We were impossibly young and saw no reason why it wouldn’t last. 

He leaned back into the couch then, keeping his eyes down and his gaze averted. I wanted so badly to see him and to look into his eyes, but I followed his lead and didn’t pry, gently maneuvering off of his lap. Aside from our shirt buttons, our clothes were all still on, all still intact. We hadn’t even mussed our hair. 

If I’m smart then I’ll run awayBut I’m not, so I guess I’ll stayHaven’t you heard?I fell in love with a beautiful stranger
I looked into your faceMy heart was dancin’ all over the placeI’d like to change my point of viewIf I could just forget about you
To know you is to love you

In all the nights and years that came before and would later ensue, in the many men and people who would occupy my bed and my body, this would be one of the few times I felt so intensely attuned to someone that it was a spiritual moment of connection which transcended the physical world. It wasn’t because of who he was, it wasn’t because of who I was, it was simply because of some magical alchemy that brought two people into each other’s orbits for a night, when a mimosa tree sprinkled its ripe perfume onto two young men who couldn’t quite bear the idea of being alone at that hour, on that street, in that summer. 

In the following weeks, I would watch for him, but never very seriously. I didn’t seek out where he lived, or haunt the general vicinity like I would do for others. Maybe our schedules were off-kilter, maybe his nights weren’t his alone anymore, maybe he never existed outside of the conjured longings of my overactive imagination. Whatever the case, I would never see him again, and I would never really look. My heart didn’t want to find him, and my head knew that to see him again would break such a perfect spell. 

You’re everywhere I goAnd everybody knows
I looked into your eyesAnd my world came tumblin’ downYou’re the devil in disguiseThat’s why I’m singin’ this song to you
To know you is to love youYou’re everywhere I goAnd everybody knowsI pay for you with tearsAnd swallow all my pride
Song #169 – ‘Beautiful Stranger’ ~ Summer 1999

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Royal Holiday Tradition

Ever since receiving this as a birthday gift from a few years ago, my Thanksgiving scent has been ‘Royal Oud’ by Creed – a woody and peppery oud that appropriately tips its hat to the gourmand goals of the holiday. The House of Creed also provided my wedding day fragrance (‘Green Irish Tweed‘) as well as the signature ‘Aventus’ to which I finally succumbed and use as an office fragrance. ‘Royal Oud’ is the more challenging and complex of the trio of Creed offerings on my scent shelf, and I have grown to love it in the cooler months. It’s cozy and spicy and warm, like a favorite sweater that some people love, and some find too much. 

Whenever I slip into a period of self-doubt, when insecurity rears its relentless head, I put on a jacket, and a spritz of good cologne, and I feel a little bit better. It puts me back on track – a realignment that reminds me of simpler times, when problems could be so easily solved by a change of cologne or clothing. 

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Heeding the Holiday Start

En route to Amsterdam for our family Thanksgiving dinner, we finally gave in to one of the Christmas music channels on Andy’s radio, and so we spent the ride there and back immersed in our first brush with holiday music this year. It was time, and we needed a little holiday lift. On this day of gratitude, which also marked the anniversary of Andy’s Mom’s passing, we have learned to be appreciative of the little graces afforded in life

A bright flash of lemon cypress and the mottled leaves of ivy among these scarlet kalanchoe blooms provide a lovely holiday entry point – proof that powerful colors and simple plants will always be better than any artificial tinsel or electric lights. I will try to take that lesson with me throughout the season, turning to the natural world for tranquility when all the human-induced holiday madness threatens to overwhelm. 

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Happy Thanksgiving

There is quite a lot I have to be thankful for this year, and most of it is right here in this post. 

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours – may we love and accept and embrace each other in the year to come. 

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A New Kind of Party

This used to be one of the biggest party nights of the year. It kicked off the holiday season, and we always spent it in our friend Bob’s apartment overlooking Washington Park, where his gregarious collection of friends and relatives provided a happy and convivial atmosphere for good times to come. For many years, this was our tradition, and when Bob moved I begged and pleaded for him to keep it going, which he did for a bit, but eventually he got out of the party game – a trendsetter for the dying tradition

At first I missed them – the parties, and the people, and the chance to reconvene just as the most wonderful time of the year was getting started. It was a tradition that had become comfortable, that allowed for a brief bit of drinking and debauchery to varying degrees, which we would then feed and quell the next day at Thanksgiving dinner

After a few years, however, I understood Bob’s giving up the party ghost. It was a lot, and I can’t imagine being saddled with the clean-up following a party on a day like Thanksgiving. Tonight, I remember those days, and I celebrate the traditions we have now.

For instance, today I made the traditional candied yams, as well as this new pumpkin tres leches cake, and a couple of dips for appetizers. Andy made a last-minute supermarket run, and then we were both in for the night by 8 PM. We watched a bit of the ‘A Christmas Story’ and now I find myself writing this good-night post in the attic while the light of a few candles flickers cozily nearby.

Twenty years ago, we’d just be arriving at the party at such an hour, the chill of the evening only partly kept at bay by whatever fanciful coat I found to display. Now I’ve traded in my velvet jacket for a sleeveless sweatshirt and shorts, and it’s a trade-off that feels surprisingly good. 

For all you revelers still carrying the torch, party on friends – be safe, be yourself, and be sure to enjoy every moment. 

 

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Lurkey for the Turkey

It is once again Turkey Lurkey Time, celebrated in such posts as this (in which I actually caught a Boston turkey on camera). That means we are posting this silly Broadway holiday classic, a version from the appropriately-titled film ‘Camp’:

That’s all. 

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Rush of Madness

Before we dive into the maelstrom of the holidays, let’s have this moment of calm – and let’s see if we can return to it whenever the season threatens to overwhelm. The music of Phillip Glass often provides a mesmerizing opportunity in meditation, his notes flowing like water, spilling over one another in gorgeous wave upon wave, rushing and then slowing the way a stream does depending on rain and snow melt. It is music for contemplation, music with which to pause and breathe. 

Once tomorrow arrives, there is no turning back – it will be the high holiday season, and the rush of that rollercoaster to Christmas will bring us down that first steep track with a whoosh. The chain reaction of holiday magic will be set into motion, and there will be scant few moments in which to find true peace and comfort. That seems the antithesis of how this season came into being, and so I will strive to find a way to honor its humble and more meaningful origins. It begins with a post like this, and a quiet morning with just a little piano music to ease into the day. 

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Rose Hips and Autumn Leaves

The holiday season slowly unfurls in this lovely piece entitled ‘Autumn Leaves’ by the brilliant Vince Guaraldi, who wrote the classic themes to the Peanuts holiday features. This selection is a lovely entry into the season, transitioning from autumn’s splendor into hints of the holidays to come. In our haste to hurry into all things Christmas, we sometimes forget that there’s a full month of autumn still to celebrated. 

There are also moments of quiet beauty, as found in these rose hips, that shouldn’t be discounted in all the bombast and hoopla that is currently building – little bits of nature showing off when the world has written her off. Such gems are there to be found if one adjusts expectations.

While I will always love the blooms of a rose, and the fragrance that often accompanies them, I also appreciate the rose hips when they ripen into such glory. It’s a forgotten stage of the rose’s life-cycle, and as we move toward winter it’s wise to celebrate such simple joys. When the snow arrives there will be enough time to conjure and create the artificial means of getting through the winter. For now, I slow down to listen to the music of autumn, the wind and the rustle of the leaves… 

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Tuesday Bluesday

Named for the color of the sky in these shots rather than any Tuesday blues sort of thing, the turn in weather of late has suddenly thrust us onto the verge of the holiday season. These two tall evergreens are already decorated with hanging pinecones, the very best sort of decorations when it comes to the holidays: natural, simple, and easy. Every year I strive for this trio, and almost every year I fall short. Or rather, I fall into excess. I used to do too much, I used to force things, and I used to make life much more difficult. The last couple of years I’ve slowly worked out of that, choosing to be selective about commitment and social events, and to enjoy the days as they arrived. Being mindful is something that works well for that, and for a lot of things. 

This holiday season is about to commence, and I’m going into it with the same goal. 

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