Putting a pot of water on the stove, I asked if my niece wanted a cup of tea. 

“We don’t drink tea, Uncle Al,” she replied. “We’re not… old.”

From the mouths of babes, indeed.

Despite the fact that I walked circles around her and my nephew as we walked the entire Freedom Trail this summer, I knew that she wasn’t wrong. I was old, or at the very least, older – and I felt it. These days, it’s my eyesight that is deteriorating at the most rapid pace, requiring reading glasses of increasing strength in every room of the house, every drawer of the office, and every car in our garage. I’ve taken to wearing two pairs at once when my contacts aren’t in, and years of voguing have made the endless switching of spectacles just another choreographed hand-dance. The levity in that, and the opportunity for further accessorizing, doesn’t quite make up for the sadness I first felt when I noticed the advancing ocular degradation – because the first thing that became more difficult was one of my favorite things to do: reading. All the crystal-bejeweled eyeglass chains can’t make up for that. 

My age group is going through such things – from blood-pressure medication to colonoscopies to gout – and it’s all a part of getting older. It hasn’t really bothered me, and I haven’t invested my existence with a dependence on physical appearance or youthful exuberance. In fact, it’s been more of a point of interest and study than worry, particularly as I’ve been diving deep into the archives of photos in anticipation of the 20th anniversary commemoration of this website. 

The featured photo was taken almost twenty years ago, in Boston on a winter weekend, while the shot below was taken just a year or two ago on a similar winter day, but decades and miles apart. I don’t entirely mind the differences on the outside, because I’ve been working on the differences on the inside – but they’re worth noting, because as this site continues on its 20-year-and-counting journey, I’m starting to see the arcs and the long-range trajectories of life. Certain things sharpen, certain things decline, and certain things remain the same. The seeking and searching continue in earnest…

A cup of Moroccan mint tea – a gift from my friends in Connecticut – greets this snowy day. Backed by a tray of candles, and the warm light they emit in stark contrast to the cold light of the snowy landscape beyond the window, it provides a moment of hygge, and a happy return to memories of summer. 

My Mom was just lamenting the gray state this January has mostly provided – with none of the bright blue skies against sparkling snow that we sometimes get to make it bearably beautiful. On this morning, the snow continues – dropping blankets of white banked by a gray sky. A muted scene of beauty, silent and secret.

Tea and candles may seem like a small buffer against a raging snowstorm, but they make all the difference. In winter, it’s the little things that get us through, and there’s something quite cozy about riding out a storm safely ensconced on a couch with a book and a blanket. 

We haven’t had that much snow this year, and the gardens are clamoring for some insulation from the heaving border of the thaw/freeze see-saw. For that reason alone, this snow is cause for celebration, even if it has been taking down tree limbs and causing other pesky events. This is nature’s way of pruning. It’s also a way to quiet and calm the world – telling us to slow down and take it all in, to pause and reflect and wonder.

Celebrated openly-gay Olympic bobsledder Simon Dunn was found dead in his home at the heartbreakingly-young age of 35. Without speculating on the cause, I knew that Dunn had been open about his struggles with anxiety and depression of late (see his powerful words in this post), and regardless of cause, the early expiration of anyone is a sad thing to witness. In Dunn’s case, he leaves a legacy of pioneering efforts of the acceptance and celebration LGBTQ people in sports. His last Instagram post is the featured photo here – it went up four days ago and he wrote, “I think it’s time for another photoshoot?!” Haunting words that serve to remind everyone that you never know what anyone else is going through at any given time. Even the most seemingly-perfect people have their troubles.

At times like this I wonder if we are looking out for each other enough. I hope Simon has found some sort of peace, and I’m grateful for all the work he did to push for acceptance and equality, and for all the people he touched in his short time here. 

My niece Emi Lu will be fronting this post, in a coat of mine that she helped pick out the last time we were in Boston. “But it’s so over-the-top and ridiculous…” I protested as I hurriedly slipped it on before admiring the nonsense staring back at me from the mirror. 

“It’s totally you,” she said. And so it was. 

Reactions have been decidedly mixed – a co-worker said I looked like Winnie-the-Pooh, bestowing an unintended compliment on me, while at the supermarket the other night a pair of girls broke into loud and long laughter as I walked by them, while another woman said she loved it and asked me where I found it. Such is the life of an unappreciated fashionista in upstate NY. On with the weekly blog recap…

Hope is a growing bump of green. (No, this isn’t about the birth of Elphaba.)

Tracing the lines of time.

Lola’s Birthday.

Winter’s magical light.

The above-referenced weekend with the Ilagan twins finally happened, and it was one for the memory books. 

A winter boulevard of broken dreams.

Yes, I got Madonna tickets – for The Celebration Tour that was four decades in the making. 

Realizing a lifelong Jessica Rabbit dream in super-gay fashion.

The freshest green is sometimes in a flower and not the foliage.

Summer pining in shirtless style.

Approaching spirituality, almost and always.

Winter in the floating world.

Dazzlers of the Day included Maya Moore, Paul Mescal, Quentin Maxfield, Casey Stratton, and my Mom.

Outside the window, a pine tree holds a heavy bouquet of ice and snow and sleet – the same awful mix that coats the driveway, which I will shovel up one single stroke at a time, as that is all I can lift. This, of course, is winter in Albany, New York – the season that makes us all question our sanity for staying here, but that makes the spring and summer so much the sweeter. And so the mind wanders… back a few months, or forward a few… whichever brings us closer to summer weather… and into this Calvin Harris vibe.

Perfect for poolside lounging – nothing too heavy on the ears or the mind – the music shuffles a little languidly, the way the water sometimes feels lazy, like it can barely exert itself to make any waves. All those little summer moments that seemed so insignificant and so precious now that they are behind us… and will we do anything next summer to embrace them any more? We promise we will, but I won’t count on it. Summer spoils us that way. 

Perhaps we make it up in the winter – perhaps we can only show our love and appreciation when the object of our affection is far away and removed. The insufferable conundrum of being such flawed creatures – we totally miss loving summer when it’s with us. 

I hold it in my heart now – its sounds and songs and scents, its turns and twists and twilights, its fun and sun and buns – as much as I try to hold winter in my heart while we are in it.