I’m Wilhelmina Slater and I don’t get wet.
Author Archives: Alan Ilagan
29
November
2018
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November
2018
29
November
2018
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November
2018
Afternoon Sunlight: Portal to the Past
I paused in my brother’s childhood (and, well, adulthood) bedroom at my parents’ home. We had finished Thanksgiving dinner and I was lolling about upstairs in a turkey-trypto haze when I noticed the sunlight pouring into his room. At first, I couldn’t remember the afternoon light streaming in like it did. I have vivid recollections of the morning sun peeping in my bedroom at the northern side of the house, and of the moonlight coming through my window as well, but I couldn’t place this bright warm scene in my memory bank. Puzzled, I sat down on the bed and almost spoke aloud the words ‘I don’t remember this…’
I remembered dancing to ‘Dress You Up’ in this room, jumping up and down on the bed to Madonna’s early music. I remembered sneaking through the rust-colored shag carpet that used to be here in order to get to the guest room when our Gram was staying over for the holidays. I remember the whispered stories that my brother and his friend would tell when we would have sleepovers. But I couldn’t remember this sunlight.
As much a test for my failing memory and middle-aged forgetfulness, I forced myself to think back to my youth, but nothing was coming. I simply did not recall a time when the sun was this strong. It flowed through the window, in spite of the frosty panes. It roamed over the warm carpet, climbed atop the bedspread, and rose all the way up the wall. In spite of the cold, the sun heated the room. It was always warmer in my brother’s room. I wondered if that informed his disposition, whether that explained why he was sometimes sunnier than me. Cool and reserved, like my bedroom, which only saw the morning sun or the moonlight, I held my emotional cards closer to the vest. It was safer that way.
Then, as I watched the dust particles floating through shafts of sunlight, I began to remember. An old television, with the knob you had to manually turn to switch channels, once sat in front of the window. It didn’t broadcast anything but static, yet we still fiddled with it, hoping for a station to come in eventually. One never did. A box of stale dog biscuits, which we dared each other to bite. These were distant and dim memories, but still largely intact. Images and scenes without plot or point, they were there buried deep in my memory castle, and instantly I warmed at their presence.
Only then could I leave the room.
28
November
2018
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November
2018
28
November
2018
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November
2018
Madonna in Motion
Our queen has been relatively quiet of late, putting the finishing touches on her upcoming album. It’s been reported that she is working with Mirwais, who helmed the iconic ‘Music’ album as well as the under-rated ‘American Life’ masterpiece. His blip-filled electronica/folk mash worked well when Madonna needed a new avenue at the start of the millennium, and I’m hoping they will work similar magic to conjure a whole new sonic landscape for the end of this decade.
For some reason, this feels like less of an event than the ‘Rebel Heart’ album, and that’s a good thing. A true artist doesn’t create for the purpose of making a splash, even when you’re Madonna. She has nothing left to prove – she makes music because she is still inspired and moved and has something to say. That’s the mark of a creative spirit.
As much as I’m downplaying the new album, I still can’t wait to hear it. She will always be magical in that way.
27
November
2018
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November
2018
We Are The Toothpaste Tube
As we kick into high holiday gear, there are going to be days when we are all this broke-down tube of toothpaste: hanging on for dear life, emptied and exhausted, on the verge of collapse, on the edge of sanity or the bathroom shelf.
At times like this it’s good to remind yourself that this too shall pass. Then get back out there and resume the holiday mayhem and magic. ‘Tis the season!
27
November
2018
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November
2018
Cactus Clockwork
These beauties were in full bloom for Thanksgiving at my parents’ home, so unlike my Halloween bloomer, it seems they got the holiday bloom time memo and waited until the right time. Not sure they’ll hang on until Christmas, but isn’t that an apt metaphor for us all?
I love their photo-sensitive time-frame, and the reliable (or almost reliable) way they gauge the time of the year. These may have a rebloom around Easter, signaling the end of winter, which is much happier than the start. Their color is appreciated at any time of the year, but it’s especially festive right now. My plants never seem to cooperate when I need them to bloom at a certain time – witness the Brugmansia that steadfastly refused to dangle its deliciously-scented trumpets during countless summer parties. I’ll try to change that with a few pots of Paperwhite Narcissus that I’ve been planting in waves to ensure blooms over a longer period of time. We shall see…
26
November
2018
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November
2018
Joy at the Wretched JoAnn’s Fabric Store
The coupon flyer arrived like clockwork, and since not many coupons for 25% off the entire order arrive regularly, I bit, even though the hours were limited to 7 AM to 1 PM. I was going to try the day after Black Friday to score some deals at JoAnn’s Fabrics. After over a decade and a half of shopping experiences there, I can honestly and accurately claim that the JoAnn’s Fabric Store in Colonie is the most mis-managed retail operation in existence. I know retail. I worked retail for a number of years. They suck. And I speak from countless visits where the line snaked around the store, two inept people were on the register, and ten workers paraded around the store doing absolutely nothing.
But whatever, they are such a big company they don’t give a damn about quality service, so I long ago gave up on complaining or changing anything. That’s the mindset you need to have going into that store, unless you want to get really pissed off and angry. I didn’t and I don’t. I arrived, glanced over at the registers and saw one person there, while another worker stood at the door holding a big green balloon and doing nothing else. Completely pointless and a total waste of resources. Totally JoAnn’s Fabric. Like, spot-on brand work. Happily, I wasn’t in a rush. It was 7:15 AM on Saturday, and I had nowhere to be or go. I ran into about eight more workers on the floor. A line was already forming in the fabric section. Thank God I didn’t need any fabric.
I took my time perusing the doorbusters and stuff, seeking out garland for the upcoming Boston Children’s Holiday Hour. I found some, along with some gifts for my niece and nephew, and made my way leisurely to the register. I passed a harried-looking woman who had stopped right before the register section Walking past her, I sensed she was pissed – but hey, don’t stop and bend down to look further and expect me to wait for your ass. Sorry.
Two workers on the registers, and two women in line behind the two already at the counter.
“I’m in line!” the first one shrieked to no one in particular. “I was with her,” she said pointing to someone already checking out, “But we’re separate so I’m next!”
Like I gave a shit.
The woman behind me wasn’t having it. “Great, just two days into the shopping season and already an a-hole. I can’t stand this,” she muttered.
The woman in front of me had a cart full of stuff. “They never have enough registers open,” she said. The woman behind me then launched into a tirade about how the fabric section had a line and no one could get a simple cut of ribbon she needed for an event that morning. I stood between the two of them nodding. It’s JoAnn’s. It always sucks.
The woman in front of me finally had her turn. It took forever. The lady behind me explained she thought she could just rush in and get the ribbon she needed for her event and this was entirely ridiculous and JoAnn’s just didn’t know how to do anything, and I absolutely agreed. My arms were starting to get tired from holding all the garland and kids’ gifts. Still, I was in no rush, and this woman obviously was. Five minutes later, when a register finally opened (the lady holding the green balloon saw that we were waiting forever and put the balloon down to take a register) I told her to go first. She initially said no, but I insisted and she thanked me. I told her I had nowhere to go and wasn’t in a rush. (Plus, truth be told, I didn’t trust someone whose sole task had been holding a balloon at the door to check me out.)
All in a day at the Colonie JoAnn’s Fabric Store.
PS – The garland was way overpriced, even with the sale.
26
November
2018
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November
2018
Mid-Day Meme
For the most part, I abhor a meme.
This is one of the exceptions.
Because I love Pooh.
And the sentiment.
26
November
2018
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November
2018
Recap as the Holiday Season Gets Under Way
We are in it now.
The 2018 Holiday Season.
Feel the stress! Feel the pressure! Feel the power!
We just had a full moon, and Mercury continues in its disruptive retrograde pattern, so God help us all.
I’m going in with low expectations in the hope that I will be happily surprised with how well things go. The older I get, the less prone to perfectionism I find myself, which makes everyone around me much happier. On to the week that came before…
Fine fitness by Roger Frampton.
A day of extra-special thanks.
Turkey-lurkey, goosey-loosey.
Finally got to see ‘Come From Away’ on Broadway.
A weekend in NYC with Mom, Dad and Andy.
How to get through the holidays: press pause.
All soup, no nuts.
The Tailspin Cocktail – a new holiday favorite.
These #TinyThreads made for fun interludes.
25
November
2018
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November
2018
Getting into the Tailspin
I love Campari, but I’m very particular about what it mixes with. Gin and sweet vermouth work best for me, as does a Campari spritzer, but certain things turn it into a fight. I thought that would be the case of the Tailspin, a variation on the beloved Negroni, utilizing Chartreuse. The idea of Chartreuse battling Campari sounded like a fight made in hell, with all of us losing in the end, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that this one works in unexpectedly-delightful ways. In some way it makes sense – I love a Last Word, and I love a Negroni, and this one is a bit of a hybrid of those tried and true classics.
The Tailspin
¾ oz. gin
¾ oz. Sweet vermouth
¾ oz. Chartreuse
1 Tbsp. Campari
Lemon twist
That lemon twist proves vital in giving this a distinctive flair, taking away some of the sweetness from the typical Negroni orange peel, and softening the edge a lime twist might have added. Despite the green of the chartreuse, the red of the Campari overrides everything, giving it a vibrant hue perfect for the holidays.
25
November
2018
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November
2018
Coaxing The Gold from the Carcass
The one thing I regret about not hosting a big holiday dinner is that we don’t get to make any soup from the turkey or ham bones. There is nothing better than a soup made from the real deal, instead of some sodium-soaked store-bought stock. Alas, desperate times and lack there-of require an instant fix now and again, so for this make-do chicken soup I combined chicken and beef stock after browning some skin-on and bone-in chicken thighs. The flavor is almost as good as if it had been boiling away all day. The addition of fennel salt was a boon, as was a dried and de-seeded guajillo pepper which quickly reconstituted itself in its hot bath. A trio of bay leaves (one of the most underestimated objects in the kitchen arsenal) rounds out the basic seasoning. Onion, garlic, celery, and carrots provided the rest. I boiled a pair of eggs for exactly seven minutes and thirteen seconds in a small pot of gently boiling water, then split them open to reveal their gold. A few sliced green onions and a generous pile of freshly-chopped cilantro rounded out the bowl. (If you’re groaning, I’m guessing I lost you at the eggs and the cilantro just threw you over the edge. That’s fine. Go.)
24
November
2018
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November
2018
Pressing ‘Pause’ Or At the Very Least ‘Slow’
With Thanksgiving done, we are truly in it: the holiday season proper. That means it is more important than ever to carve out spaces of peace and calm because no matter how well-organized your Virgo ass may be, there will be times of chaos and disorder that are going cry out for a breakdown of mid-life crisis proportion (yes, I’m that age). In years of doing this, however, preparing for those moments and being aware that they will pass is the best way to deal with them. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can prevent them entirely. It is possible to have an entirely peaceful season if you know how to roll with the punches. It’s the notion of expecting things to be perfect that gets one hung up more than anything else. This is not the season for perfectionists. Let go and let God. Jesus take the wheel.
I’ve already had a practice run-through. It was the day before we were supposed to leave for New York last week. The night of the snowstorm that crippled NYC and freaked everyone out. I was worried about my parents driving from Amsterdam, I was worried about us getting to the train, I was worried about the train being delayed and missing dinner reservations, I was worried about how we would get my parents and Andy from the train station to the hotel… and I locked myself in the bathroom and had a quick little heart-to-heart with myself. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and there was nothing I could do to stop or slow the snow. I had absolutely no control over any of it. If the roads were impassable, there was no way to hurry safety along. If the train was delayed, there was no way to lift it onto another track. I gave it up to destiny then, or the stars, or God, or whatever you want to believe in. I took a few deep breaths. I had control over that. I slowly calmed my heart. I could do that too. I dimmed the lights and turned on some meditation music. I lit a candle and drew a hot shower, giving the steam time to fill the glass stall. Focusing on my breathing, I shut out the world and the worry, taking each step as it came. The soap, the shampoo, the body wash… the softness of the towel, the freshness of the skin, the warmth of the robe. The simple ritual of a shower before bed.
Find your moments of respite wherever and whenever you can, then make room for them. All that worry, eased and erased by a little shower. The next morning we made a careful drive to the train station, where we departed pretty much on time and enjoyed a lovely weekend.
24
November
2018
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November
2018
A Weekend In NY With the Parents & The Husband
Outside of weddings and funerals and the occasional trip to Ogunquit, Andy and I don’t get to travel that often with my parents, so last weekend in New York City was a rare delight. We weathered the crazy snowstorm to arrive in a city that was just turning into a holiday wonderland, giving everything a sparkly glow of anticipation and excitement.
When my Mom and I were last in New York for our Broadway Mother’s Day weekend, the only thing we saw on ads all over town was ‘Come From Away’. Since my Dad had lived in Nova Scotia and remembered it as one of the friendliest places on earth, she thought he would enjoy the show. I haven’t seen a show on Broadway with my father since the 1990’s, so this seemed a good time to return.
Traversing the crowded streets of Times Square is no easy feat for those of us in relatively decent health; doing so with two elderly parents and a disabled husband seemed like a daunting task, but everyone managed remarkably well.
Staying at the Kimpton Ink 48 Hotel in Hell’s Kitchen was a treat, with the one glaring exception of a raucously loud nightclub across the street that kept Andy and my Mom (in the adjacent room) up until well past 3 AM. My Dad and I somehow slept right through it, thankfully. The rest of the hotel stay was fine. I commandeered the remote and for once we steered clear of all the news and political yammering, sticking with the Food Network and Cooking Channel, where Ina and Giada and Martha showed us how to do various Thanksgiving dishes. (I’ll be trying a new twist on my candied yams, inspired by a sweet potato recipe from the Pioneer Woman.)
It was a key component to enjoying our downtime while in the hotel room, and a change of pace from the relentless stream of disappointment and chaos that usually pours forth from the television.
For my fragrance, I chose the sweet-tinged New York Oud by Bond No. 9. It’s an indulgent jewel – rich and opulent and decadent – the perfect embodiment for a quiet but sparkling New York City weekend. I made up for Tom Ford withdrawal by splurging on his just-released line of underwear. Somewhere in the midst of it all we bargain-shopped at Century 21, where Andy and Dad mostly just waited for me and Mom.
The show (‘Come From Away’) was amazing – I wasn’t expecting to be so wholly moved on so many levels. To be honest, I’d steered clear of it when planning our Mother’s Day weekend because I didn’t see how a musical could ever deal with the aftermath of 9/11 in any meaningful way. This transcended that by expounding upon the situation of those stranded in Canada when their flights were diverted out of America. Everyone who was alive and old enough to be cognizant in 2001 remembers where they were on that September day.
Whenever you go through something profound with a group of people, particularly people you have never met before, it brings out the primal and basic essence of who you are. Free from the burdensome expectations and established image that friends and family have, one is liberated to reveal oneself.
I’ve often felt this freedom in airports or train stations when traveling alone. I don’t have to be anyone other than who I am. There is no weighty history of four decades bearing down on me, no shared experiences where I behaved badly or hurt someone, no one who has seen me at my worst, no one who has witnessed any shame I once felt, and in some strange way I can be more of myself than I usually am.
Luckily, I have a similar sort of freedom with those who know and love me best, and surrounded by my parents and Andy, I felt fortunate to have such a loving family. They will always be better than a Broadway show, a bottle of cologne, and a pair of Tom Ford underwear any day. Here’s to the next adventure… maybe Maine in the winter.
23
November
2018
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November
2018
Tiny Threads: An Insignificant Series
A spiderweb of gold around my neck.
I think it’s time for a new necklace.
A bracelet will do too.
23
November
2018
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November
2018
Theater Review: ‘Come From Away’
It struck me halfway through this moving musical that all of my friend’s children have no memory of what happened on 9/11, and therefore the next generation will grow up in a state of innocence at least somewhat similar to how me and my friends grew up. There’s something very sorrowful in that, and something rather lucky too. Both sides of the story are in effect as ‘Come From Away’ weaves its tale of the aftermath of that dark day, when planes were re-routed out of American air space and onto Canadian soil, in a tiny town in Newfoundland. Overwhelmed by the 39 planes that arrived (the airport had only ever seen five or six a day at the most), the town came together to welcome and care for the thousands of scared, confused and shell-shocked new additions who had “come from away†to a land in the middle of nowhere.
While the specter of 9/11 hangs somberly over the proceedings, and there are moments of elegiac reverence that will bring you back to that haunted day, it is the resilience and generosity of the human spirit that ultimately wins out in the end, creating a memorable distillation of a world gone mad and trying to rescue and heal itself in the face of unimaginable horror. I didn’t think a musical could do it such honor, but ‘Come Away Away’ achieves that and more, giving us a voice of optimism in some very dim days.
Brought to glorious life by a cast that sees each member playing multiple roles, this is very much an ensemble piece (nine of the fifteen listed numbers are attributed only to ‘Company’) – and though each performer gets a few stand-out moments, the overall effect is a group working together to make things better – the very personification of the story at hand. Whether strapped convincingly in their airplane seats or rollicking wildly in the local pub, they manage to make a group of disparate chairs (the main set-pieces of a sparse, tree-framed stage) come alive, transforming seamlessly in and out of character from local to visitor, and somehow it never gets confusing.
Backed by an onstage band that stays largely hidden in the shadows of the trees (until the post-finale release), the music on hand is the driving force that buoys the production, providing a compelling foil for all the spoken exposition. It also drives the more rousing numbers, setting things into motion with ‘Welcome to the Rock’ and giving soaring anthemic propulsion to ‘Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere.’ Comedic moments like ‘Screech In’ get ear-worm melodies while the aptly titled ‘Prayer’ incorporates a classic hymn while winding in a world of spiritual sounds.
The pendulum from profound joy to heartrending grief swings back and forth several times during the course of the evening, giving due gravitas to the proceedings, yet the show never stops being engaging and entertaining. As the days slowly unfurl, life finds a way to adapt to everything that came after. One couple comes together while another breaks apart, friendships are made and instantly galvanized under the weight of what the world was going through, and by the end of the show this human experience, which should have by all rights been nothing more than an unbearable exercise in sadness has become an uplifting example of how good we can sometimes be.
