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Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

18
June
2020
Tags: Boston
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BroSox Adventures Through the Years – Part 1: 2015 ~ 2017

Prior to 2015, I had only been to Fenway Park twice in my life: once with my whole family in 1986 (the infamous year they made it to the series against the New York Mets, which we will not discuss at this juncture) and then again in 1993 on an orientation excursion night during my first days at Brandeis. During the latter, I left the game somewhere around the 7th inning, when the Red Sox were down by 11 runs and I needed some alone time on Newbury Street. I’ve always felt slightly guilty about that, being a Red Sox fan, thanks to my Dad, since birth basically.  Ever since ’93 I’d looked casually at a return trip, but nothing really got me excited until the more happily infamous 2004. From that year until 2015 I looked slightly more seriously at making a return to Fenway, if only out of curiosity because it had been so long. I put forth a few feelers to my brother, hoping he’d take the ball and run with it as a way of reconnecting since we did so little bonding of any sort.

By 2014, it was on my bucket list, and very few things make my bucket list unless they are a distinct and definite possibility. I tossed out the idea a few more times, but it was clear if a Red Sox game was going to happen, it was going to be entirely up to my own machinations. At around this time, Skip and I had established a regular movie routine, and since he had been a lifelong Red Sox fan we floated the idea of possibly taking in a game at some point. On one of our pre-movie hang-outs we fleshed out a plan, and after consulting with Sherri and Andy about the logistics, we set things into motion. In a way, it was fitting that as an adult I was going back to Fenway with a member of my chosen family. As kids, we have no choice or say in the matter ~ as adults, we get to choose and cultivate the people we want to be in our family circle. Skip was one of those people, and it didn’t take any nudging or pushing to get him to want to spend some time with me. Here’s a look back on my recollections on our adventures, along with Skip’s take on them, which is the real reason for reading on. (He is also the repository for the history of where our seats were, something that by this point blurs together for me.)

BroSox Adventure 2015

Our very first BroSox Adventure took place in 2015. It was a quick one-night trip to test the waters and bring me back to Fenway Park, where I hadn’t been in over two decades. I’d originally wanted my brother to take me, but he didn’t take the hint, and Skip was practically a brother by that point anyway. That first year I remember both of us getting accustomed to hanging out with some relaxing down-time, something we’re rarely afforded with movie start times, dinner reservations, and show tickets. I get to work with Skip’s wife Sherri, and we are able to find occasional jewels of time when we can take a breath and laugh. For Skip, the ride to Boston was our first extensive expanse of one-on-one time, and it did not disappoint.

On that Saturday, we arrived in the noon hour and headed for a casual lunch at the Rattlesnake Bar. From there, the fun continued with some pre-gaming at the condo and then the actual game – my first in over two decades. We walked back from the game, something that would become a tradition. I couldn’t handle a Red Sox subway crowd, we could never find an Uber, and it was a way to prolong the adventure as we made our way back into the city with the throngs of fellow jubilant Red Sox fans. The fun didn’t let up until we sped back into Loudonville and I almost got a speeding ticket to cap it all off, but we were saved by Officer Happy Ending.

SKIP’S TAKE ON 2015:
I remember the Rattlesnake Bar! I didn’t know what to expect of the weekend as it was our first trip and we were feeling our way around.  We were good friends to be sure, but I had no idea how a weekend-long hang was going to go. As it turns out, amazing enough to start a tradition, but I didn’t know that at the time. I remember walking down Boylston and just happening upon the place. This is probably where you learned that I can sometimes be obnoxious in my “inside baseball” knowledge of the inner-workings of a restaurant. The bartender totally fucked up your order and then blamed it on the kitchen. I spent a good 20 minutes explaining why that never happened, how she fucked up, and how she blamed it on the staff in the back when it was clearly her mistake. That was a really fun lunch and set the tone for that trip and basically the rest of our Boston weekends. Having not known what to expect it suddenly occurred to me how natural and casual the whole trip would play out.  
SEATS: Saturday afternoon game. This was our first time and we went with scalpers, ended up on the first-base line under the 2nd deck.
SIDENOTE: This game was only a few days after a woman sustained life threatening injuries from a broken bat at Fenway. This was the same day that a horse won the triple crown for the first time in decades. I watched the race on an old guy’s phone in the row behind me. Sox won.

ALAN’S FOLLOW-UP: I totally forgot about that baseball injury!! I do now remember telling you that you were responsible for protecting my precious face should a bat be thrown into the audience. I think you told me it wasn’t called an audience.

BroSox Adventures 2016

My only goal for our second Red Sox game was to avoid the sophomore curse. Ok that’s a lie. My only concrete goal for that second trip was to install a new air conditioning unit in the bedroom window. The weekend began in sunny form – I was cracking open a beer for Skip and pouring a G&T while Skip did most of the work of the installation. I took him out to Boston Chops, where we had a steak dinner on the sidewalk and watched the world walk by.

Our game this year happened to fall on the same weekend as Boston’s main Gay Pride festivities, lending a sparkle and excitement to the city, and our time there. There was also Skip’s new Oculus, from which I experienced my first brush with a virtual dinosaur. I also think this was the time we stopped at Club Cafe and Skip asked if some strange guy wanted to dance with me and he definitively gave an emphatic no. Being rejected without being interested was actually a first for me. Leave it to Skip to teach an old dog new tricks.

SKIP’S TAKE ON 2016:

So I remember a lot about this trip. The first being how scared I was of the air conditioner install. Not that I had any doubt in my abilities to properly install it but rather: it was about the air conditioner in the back of the mini-cooper on the ride there as it took over the entire back of the car. I was worried that I hadn’t properly packed enough tools in my tool bag as I was certain that if I hadn’t packed it, you wouldn’t have had it, and mostly I was worried about lugging that air-conditioner into the apartment as the first one and a half floors of stairs up to the condo door were very steep with no handrail. Other small memories include: Boston Chops Pomme Frites, getting rooster-kicked by you after that guy said he couldn’t dance with you because he had to work in the morning. I realized the sting of being shut down at a bar wasn’t solely relagated to hetero guys punching outside their weight class when hitting on attractive women.
SEATS/GAME:  Saturday afternoon game. Second year, went with scalpers again. Loge box way behind first base. Wasn’t until the bottom of the 7th that I realized we bought similar seats in two completely different sections. Thankfully we didn’t get moved. Sox won.
SIDENOTE:  I barely slept that last night worrying about us walking the old air conditioner down 3+ flights of stairs.

ALAN’S FOLLOW-UP: Much ado about an air conditioner! And rightfully so ~ I totally wouldn’t have had any tools or handy-man accoutrement,  and I would have been royally pissed if I had to spend a single night in a non-air-conditioned room. (This is why Skip’s such a good friend: he knows me better than I know myself sometimes.)

BroSox Adventures 2017

We did our best to tone down expectations after two banner years of Boston fun, but we needn’t have bothered. After barely touching upon the Pride festivities the year before, 2017 marked Skip’s first time at a Gay Pride Parade (and my first in a few years). Skip began a little under the weather the first night we arrived, and Sherri is so much better at handling that sort of thing than me, but he rallied the next morning and came back from the brink of chills and death to attend his first pride parade. We had dinner near Fenway, at Tiger Mama, forgoing fanciness for some delectable Asian street food. Then we were onto our first night game, which I loved oh-so-much better than day games. Maybe I enjoyed it a bit too much, because this is the game at which I laughed so hard I spit a mouthful of beer at the guys sitting right in front of us. They weren’t too thrilled. It remains a contender for most memorable moment thus far.

SKIP’S TAKE ON 2017:

Fun year. I mean they all are but this one stood out (fever chills first night aside.) The first pride parade was amazing. Butch lesbians on motorcycles. Elizabeth Warren and that one Ginger Kennedy offspring. Every company in Boston with floats broadcasting “Surprise! We’re totally LGBTQ friendly now!” I remember “The Karate Kid” being on a big screen at Hojoko. I thought the girl in the Uber was coming on to me. Realized later it was Pride weekend and she thought I was gay. And for as long as I live I will never forget the look of abject terror and disgust on those two guys’ faces when you totally did a gigantic spit-take on the back of both of their heads in the 3rd inning. I honestly thought I was going to have to fight two AARP golf grandpas because you couldn’t hold your beer after me making fun of you for forgetting where the fuck we were sitting.
SEATS/GAME: Our first night game. On a Saturday. Fuck the scalpers and bought online. Great seats on the 3rd base line. Sox won.
SIDENOTE: We saw the Sox play the Tigers that year. Starting pitcher was Verlander who you had a crush on. I explained how hot his wife is. Shortly after this game he got traded to the Astros and they won the World Series. Not before beating the Red Sox along the way. You lent your condo to Sher and I that fall so that we could both go see our first playoff game. There were snipers on top of the press box for that game because of the Vegas shootings. Sox beat the Astros. It was their only win that postseason.

ALAN’S FOLLOW-UP: Ahh, yes, so many colorful characters in this weekend – that Uber lady for one; she was so gay-friendly and you were so clueless. It almost made up for the guy I didn’t even want to dance with… and I too cannot forget those two guys I spit on. Literally the first and thus far only time I’ve done a genuine spit-take, and they were completely unamused, if not downright hostile. 

{More to come…}

 

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18
June
2020
Tags: Music
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We’re All Little Tomatoes, Hanging On

THE SUN HAS LEFT AND FORGOTTEN ME
IT’S DARK, I CANNOT SEE
WHY DOES THIS RAIN POUR DOWN?
I’M GONNA DROWN IN A SEA
OF DEEP CONFUSION

‘Hang On Little Tomato’ is a song by Pink Martini that perfectly personifies this almost-summer moment in a year that has just gone completely bonkers. It’s swerved riotously into cray-cray territory in ways we probably won’t fully comprehend and realize until we’re all dead and buried and the history stored in the cloud reads back like a doomsday novel. Not quite the beginning of summer most of us had hoped for, and certainly not the celebratory year I had in mind for 2020, but then I hear this song, and I take a few deep breaths, and I realize we will be ok if we just hang on…

This happy song reminds me of the baby shower I threw for Suzie and Pat before the birth of Oona. It was in November, but the weekend it took place was a glorious throwback to a late summer moment – all sun and warmth and beams of happiness. Suzie’s spirit has always been infectiously upbeat, even when pregnant, and this song and album added to the joy and quirky atmosphere of a baby shower thrown by a not-quite-baby-friendly yours truly. It turned out lovely enough – the guests make a party, and Suzie’s pals (along with her Mom’s pals) were a hoot unto themselves. It’s not easy to throw-back to summer in November, but we managed it, thanks partly to this song.

SOMEBODY TOLD ME, I DON’T KNOW WHO
WHENEVER YOU ARE SAD AND BLUE
AND YOU’RE FEELIN’ ALL ALONE AND LEFT BEHIND
JUST TAKE A LOOK INSIDE YOU YOU’LL FIND

YOU GOTTA HOLD ON
HOLD ON THROUGH THE NIGHT
HANG ON
THINGS WILL BE ALL RIGHT
EVEN WHEN IT’S DARK AND NOT A BIT OF SPARKLING
SING-SONG SUNSHINE FROM ABOVE
SPREADING RAYS OF SUNNY LOVE

This year, Suzie delivered a tomato growing container, fences and all, from her Mom, and we planted a few tomato plants – the first vegetables we’ve planted in probably ten years. Seemed a good time to do so – end of the world and all – and we already have some fruit forming on the lower branches of the upward-reaching vines. Tomatoes can be tricky to grow well – susceptible to certain diseases and growing dangers – but I was raised by a father whose main claim to cultivating fame was a vegetable garden robust with tomatoes that lined the garage sill in all stages, shapes and sizes of ripeness. We had an excess of the red fruit, matched only by the number of zucchini from his other garden. I learned the power of manure and proper soil preparation. Witnessing firsthand the back-breaking work turning over a decent patch of soil required, the way my father worked well into the dwindling light of the evening to make the dirt a welcoming home. He would then nestle the tomato plants deeply into the ground at an angle, piling the soil up most of the stem because he knew the roots would grow from the whole stem, stabilizing the plant. They soon righted themselves, rooted in stability, and then quickly began their fruit production. We began picking tomatoes soon thereafter and didn’t let up until the fall. There were many BLT sandwiches, or just simple fresh slices with some salt and pepper. They seemed to taste better coming out of one’s own garden.

JUST HANG ON
HANG ON TO THE VINE
STAY ON
SOON YOU’LL BE DIVINE
IF YOU START TO CRY, LOOK UP TO THE SKY
SOMETHING’S COMING UP AHEAD
TO TURN YOUR TEARS TO DEW INSTEAD

Andy grew tomatoes in the garden at his first house too – bushels of cherry tomatoes, along with some peppers. He had a little trouble with the beefsteak variety – one of which I made the mistake of planting this year (we shall see) and when we planted some at our current house, it was always hit and miss.

One fall we neglected to get to all the fruit before the killing frost, and the next year a multitude of sports popped up. We let them grow, eagerly anticipating the sweet tartness of whatever hybrid we had, only to be disappointed with the bitter flavor of some second-hand wannabes. Since then, we’ve avoided the laborious vegetable garden in favor of pretty perennials that returned year after year, growing in size with an easier routine of maintenance. But we missed the fresh bright fruit of a homegrown tomato, so this year we said yes to a container from Aunt Elaine, and currently are coddling a trio of plants just beginning to offer their first crop of fruit.

AND SO I HOLD ON TO HIS ADVICE
WHEN CHANGE IS HARD AND NOT SO NICE
IF YOU LISTEN TO YOUR HEART THE WHOLE NIGHT THROUGH
YOUR SUNNY SOMEDAY WILL COME ONE DAY SOON TO YOU

Every day, I visit the little tomatoes we have, watching them with a protective gaze and sending up a crop of little prayers that they make it – that some spell of mildew doesn’t take them out, that they don’t fall prey to the proliferation of chipmunks in the neighborhood, that something else doesn’t cut short their treacherous road to ripening. After the year we’ve already had, I don’t have much faith… but I’m still hanging on. 

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17
June
2020
Tags: General
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Typical Tumult

Perfectly emblematic of the year that is 2020, these are about the only blooms that the mockorange clumps produced this season – a sad, sorry, and lamentable situation, especially considering we once had four strong and healthy shrubs that towered up to and over the roof of the house. When we first moved in almost twenty years ago, I planted two little mockorange plants. I didn’t know then the house already had two clumps of it – so neglected and forgotten had they been. I noticed their leaves as the season progressed, and gave them a healthy dose of manure. The next year those old plants came back strong, blooming and filling the yard with their sweet perfume. One was a double version of the traditional mockorange, and the other was the typical single version. Both were equally glorious in fragrance. The two new specimens took a few years to bloom, but once they began they too filled June with their delicious scent. 

Unfortunately, as lovely as the scent is, the blooming period is criminally short, and the shrubs themselves tend to revert to a weedy form, with unremarkable foliage, and a thicket of half-dead stems after a few years. It seemed they ran out of steam, as did my enthusiasm for them. But now, absent their big blooming explosion of perfume, I regret not working a little harder on their care. 

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17
June
2020
Tags: General
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In the Middle of the Week, A Respite

The temperatures are scheduled to climb in the next few days. Our pool remains unopened with no prospect of hope for a new liner this month. The idea of the country sliding back into the throes of this COVID crisis has everyone I know rightfully on edge. Yet somehow, I manage to remain relatively calm. Part of this I attribute to a regular meditation regime – twenty minutes a day, usually after my work hours. I’ve only missed it two or three days in the past three months; it has quickly become that intricately woven into a necessary and actually enjoyable habit. 

There’s also my therapy sessions, which I’ve scheduled once every two weeks, a good timeframe to keep things on track, especially in such troubling times. It feels almost like an afterthought by this point, but eliminating alcohol from my intake has likely helped raise my mood too – the removal of a depressant I’d relied on for years has gradually lifted a bit of the haze of middle age. And our imposed social isolation has actually worked to help me overcome some social anxiety – not in the obvious isolated aspect, but in the quiet I’ve had the opportunity to focus on eliminating the underlying reasons for such anxiety. 

There are also some mind tricks that help with the wayward turn the world has taken of late, well, maybe ‘mind tricks’ is the wrong term – this just something I focus on when things feel claustrophobic or stifling, the way an overly-hot and humid day can physically work to crush the soul. It’s a practice I put into play when I would occasionally find myself in Boston or New York on an impossibly hot summer day, when the heat got wedged in the concrete and sidewalks, emanating from brick and glass and the very sky itself. It was difficult to cool down, especially when walking was involved, so I’d go slow, keep to the shade wherever available, and conjure the cooling sound of trickling water and the fragrance of a mockorange or neroli to quell the restless agitation. Envisioning simple blooms like the ones shown here, and memories of cooler spring days seemed to help. It took me out of the heat of the moment, which is a strange notion now that I think about it. So much of mindfulness is about staying in the present moment, but it’s also about clearing the mind. I might finally be finding the balance that works well for me. 

In the middle of a harried week, I seek the solace of this respite, like a fountain in a hidden garden. 

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16
June
2020
Tags: Food
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A Little BLT For You & me

Is there anything simpler or better for an almost-summer lunch than a BLT sandwich? Perhaps a BLAT sandwich because I do love an avocado. For this one, Andy kept it true to the original, and on my lunch break I stepped onto the backyard patio and indulged in this summer treat. There are no tricks involved in the making of a BLT. Toast the bread, if you like, and be sure to slather mayonnaise on both pieces of it, but that’s about it. The ingredients take care of themselves, and there’s nothing tastier than that pink mix of tomato juice and mayonnaise that always ends up running down your hand. I’m not so proper to pretend that I don’t lick it up. 

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16
June
2020
Tags: Gardening
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No More Side-eye for This Side-yard

A little bamboo magic has rubbed off on the rest of our side-yard, as this corner will attest with its perfectly-placed clematis blooms, intertwined with an unexpectedly-gorgeous climbing hydrangea which finally came into its own just in the nick of time. Both the hydrangea and the clematis adhere to this age-old adage that describes their growing pattern: the first year they sleep, the second year they creep, the third year they leap. This is probably the fifth or sixth year for the hydrangea, so its leaps are especially appreciated, as the sweet autumn clematis that previously ran its crazy twenty-foot-per-year growing pattern finally came to an end. I was debating how to handle it when the hydrangea scrambled onto the arbor and across the top of it, solving the problem in one pretty pass. Sometimes the garden works for you.

As for these purple clematis blooms, I’m sorry to say they did this without any help from me. To be honest, I’m not even sure where the base and roots of this vine are located. I’m assuming it’s close to the hydrangea base, so I focus my water there. Clematis like their feet moist and cool, and their leaves and tendrils warm and dry – finicky little things that can make overhead watering difficult. Still, they reward you with these divine blooms if they’re happy enough. 

The climbing hydrangea is more forgiving, and once established it’s a workhorse for garden beauty. Its foliage remains fresh. handsome and bright green for most of the growing season. In fall it burns a bright yellow, and after falling reveals some gorgeous bark, and eventually the wondrously gnarled framework of a world-weary sage, the years carved into its winter face. 

Right now, it is in full lace-cap bloom, sprinkling a sweet perfume that is like a lighter version of the linden tree which is also on its way into bloom right now. There is much sweetness in the air at the turn of June. Let’s go out and enjoy it before the day begins in earnest.

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15
June
2020
Tags: General, Tiny Threads
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Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series

I can say anything I want with my sighs. 

#TinyThreads

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15
June
2020
Tags: Food
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The Joy of a Chocolate Chip Cookie

Is there anything as joy-inducing as the first bite of a recently-baked chocolate chip cookie? I suppose the second bite comes close. And the third. Hell, my joy goes on well into the fifth cookie. During these socially isolated times, when we have spent days on end at home, where the pool remains unopened and the options for exercise are running around the basement, I’ve curbed the baking for a bit to stay within the waist size of 31.5 inches. It’s worked, but every now and then you need a chocolate chip cookie, and that calling came on a sunny Saturday. For most of my life, childhood and adulthood combined, I have tended not to want any nuts in a chocolate chip cookie. In the last few years, however, I’ve come around to nuts, and even, on occasion, raisins, something I never thought would happen. This isn’t about sour grapes though; apologies for the digression.

As I was saying, sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t. On this night, I was looking for some walnut action to go with the chocolate, and stumbled upon the copycat version of the Levain Bakery Chocolate Chip Crush Cookie here. I followed it pretty closely, having to make do with all purpose flour instead of the cake flour (since markets are still out of most flour for some reason ~ who is still doing all this fucking baking right now?) and I thought for sure we had a can of cornstarch but it had disappeared. (I know because the last time I tried to use it I almost used the baking powder because they looked identical and I put them next to each other to prove I wasn’t losing my mind.) A quick search showed me that some rice flour could be used in place of it, and it was only a teaspoon so it didn’t look to make a huge difference. The only other change I made was using our last cup of chocolate chips and then using a cup of chocolate chunks. That change was for the better. 

I was slightly wary of the recipe’s size of each cookie. Four per large cookie sheet? I shaped them into baseball-sized chunks, then flattened them into thick cookies, indenting the center a bit. The batter made eight, as described. I wasn’t sure. I baked on the underside of the timing, then ended up extending it about five minutes beyond the max. They turned out. A few more tweaks and this might be ready for sharing when it comes to be around people again. Last pic shows you one in the palm of my hand for some perspective. They really are this big!

I had two.

 

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15
June
2020
Tags: General
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Here Comes the Sunny Recap

We are due to hit the 90’s this week, which is lovely weather when you are absent a pool liner! Such is the Year of our Lord 2020. This godforsaken wench is doing all he can to remain sane, and cool, but there is probably a breakdown right around the corner, so gird your loins and fire up the smoke machine because the greatest show on earth is about to fucking begin. First, a recap! Pop it like it’s hot…

I could jack off to this any day.

Painting the fronds of ferns. (These have since been ravaged by a rabbit, because 2020.)

Happy birthday Suzie Ko!

Genus: Paeonia. (Not genius, genius.)

Behind our masks, a moment of connection, something I apparently needed. 

I do my June bouquets a little differently. 

This parade went by too quickly. Always does. 

Life is best looked at from different windows. 

Missing my abs, among other more important things. 

A rare bucket-list item gets checked off after a quest that lasted four decades. 

Making an omelette with Andy.

Revisiting the surreal dream-world of Bardo.

The Hunk of the Day shall return…

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14
June
2020
Tags: General
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Project of the Past: Bardo ~ The Dream Surreal, 2011

Bardo is a term used in Tibetan Buddhism to describe the intermediate state between death and rebirth. That also coincides with the time between life and death. In some places, bardo is considered that fuzzy border between sleep and wake. In others, it is considered a state of suspended life. For the purposes of this project, bardo is taken to be the place between a dream and reality, where the limits of the physical world are bent by the fantasies of the dream world. It sounds like a lovely place of dreamy other-worldliness, and there is that fantastical element of limitless possibility, but there is a much darker underside of a dreamworld. The very limitlessness of hopeful possibility extends to the nightmarish as well: the more you can dream of something beautiful and charming and good, the more you can dream of something ugly and disturbing and evil.

The crux of dreams and reality is where we locate the tension that runs through this project. There is a bird motif that carries its own set of metaphors, with egg references and feathered tales and a gilded cage that offers the freedom of imprisonment. There are animals that talk and sing, stories that defy logic and reason, and a merman who cannot miss the limbs he never had.

Mostly, though, there is the tension of the unresolved fuzziness of the border between being asleep and being awake. Once upon my youth, there wasn’t 24-7 television broadcasting. Some stations simply went dark at certain hours, with that weird color-banded screen and a strange one-note tone that rang until they resumed broadcasting the next morning. That was the land of bardo.

A state of suspension. A state of the in-between. It was a place in which you didn’t want to get stuck, but it was interesting to visit now and then. One got the sense that it was a land where monsters dwelled, and while monsters may seem exciting from a distance, when they get too close it can be terrifying.

…And in the end the birdcage descends, its bamboo bars now gold, now melting away, now revealed to be… a pretty ornate gate closing off the open sky. Protections against what is without. You, pretty bird, have sung for Kings and Queens through the ages, your plaintive coos unanswered, your shrill trills unheard, your splattered shit veined with gray. You dribble urine down your talons and dream of digging them into your masters. One day your beak will be unleashed, macerating all in its path, only your wings won’t work. You won’t remember how to use them, even if they’ve never been clipped, even if they spared you that one indignity.

{See ‘Bardo ~ The Dream Surreal’ in its entirety here. Also see ‘StoneLight‘, ‘The Circus Project‘, ‘A Night at the Hotel Chelsea‘ and ‘A 21stCentury Renaissance: The Resurrection Tour’.}

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14
June
2020
Tags: Food
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Stretching the Loveliness of Tarragon

When faced with the prospect of an extra shallot and some leftover tarragon from a béarnaise sauce made the day prior, the only thing to do is whip up a fluffy French-inspired omelette. When faced with a sunny but cool Saturday morning, the best thing to do is to enlist the help of your husband. In truth, this was a joint effort. I sautéed the shallot and tarragon in some butter, found an extra mushroom to add to that, and then handed it all over to Andy, who made it into an omelette, flipped it and reversed it or however you create the fold-over magic, and it was done. 

Taking it out onto the backyard patio, I set up a lovely little brunch scene, marred only by a little garter snake who wanted to join in the festivities, giving me a heart-attack and Andy some entertainment in the process. Another sign of the impending apocalypse. First ducks, then an opossum, now a snake. I shudder at what’s next. A bear? Bears are sweet. Besides, you ever see a bear with forty-foot feet? 

When I’ve segued into Sondheim, it’s time to take my leave. 

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13
June
2020
Tags: Flowers
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A Quest for the Slipper of a Lady

It was the stuff of fairy tales.

A slipper of a lady hidden away in a forest.

A quest that took me over forty years to finally execute.

And a spell cast to make sure I would never repeat where precisely I had been.

My bucket list is kept as short as possible, and it always has been, intentionally so. I add to it as I find things within grasp of execution and likely possibility. Maybe that’s not the proper way to do a bucket list, but the idea of some long list of dreams I’ll never accomplish isn’t my idea of a good time. Instead, I keep the list small and doable, allowing myself to feel a sense of accomplishment I’d never have were I to list everything out all at once.

One thing that has been on that list for years, however, is to see a lady’s slipper orchid out in its natural habitat. I’ve kept in on the list because it’s not such a far-fetched dream. In fact, I had come close a few times. As recently as last year a friend at work had found one and alerted me to its presence, but due to weather and scheduling, I couldn’t get there on time. They live in the local woodlands, so it has remained on my radar, but vaguely so, never quite in complete focus.

A couple of weeks ago someone posted that they had just found a stand of lady’s slipper orchids in the Albany Pine Preserve, and after getting some loose directions I made my way there on a sunny lunch hour. It was warmer than I realized. My body had not yet adjusted to the heat of the season, nor was it accustomed to being out in the open beyond my front and back yards. Both were exhilarating, if a little uncomfortable at first. As I walked toward the path that led into the pine woodland, I took the first step of this little quest. I don’t always appreciate or make note of the start of such journeys – large or small – but on this day I did, because if I was successful in finding the orchids, this would be the demarcation of before and after.

A field of blue lupines was in full bloom on either side of the path, an auspicious start on this particular quest for beauty. I paused there, before I had even begun, because when prettiness presents itself – especially temporary prettiness, as in a field of flowers – one must stop and pay respect. Most of the lupines I see fly by the car at 70 miles per hour somewhere along the Massachusetts Turnpike. Seeing their intricate pea-like blooms up close was a treat – a bonus in what I hoped would be a day of breathtaking sights.

Back on the path, I waved off a few pesky little flies, and drank in more sun than I’d had in months. The lupines faded behind me, but a couple lined the first curve, beneath a small stand of trees, and I stopped there in the shade. As you get older, you stop more on walks, no matter how short. I wish I’d done that when I wasn’t as old. I don’t mean that to sound as sad and regretful as it might – I just wish I’d slowed down a bit. It’s something that could hold just as true today. Even on this pretty path, I found myself charging forward, on the lookout for something still ahead…

Having hiked maybe two or three times in my life (and by hike I mean walk into the woods for about twenty minutes, tops) I didn’t have much confidence in my sense of direction, and though it sounded easy enough to find them, I wound my way around various paths, doubling back to take a different turn when I couldn’t find the orchids. I was starting to give up and head back, when I remembered walking in the woods as a kid.

It was at this time of the year when we would begin studying for final exams – a time when we would have to go back into our binders to the first lessons of class and remind ourselves of everything we had learned during the whole school year. It was a daunting task that took several days, and invariably I would burn out at some point. When that happened, and when the sun still beckoned at 7 PM, I’d step away from the books and binders and steal into the backyard, nimbly navigating my way down the steep bank behind our house, stepping gingerly among ferns and mushrooms and crossing a street into a thicker forest, where I knew there were patches of jack-in-the-pulpit plants, and a rare maidenhair fern. There were daylilies on the edge of the woods, closer to the ditches that held more water, but they wouldn’t bloom for a few more weeks. Out in the woods the worries of schoolwork flitted away. My breath came easier, my heart-rate slowed. In the dappled sunlight, I found a place of peace.

In the pine preserve, I rediscovered that feeling. As soon as I relaxed, and my eyes adjusted to the subtleties of the forest floor, I let go of the nagging notion of direction and let the siren’s call of the lady slipper orchid alert me to her presence.

There, in a sea of pine needles and pine cones, slightly obscured by dead branches and new oak trees throwing out green leaves, I saw my first lady slipper. It was both smaller and larger than expected. I stepped carefully off the path and deeper into the wooded area, where suddenly a wave of them appeared around my feet, scattered here and there in haphazard fashion. An entire colony spread before me, as if they had just decided to appear by magic. I was entranced.

Very few things meet great expectations.

Very few bucket-list items end up being all that one hopes they will be. 

This very first brush with the lady’s slipper orchid – this unexpected embrace by the sublime – met my expectations, thrilling beyond what I’d only ever imagined in my head. 

Secluded from the rest of the world, a world at odds with itself and a world sick with so much, I felt an enormous release, even if I knew it was fleeting. I stopped there, inhaling the scent of the pines, the earthiness that emanated with help from the heat of the day, and took in the bewitching scene of these lovely ladies. They danced their dance in the middle of the afternoon, and allowed me to watch for a little while. 

Reluctantly, I walked quietly out of their circle of beauty, returning to the path from which I had come, and it was like a veil suddenly descended behind me. I looked back and didn’t see them anymore, nor could I tell you where I might find them if I wanted to return. I was not unhappy to be under such a spell. There is an added element of beauty when some things are kept secret, when only you have been afforded a glimpse behind the veil. 

Maybe it took this long to be accepting of their mystery, to not want to take them with me when I left, to marvel at their exquisitely enchanting blooms and hear their whispered charms and walk away with only a sense of greater calm, of greater appreciation for what beauty the world still holds. 

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12
June
2020
Tags: General
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Things I Miss Most Right Now…

I miss Boston.

And travel in general – just the simple option of going somewhere new and different.

I miss our pool.

It’s still here, it’s just unopened and in a state of swamp.

We are waiting for a new liner.

At this rate, we may be opening it for May 2021 if we’re lucky.

Finally, my abs.

Yes, I miss my abs.

They’re still here too.

Just buried a bit.

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12
June
2020
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A June Bouquet from Another Angle

I love the interloper who susses out a person’s home by peering into photos and deciphering the layout from the background. There’s dedication in that. There’s a show or respect and honor there that goes unexhibited by even the closest and most well-meaning of friends. Oh sure, some would cry stalker, but as a former-stalker myself I say in the words of Suzie Ko, ‘pshaw!’

Here’s another glimpse of the bouquet from yesterday, because when you bring a bit of the outside in, you want to draw it out and let it linger. Positioned in various points throughout our living room, it brings a little bit of calm and beauty to my most favorite room in the house. I’m one of those annoyingly fidgety design people who will move a vase to wherever it best suits the moment, where it will get maximum exposure, or where it will stand slightly hidden, knowing that the glimpse is more powerful than the full reveal. 

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11
June
2020
Tags: Flowers
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Before the Peony Parade Passes By

Keeping things light on the blog front this week is this peony post. Not much more to say, other than wish you were here to sniff them.

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