Stalwart ornamental guardians of the season of gourds, these pumpkins look ready to stand sentinel at entryways and porches and anywhere that needs a dose of fall splendor. Andy and I don’t do much decorating with pumpkins, and I don’t think we’ve carved a Jack-o’-lantern since 2000, maybe 2001. I’m fine with that, as my memories of pumpkin-carving are messy and gross and never quite worth the effort.
When one crosses the threshold into fall, it doesn’t always feel like fall. There are days when the sun is strong, and the heat builds like it does back in summer. The idea of a heavy and musky cologne at such a time feels as out of place as a wool cardigan on a hot July day. This makes fragrance a tricky thing, as I tend to be seasonally oriented when it comes to choosing what to wear on my skin.
The solution is to find something that straddles both summer and fall, and for me that has been the fig. As much a part of high summer as it is the harvest season, the fig is a transitional fragrance that can swerve to sweet and fruity, while being reigned in with something more sharply aromatic. That marriage can be found in Diana Vreeland’s ‘Staggeringly Beautiful’.
A little bit of background on how I came to be in possession of such a glorious gift: I’d had this on my wish list for a little while. It was an impulse add, an extravagant and lavish wish of high-hopes that I never quite expected to receive, as much as I would have liked to receive it. It was also a risky blind-non-buy selection – I usually don’t ask for something I’ve never tried, fragrance-wise, because that can be crazy dangerous. Notes and scents listed out on paper are often nothing like the actual aroma that the final combination might produce. (Luckily enough, some previous blind-buys have turned out to have very happy endings, such as Viktor & Rolf’s ‘Spicebomb’ and Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Minerale’ – still, it’s a risky business.)
I wasn’t expecting anyone to choose such a lovely item for this year’s uneventful birthday, so when I opened up the pretty bag that Sherri and Skip had bestowed upon me and found this spectacular item, my heart jumped – as much for the perfume itself as for the touching generosity and thought that went into it. Sherri always knows the perfect gift to pick out, when even I’ve forgotten what I really wanted. She has a sixth sense about such things, the way she can pick out a pregnant woman practically on the morning-after. It’s also a testament to my friendship with both Sherri and Skip that they were kind enough to deliver this magnificent present.
As for the fragrance itself, it joins a small but beloved collection of Diana Vreeland perfumes on my shelf: ‘Vivaciously Bold‘ and ‘Absolutely Vital‘. This third jewel in the Vreeland crown is the missing piece to a glorious triumvirate. ‘Vivaciously Bold’ is the bright spring awakening that often accompanies us to our Memorial Day adventures in Ogunquit; ‘Absolutely Vital’ is the winter sandalwood that has been present at holiday gatherings; and ‘Staggeringly Beautiful’ is the summer/fall beauty that will now remind me of happy power dinners with friends, planning what is going on with this very website.
‘Staggeringly Beautiful’ carries some of the same gorgeous threads that weave their way through the Vreeland perfume line, but avoids the cloying florals that some of those offerings fall prey to (which is why I will only have three). It opens sweetly with fig and citrus – a blast of fruity rich decadence – which is the perfect summer celebration. There is a green freshness that carries through, keeping things from going too sweet, and after an initial blast of some potent sillage, it dries down to something much closer to the skin – perfect for those days that are hotter and more humid than you think fall could ever be. Elements of bergamot and daffodil temper the ripeness of the fig with spring-like elements, hanging onto a bit of the sunnier seasons the way fall sometimes does. This is a beautiful transitional scent for the tricky time between summer and fall – many thanks to Sherri and Skip for bringing it into my world.
The newest addition to the Ilagan family, Jaxon, has already mastered the art of the pose. Mostly though, he is content to sleep and it is in this peaceful state that we usually find him. (I am all for a sleeping baby.)
Dad has even taken an interest in him, which is a feat in and of itself. He’s made a connection, and the very ends of our family have come together, generations already bound in love. There’s something reassuring abut being sandwiched in-between them – a sense of history being carried on, life continuing its beautiful path forward.
As for Jaxon, he won’t remember any of this, and who knows what sort of remnants of our time with him now will remain. I’ve written him a few letters to have something physical on record of these days, and they say the internet lives forever, so maybe some search engine when he’s an adult will bring up this post in garbled form, and remind him of how precious he has always been to us.
Andy makes his pies from scratch, crust included, and that’s something I simply can’t/won’t do. It took almost everything out of me to master this dough recipe, and that’s enough for now. As for Andy’s apple pie, this is the first time he’s made it in several years. He used the original recipe handed down from his Mom, and whenever he makes one of her recipes I know he feels closer to her. There’s something about baking with love that makes things taste better.
He put together the dough and rolled it out, assembling it in rustic form, then popped it all into the oven to make the magic happen. The kitchen and then the house filled with the aroma of fall and comfort and warmth – it signaled the changing of seasons, and a return to the cozy food one conjures at such a time. A freshly-baked pie brings back childhood holiday memories for both of us.
We served it to some dear friends with freshly-whipped cream, and it was heaven.
Fridays feel better in the fall – perhaps it’s a residual relief from years of being back at school at this time of the year. For this Friday, we’re offering some frilly feathers in keeping with the fiery theme of flames, and they align beautifully with the fabulous fable spun in the fantastic musical ‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ (sadly his name didn’t start with an ‘F’, thus ending our little alliteration moment). In the fantastical opening number, our protagonist dreams of a better place than the classroom in which his teenage-self is stuck.
There’s a clock on the wall and it’s moving too slow
It’s got hours to kill and a lifetime to go
And I’m holding my breath ’til I hear the last bell
Then I’m coming out hard and I’m giving ’em hell
I’m a superstar and you don’t even know it
In a wonder bra and you don’t even know it
You’re so “blah blah” and you don’t even know it
I’m like, “au revoir” and you don’t even know it
To a certain extent, life is all about finding out how to turn feathers into fire while making them fly. When you’re just a kid in school, it’s hard to find the fire or the feathers, and even if they’re at your disposable, a kid doesn’t usually know how to use them. It’s hard enough to ignite the passion and strength to go through an average day as an adult – when the weight of the current world rests on a kid, it must feel overwhelming.
There’s a path I’ve planned (And you don’t even know it)
To the promised land (And you don’t even know it)
You won’t understand (And you don’t even know it)
Cos you’re my backing band (And you don’t even know it)
Whenever I think back to my days in grade school, it is usually fraught with the anxiety and dread that being in school and around other kids always produced. Once comfortable with a group, I could relax and shine, but there was so much work and energy required to get through the nerve-wracking first few days that the trauma would linger and be inextricably wound into any enjoyment I might have found. When you’re a kid, life should be mostly about that joy.
I’ve got the dreams, I’ve got the style
I’ve got the moves to make you smile
So kiss my ass goodbye
‘Cause I’m gonna be the one
Instead of finding joy in the present moment, I began to craft a world in my imagination, a world that could be fully accessed from anywhere at any time, but only reaching its fullest form when I could be alone, in solitude, conjuring scenes of fantasy and play and beauty. On my walks home from school I would inhabit this secret world, which was more exciting and grand and dramatic than the boring trappings of school and the dull doings of my classmates.
You’re in my lane, you’re in my light
Get out my way, I’m taking flight
And I ain’t coming back
‘Cause I’m gonna kiss the sun!
For my entire schooling stretch, even into college, I would maintain this secret world. Though I made some decent strides to integrate the imaginary dreams and wishes into the mundane reality in which I so often found myself, I wouldn’t fully merge the two until I was well into adulthood. Some days it’s still a struggle, and on those days I put on a song like this and feel the inspiration to be my authentic and genuine self for all the word to see. Dragging it into the brutal light of day, and allowing all the plumage and fire and majesty to assert itself, I listen to the music, do a little twirl, and make my merry way. In defiance there is power. In self-proclaimed majesty there is might. In the imagined world of a scared kid, there is a way out.
Many people feel that we come closest to magic during the holiday season – when Christmas carries its enchantment and sprinkles Santa dust throughout the land – but I’m more of a believer in magic in the fall. This is when the spells of the year are cast, and Halloween only adds to the eerie belief in contacting other realms. The veil between here and such places feels thinnest in the fall, when smoke rises from burning leaves, and the air is fit for carrying such entities as witches and warlocks. Travel between worlds seems more possible at this time of the year.
The pointy hat seen here is a nod to the season. I will pair it with a copper-colored woolen cape, to ward off the wind as well as any other ill-intending-spirits. When you open up your mind to such possibilities, the bad can enter as easily as the good. One wants to be careful, as with any invitation. The days of inviting the entire world to my parties are done.
A candle of bitter orange & cardamom burns, its spicy scent a balm for the cooler nights we’ve had. Who knows what it might attract? In the attic, rain sounds on the roof. Closer to the sky, and whatever hides above the clouds.
Rarely is there ever a distinctive line between summer and fall, other than the calendar we as humans have assembled to demarcate the shift by the precise date and hour. Nature is more nuanced about it, slipping a bit of fall into the cooler nights we’ve had of late, while letting the heat and sun linger on a bit, giving the scents of fallen leaves and drying acorns more pungent resonance. That subtle shift has been in the works for weeks – this is merely our official proclamation that autumn is here, and summer is done, so let’s get on with the show.
In my head I hear a million conversations
I’m spinning out, don’t wake me up until the end
The rivers flowing in denial I can’t fake it
I’m paranoid that all my thoughts are all my friends
Fall has been aptly named in my lifetime of falls. It used to be the time of the year when I would fall madly, defiantly, and foolishly in love with someone – anyone really – who didn’t love me back. The battle of unrequited love was one I fought every autumn, kicking away fallen dried leaves as I felt my heart jerk against such perceived injustice. It’s been many years since that happened, and while there is mostly relief in that, I no longer look back with bitterness over those lost gentlemen, or my idiocy at pursuing them. That kind of passion and excitement is the province of the young, and without having experienced it, I wouldn’t be able to find the sense of calm I can usually locate these days.
The province of the young – that feels more like spring than fall. Yet fall has a freshness that often gets forgotten. It gives the sort of jolt that time sometimes uses to remind us that it’s constantly in motion. It lights the fire that impels us to prepare for winter, that gives the warning there isn’t much time left. And so we bolt and hasten to our tasks, work and school alike imbued with a new urgency, household tasks given immediate deadlines, as we prepare the outside for the long march to and through the slumbering months.
I was broken from a young age
Taking my sulking to the masses
Writing my poems for the few
That look at me, took to me, shook to me, feeling me
Singing from heartache from the pain
Taking my message from the veins
Speaking my lesson from the brain
Seeing the beauty through the…
Trying to light it
This fall there are big burning plans for this website, as we are about to celebrate its 20th anniversary. The lead-up to that (occurring in early 2023) will include metaphorically burning this place down, with a never-before-released ‘lost’ project going up next month, one that almost say the light of day in 2009 but was used at the last moment in a rare moment of conservative judgment on my behalf, and ultimately it was for the best. I think it’s ready for its close-up now, and all the incendiary shit-storms that usually rage upon the release of a new project can light it all up.
All (pain) these thoughts I battle
Creeping up my skin, creeping up my skin
Fears (pain) they try to rattle
Who I am within, where do I begin?
It’s (pain) one of those days, my world is crashing everything
looks on fire
It’s (pain) one of those nights, I’m dreaming but I’m walking on a wire
All (pain) these thoughts I battle
(believer) Creeping up my skin, (believer) burning from within like
Fire
The song chosen for kicking off the fall season here is a mash-up of ‘Fire’ by The Score and ‘Believer’ by Imagine Dragons. An epic collision of emotions, the kind that happens when someone has reached the point where there are no more fucks to give, when they have been pushed to the edge where it’s jump or die, and the only thing left to do is see whether they have wings. There is beauty in that space… danger and treachery too… and it will be up to us to make the choices that bring us closer to the fire. Whether salvation is there, or something worse, we can never know.
Third things third
Send a prayer to the ones up above
All the hate that you’ve heard
Has turned your spirit to a dove, oh-ooh
Your spirit up above, oh-ooh
I’m a fighter, lighting fires, knock ’em dead
Falls of the past contained a multitude of mixed feelings, and amid the best-laid plans were failures and falterings that I originally viewed as marring the season. Looking back, everything that happened turned into a bit of destiny – lessons and triumphs could only come from mistakes and losses. When you begin to view the world in such a way, it becomes much easier to cope. Because this is not an easy existence. Even the most charmed lives contain their own heartache and misery, and absolutely no one gets out of this alive.
Blood in my chest
Fight in my step
No sleep no rest
No sleep no rest
Sparks in my brain
Am I insane?
Trying to light the flame
Trying to light it
All…Pain!
You made me a, you made me a believer,
Believer
Fears…Pain!
You break me down and build me up, believer,
believer
Pain!
Oh let the bullets fly, oh let them rain
My life, my love, my drive, it came from…
Pain!
You made me a, you made me a believer,
believer
burning from within like
Fire
Let it rain, let it rain
Through the pain like
We summon the fires of fall, with all of their burn and vicious bite, and we take that energy and light and transform it into warmth and sustenance, into the drive and impetus to ignite a new chapter. Setting it off with the frisson of promise, using the kindling of hope, and feeding it with the fuel of memory and rage and right, we send our fires into the sky. Limitless suddenly with the wonder of the realization that we burn together, we meld into everyone else’s fire, enjoined with everyone else’s spirit. In the frightening nights where it can feel endlessly dark, a lone candle flickers, and from one single light so many more can be lit. We raise our little candles in unison, in a collective conjuring of whatever magic and enchantment each of us can cast.
Last things last
By the grace of the fire and the flames
You’re the face of the future
The blood in my veins, oh-ooh
Clench my teeth, I need to end this
conversation
Strike a match cause now it’s time to hit reset
No more doubt, no more running from the half
truth
(and rained down
And rained down, like)
Fall brings out the fight still left within us. The fight we are not yet resigned to lose or leave behind. It lights the fuse of one more hidden bastion of explosive energy, illuminating those parts we may have forgotten about in the dark. Once lit, it will carry us to greater places, to greater understanding and compassion, to acceptance and glory – where glory is the simple state of existing in calm and contentment. There are times when one must rage to find peace.
I’m a fighter, lighting fires, knock ’em dead
All (pain) these thoughts I battle
Creeping up my skin, creeping up my skin
Fears (pain) they try to rattle
Who I am within, where do I begin
It’s (pain) one of those days, my world is crashing everything
looks on fire
It’s (pain) one of those nights, I’m dreaming but I’m walking on a wire
All (pain) these thoughts I battle
(believer) Creeping up my skin, (believer) burning from within like
Sometimes you have to burn it all to the ground to start again. As we lead into the winter that will mark this website’s 20th anniversary, it’s time to do just that. Burning the past, burning the memories, burning the hurt and pain and suffering… and beginning again like some phoenix seemingly lost to the flames. Are you ready to burn, or are you ready to rise?
Continuing the Summer Renaissance we started here, another Beyonce track lends dance pop history and celebration to the scene, the perfect backdrop to a summer that came scented with nostalgia and hope, for the first time in a long time. Andy and I embraced the sun and the pool and the friends and family who could stop by, and we embraced each other at twenty-two years into our relationship. It was a summer of celebratory gratitude, of exhaling and releasing, of leaning into the loveliness that we can sometimes, at our best moments, create for ourselves and our loved ones. And now, before the summer leaves until next year, let’s dance.
IT’S SO GOOD, IT’S SO GOOD, IT’S SO GOOD, IT’S SO GOOD…
By the time August arrived, we were riding the happy rest of summer, and it showed no signs of abating. It doesn’t always work that way, so we took advantage and made the most of each day.
Some summer days, when one can’t be by the ocean, were spent making plans for future trips, even if that meant the arrival of fall. On this day we planned for Ogunquit again.
A historic farewell to a wonderful summer, we took one last wild ride on the high seas, and there was enough good behavior that I may bring them back to Boston for the holidays.
Who else but Beyonce could have provided the soundtrack to this past summer? With her incredible ‘Renaissance’ album, she gave us the beats to move our feet, and the melodies to move our hearts. A celebratory return to the sunny and hot summers that I remember from my childhood, it was a season steeped in happy nostalgia and future hope. On this last day of summer, let’s recap the glorious few months that came before, backed by this killer Beyonce beat.
A corrupt Supreme Court decided to strip women of the control they once had over their own bodies in a move that some of us called way back when certain people were hemming and hawing over Hillary Clinton. You reap what you sow. Vote Blue in November to see if we can right this ship, or we may have more decisions like this.
For my final act this summer, I give you this magical case of the disappearing suit, because this fall I am metaphorically burning all my past trappings to ash. That begins with the onerous albatross of forty-plus years of fashion and sartorial splendor coming off, an exercise in revelation that has been one of the greatest lessons I’ve tried to glean through this blog for the last two decades. Taking it all off here has never been about gratuitous nudity, all category names to the contrary; it’s easier to be physically naked than emotionally so, but this summer we let go of all inhibition – something that could only happen at this mid-stage of life.
Climb up the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign, yeah
In these stolen moments
The world is mine
There’s nobody here, just us together
Keepin’ me hot like July forever
‘Cause we’re the masters of our own fate
We’re the captains of our own souls
There’s no way for us to come away
‘Cause boy we’re gold, boy we’re gold
And I was like…
Take off, take off
Take off all your clothes
Take off, take off
Take off all your clothes
Take off, take off
Take off all of your clothes
When I was a kid, I’d have no problem running through the neighborhood in my underwear, and even came off a brutal pantsing relatively unscathed. Once our teenage years hit, and adolescence and puberty piled shame upon shame for nudity and nakedness, I was supremely self-conscious, not even wanting to doff my shirt for a summer swim. It was the descent of societal propriety, ending the God-given freedom of the natural state of being nude and putting in its place the buttoned-up armor of my ultimate mask: a wardrobe. That ‘robe’ and ‘war’ should play such pivotal parts in the mixed-up way I was pursuing my path in the world seems oddly fitting now, even if it never really fit me then.
They say only the good die young
That just ain’t right
‘Cause we’re having too much fun
Too much fun tonight, yeah
And a lust for life, and a lust for life
And a lust for life, and a lust for life
Keeps us alive, keeps us alive
Keeps us alive, keeps us alive
Through the ensuing years, my wardrobe took many varied forms, and eventually skin itself would provide just another guise, another layer of armor. Sometimes it would prove the most potent outfit of all. Nothing set more tongues wagging than a peek at what was underneath. It became a study of human nature, and a treatise on what a gay male could get away with – the power balance, the disconnect between reality and perception, the crux of supreme insecurity and almighty confidence. It was more than a battle within myself – it was setting up to be a lifelong war. Only now, as I begin to look back at the totality of the past forty or so years, in the way that middle age and the slow acquisition of a modicum of wisdom reveal such things, can I see faint glimmers of the long arc of these travels – and the journey I’ve been taking in front of the whole world, at least the little bit of the world that decides to visit me here. We cannot truly know where we are going until we figure out where we have been.
Then, we dance on the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign, yeah
‘Til we run out of breath, gotta dance ’til we die
My boyfriend’s back
And he’s cooler than ever
There’s no more night, blue skies forever
‘Cause we’re the masters of our own fate
We’re the captains of our own souls
So there’s no need for us to hesitate
We’re all alone, let’s take control
At the closing curtain of this wondrous summer, I’m doing a reverse Gypsy Rose Lee act. Taking the damage off and leaving it behind. Letting it burn. As F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote, “No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.” We hang onto things for too long, storing up our hurt and heartache, waiting to wield them in some other form, to make us feel better in some harmful way, when really we should be letting it all go. That’s a frightening concept to embrace. Old habits become sources of comfort, and no one wants to be uncomfortable. But even the brightest of summers must come to a close, and the fiery opening of fall must begin…
Continuing our Summer of the Rainbow, this full beauty appeared while I was looking for post-its at Staples of all places. Such is the state of the office worker these days. How brick and mortar stores manage to stay afloat is beyond me, and given the conditions and supplies of the store at hand, it may not be long for this retail life. I digress, and from the main point of this post, which was this gorgeous and complete rainbow that spanned the entire sky before me. Parking lots always work best when trying to capture rainbows on camera, but even the best timing and opportunities seldom give the full picture as seen here. There are usually only bits and pieces of it – one of the ends or the middle – so this was a rare gift the universe bestows every few years. I’m taking it as a fond farewell to the wonderful summer we’ve had – one that will find a full recap in a pair of posts that go up tomorrow. Come back for that celebration.
The monarch butterly was recently added to the list of endangered species, thanks to so much of its native habitat being destroyed. Humans will never be as noble as this magnificent creature, and my heart hurts at the idea that their numbers are dwindling. I left a stalk of milkweed alone in the garden (where it really didn’t belong) in a sad attempt at making the area more hospitable to these regal beauties. Alas, it preferred the flashier butterfly bush, where it paused to pose for a few pictures.
In keeping with the dire news of their declining numbers, this was the first monarch we’ve seen all summer. We used to have many fluttering about the lofty stalks of the cup plant and aforementioned butterfly bush – this year there was only this one. But one is better than none, and a single being is enough to give the smallest sliver of hope to see us through the winter.
Standing in the garage, I watch the rain pour down over the driveway and feel a sense of calm. The scent it sends up where hot driveway meets cooling rain is one of those intoxicating perfumes that rivals anything that might be conjured from the linden tree, or even the lilacs of late spring. While I am leaning into the scene, and feeling a profound sense of gratitude for the rain on this humid, sticky day, I recall the petunias in the backyard, the ones that are likely drooping in the rain. They retained such a sense of freshness just that morning, and I remember thinking how lovely it was that they were still putting forth blooms, even when we had mostly moved indoors for the scant remainder of the season.
It was a banner year for the return of the petunia, something I shall put into play again next summer, even if my heart knows it won’t be the same. This was a magical time. Watching the rain fall down, I inhaled the beauty of it all – the idea of summer flowers closing their show for the year, and the idea of rain nourishing them until the very end. A little flare of fall flutters on each falling raindrop, tiny sparks of light that will soon ignite a whole new season. For now, it’s just rain – calming and soothing rain.
The big summer recap posts arrive later, on the last day of summer, but for now we do our Monday morning quarterbacking with this weekly recap. Our last full week of summer – how did we ever end up here? It went way too quickly, and now we are looking back, at all of it…
Sailing on with our shirtless Sunday shenanigans, this Dazzler of the Day is none other than actor, designer and writer Theo Ford. He’s a social media sensation thanks to his robust collection of Twitter and Instagram followers, and content that highlights his piercing blue eyes. He’s traveled the world, sharing sensational photos of his adventures, and taking us all along on his spectacular journey. (He’s also Dad to a darling dog named Apollo, who has their own Instagram here.)
