There was once a time when I couldn’t imagine meditating, much less meditating with a friend by my side, but the world has changed in the past few years, and so it was that Kira and I found ourselves in an afternoon meditation when she was visiting last weekend. Amid the catching up and relaxing, we took a window of ten minutes to do a joint meditation, and it was a nice change-up from the solitary meditation I typically do.
Sitting down on the attic floor, we slowed our breathing, and let the thoughts cross our minds, acknowledging then releasing them. With eyes closed, we continued our slow and deep breathing, pausing the day and making a memory. Being wholly present in the moment sometimes embeds itself in the mind better than writing about it can.
Sharing it with a dear friend brought a new perspective, and a more mindful experience. It made me see the practice from an outsider’s view, and Kira’s questions lent new introspection. It also re-engaged my focus, shaking up what had become a repetitive practice with a jolt of joy.
Kira joined us for an idyllic summer overnight, which went by much too quickly, as summer is wont to do. She arrived before noon, and we promptly made our way to the patio and pool, where we lounged in silly sundresses and posed like silly people. Kira is usually game for anything, and we relaxed into the easy banter that comes from knowing someone for twenty-four years and counting.
Snacking on white bean dip and chips, fresh cherry tomatoes from the garden, and a fizzy lemon mocktail, we lounged languidly before a relaxing dip in the pool. The sun was peeking out from the occasional patch of clouds, and the air was hot – all of it making for ideal swimming pool weather. We stayed there for quite some time as I tried to help Kira advance in her swimming lessons. We made a bit of headway, and after exhausting ourselves we headed upstairs to the attic for a brief meditation.
Kira loves a pasta dish, so for dinner I made this recipe of Cacio e Pepe – simple and tasty and surprisingly substantial for summer – along with a side plate of tomatoes, mozzarella, balsamic vinegar and fresh basil leaves. A day of swimming always leaves one extra-ravenous, and food tastes better when one is ravenous.
We descended to the cool space of the cellar, where we watched ‘Swept Away’, mostly for the beauty summer scenes. It was better than I remembered it. Spent from the sun and heat of the day, we slept hard, and the next day we did more of the same before she departed and the week wound itself up again. It was a beautiful visit from a beautiful friend – one that we promised to make happen again in the fall.
When my future sister-in-law and mother of my Godchild texts a request to find some elusive baby formula, you drop what you’re doing and make a few stops to see what can be done to see Jaxon Layne through the next week or so.
Once upon a time, I would have put forth the same effort in the hunt for some exotic whiskey or rare gin; this is a much happier search, with a much happier ending, and there’s a beautiful comment on personal evolution somewhere in that.
One of our favorite restaurants has been rebooted and is now under new ownership and management, so for our anniversary dinner this year I took Andy out to Rosanna’s, former site of his favorite Bongiorno’s. That was once Andy’s local hang-out, and he had spent the previous decade or so slowly pulling the recipe for Rosanna’s tomato sauce out of her own lips until he got a pretty good approximation of it for our own home. We returned there for a sweet and quiet anniversary dinner, to see what remained and what had changed.
Beginning with the Eastside mocktail, and some calamari, the evening found us on the second floor (somewhat noisy with the hardwood floors echoing throughout and an exceptionally loud party of four women who raised the ire of the other tables more than ours) which was not our usual space on the first level. It eventually quieted down when that table departed, and by the time the food arrived our spirits had lifted.
Andy opted for the traditional spaghetti and meatballs, which was, to Rosanna’s ongoing amusement, the choice of a ten-year-old as she once affectionately described it. He found the new version to his satisfaction, and the ravioli I tried were delicious as well. The original owners still felt present, but distant – the echoes were faint, and we talked of them to keep their memory around a bit longer.
Dessert was lovely, and the whole evening was decent enough to merit another visit. Sometimes Albany was magical in a quiet way.
After visitors, our home feels quieter, smaller, emptier. Andy is a relief at such times, the last bastion against the possibility of loneliness, something I haven’t felt in quite some time. And it’s not something I necessarily feel right now, but still… echoes of friends and family who have graced these halls reverberate in the mind. This has been a good summer in that regard, and as August begins, the halfway-pause is at hand.
Ominous signs of Halloween have already started appearing in stores, and back-to-school stuff has been there for a while. Any day now I expect Christmas crap to line the shelves. It’s all too much, too soon, and so I step back into the house, into the quiet, and into the present moment.
My meditation practice continues, a helpful way to ground each day, when being busy, even with happy events like reunions with old friends, seems to detract from the focus on the serene. A balance must be struck. A summer must be appreciated.
Preparing for visitors is one of the great joys of my life. Difficult truth be told, in the past it was sometimes even more preferable to the visits themselves, but that was before I stopped the big parties and focused on the ones who mattered most. These days, it’s an exercise of pure joy, the rekindled ecstasy of living in the moment-before-the-moment-of-arrival. A breathless anticipation that approaches grace and sets me at ease with happy hints of hope and possibility. I’m allowing myself to feel that again.
An armful of gladiolus blooms, heavy and weighted with colorful promise, is gently dropped on the counter as I fill a favorite vase with water. An attic loft is made up for the next visitor, branches of a coral bark maple (happily in need of pruning just at the right moment) standing tall and bringing a bit of the outdoors inside.
I text my friend that turn-down service will be available upon request, and send her the picture below. Happy host = happy visit.
Once upon a time
Once when you were mine
I remember skies
Reflected in your eyes
I wonder where you are
I wonder if you think about me
Once upon a time
In your wildest dreams
August is a time for fairy tales, and for remembering things in rosy hues that could never quite have existed the way we think they did. It is for those childhood memories that begin with the song on a boombox, way back in the 80’s when my generation brought the boombox over our heads and screamed out our declarations of love – innocent, misguided, and as wonderful as youth affords us all for the briefest of times. This song sounded out from cars and stereos in some beautiful summer from childhood, before I could really know the wonder of love…
Once the world was new
Our bodies felt the morning dew
That greets the brand-new day
We couldn’t tear ourselves away
I wonder if you care
I wonder if you still remember
Once upon a time
In your wildest dreams
And when the music plays
And when the words are touched with sorrow
When the music plays
I hear the sound I had to follow
Once upon a time
Jumping into the pool, I heard bits of the song playing from the shade of the slate-floored patio. The radio was our only source for new music then, but I was still too young to pay much attention to anything beyond a catchy melody. Words were indecipherable to my ears, and even when we figured them out (after debate and argument) I couldn’t tell you what was being said – certainly not the first brush with love. Summer was too light for such cares, and I wanted to perfect my mid-air somersaults off the diving board rather than fiddle with some silly notion of romance.
Or so I thought… or didn’t think. When a sandy-haired blonde boy across the street came over to swim, and his feet began to descend the tiled stairs of the shallow end of the pool, I ducked under the cover of water to quell the sudden heat of the spell that was suddenly cast upon me. He was years older than me, all muscle and brute force, and the blonde hair that covered his legs held me transfixed, the way it moved so softly in the water, like anemones waving to the tides from their shallow pools.
Once beneath the stars
The universe was ours
Love was all we knew
And all I knew was you
I wonder if you know
I wonder if you think about it
Once upon a time
In your wildest dreams
And when the music plays
And when the words are touched with sorrow
When the music plays
And when the music plays
I hear the sound I had to follow
Once upon a time
I swam around him, circling his legs as they strode through the shallow end, watching his trunks flutter next to his white skin. I felt like shark and prey in one – the hunter and the haunted, for no one was hunting me in those days – and he was blithely unaware of my gaze – or maybe he wasn’t, and the safest recourse was to pretend he was. I imagine my rendering of his perfect body was different than an objective survey might yield with hindsight. It didn’t matter – he was the epitome of male beauty – his blond hair darkened slightly as he dove underwater and displayed his strength with sure strokes through the pool’s dappled light.
It was a time of innocence – the way summer should be, the way it sometimes still is – and the looks from the boy I was at the time were hidden beneath the refracted light of the pool. This neighborhood Adonis would swim by unbothered save for my furtive glances, seeking out the glances of young women who could cast their own spells in ways I couldn’t replicate no matter how much I tried.
He came only a couple of times that summer, but those visits are embedded in my mind – the very first recognition that I found men attractive, the first troubling inkling that I was decidedly unlike any of the other boys. How I wanted to share what I was feeling with someone else, but already I knew it was wrong, so I held it secret and I held it safe, allowing it to exist only at the bottom of a pool, beneath rippling sunlight, in sad and muffled silence.
Once upon a time
Once when you were mine
I remember skies
Mirrored in your eyes
I wonder where you are
I wonder if you think about me
Once upon a time
In your wildest dreams
In your wildest dreams
In your wildest dreams
In your wildest dreams
This Monday morning post for the first day of August will be performing two acts: the first is our typical Monday recap of the week that came before, and the second is the first post for the month of August. Summer requires doubling up on tasks to make more free time for others, or for simply taking in the summer days before they go away.
July was a banner summer month – it felt like a return to the fun and jam-packed days pre-COVID and pre-adult responsibility. I’ll pack that all into our summer wrap-up later in the season – for now, just a quick nod to the past week, and the past month, and a moment of appreciation for all the sun and fun we’ve had of late.
August 1st marks the start of the final full month of summer, and while I caution everyone not so sleep on September as far as summer goes, I did feel the very first inkling of a shift in atmosphere as my friend Kira and I sat on the patio the other night, and a breeze passed that whispered of cooler nights. Soon, the crickets will begin their tell-tale chirping, and I’ve already seen the flower buds of goldenrod, still coiled in tight bud, but ready to brighten the day with their yellow blooms. For now, and only for now, I will pause to breathe in and breathe out the wonderful July, and open my arms for whatever August may bring. On with the weekly recap…
So many things seem to reference ‘The Golden Girls‘, and for gay men of a certain age that show has come to embody a more comforting and happy time. Whenever I would find myself worrying about something or troubled by the general state of worldly affairs, I would find a re-run of the show and instantly be set at ease.
Now, whenever I hear someone mention a waterlily, or even when passing them while driving past a pond, I remember this scene.
It’s been way more than a hot second since I’ve had a brownie sundae, and that was rectified this past week at an impromptu lunch. Sometimes a sundae can turn the whole day around. Usually I’m more disciplined than to allow myself such an indulgence, especially at the height of swimsuit season. These days, however, discipline just feels silly, and I’m at the age where I’d rather be happily satiated than hungering for a sweet treat. If you have an itch, why not scratch it?
This may very well be the Year of the Petunia. They are somehow still managing to bloom in our backyard, despite repeated attacks by rabbits intent on defoliating them. And then on a lunch-time walk in downtown Albany the other day, I saw this exquisite variety that had me question whether the world had turned from technicolor into black and white at that particular moment. It was enchanting.
While these were white with purple throats, it was a purple so dark that at first glance it gave the image of a black and white combo. Many gardeners seek out dark flowers, and the closer to black the more coveted. As a child, I too thrilled at the darker hues, particularly in irises. This hint of darkness in the throat of a petunia brought me back to that magic.
Keenly aware of the power of the thirst trap, Charlie Puth has been baiting his fans for the better part of the year, with sly peeks at his underwear-clad life, and while there will always be those who criticize everything that everyone does, I’m not made about any of it. He’s the Dazzler of the Day thanks to his undying and contagious passion for music, and his cheeky way around social media. His newest album ‘CHARLIE’ is due this October (which is closer than we want to realize). Visit his official website here for further details.
Tomato season is just about upon us. We’ve had cherry tomatoes tumbling off our trellises for days now, and the markets are just seeing the first influx of heirlooms and big boys that I don’t bother growing at home anymore. Let someone else deal with all that fuss – I’m content to purchase and pay for someone else to do the work.
The easiest and best way to enjoy a tomato may be this classic combo of mozzarella, basil and balsamic vinegar, with a dash of olive oil and some freshly-ground pepper for good measure. It is the taste of summer, and not terribly bad for you either. Easy deliciousness for when the weather zaps all energy and fighting spirit. It can make for a light lunch, or a precursor to a heavier dinner. The possibilities are endless, unlike summer, which is decidedly all too brief.
“I’m not familiar with these angels…” ~ Joseph Abramo
The Abramo family has always been a quartet of angels in my life, so when Missy recounted a dream-like sequence of Joe’s opening angel comment, I cracked up for quite a long time. Such happy laughter was a constant during our annual Connecticut Summer Weekend pilgrimage to Southbury, where Julian and Cameron joined in the merry-making. Music was, as ever, a companion for the weekend, and the soundtrack for the occasion is neatly summed up by the light and carefree funk of Harry Styles and his new album opener, ‘Music for a Sushi Restaurant’.
This song set the tone for the fun weekend that was had by all, and I arrived to the sunny and peaceful planning going on by the little lotus pond, just in time to see the first lotus bloom of the season. It was an auspicious start to a weekend of relaxed serenity and old friends.
Joining in the air of calm festivities, a water lily emerged to add to the beauty of the weekend.
Along the path leading to the pool, wildflowers lended their own blooms to the season. The world around us had granted a floriferous atmosphere that collided with our joy and peace. There is something about visiting old friends that sets the soul at ease. It is its own form of meditative cleansing.
I took Julian and Cameron down to the pool for a quick dip (and a few games of find-the-bottle, which I would bring back to our pool when the twins visited next) before Missy and Joe joined us for some lounge time by the water. They have an idyllic home for a relaxing visit – no schedule, no pressure, no time crunch – and I relaxed into this little vacation with a grateful heart.
This has always been a place of tranquility, accented by echoes of the Buddha, and a natural beauty that Joe and Missy have emphasized in all the right ways. Whether contemplating the still and quiet calm of the water plants in the little pond or leafing through the books on Japanese gardens and water features, each corner offered a new opportunity for comfort. Bookended by the riotous action of boys in the full giddy glow of growing up, the weekend provided a little bit of all summer joys.
When the last petals of the lotus bloom fell, it was already time to depart – a departure made reluctantly, as it’s always hard to leave familiar angels. Perhaps we will schedule a fall return, to close out the season and start a new one…
