For the first ten years of our relationship, it wasn’t legal for Andy and I to be married in New York State, so we celebrated our anniversary using the day we met. For the most part, we’d been together since that fateful night, so it made sense, and July 23, 2000 has always felt like an auspicious date. 

Cut to twenty two years later, wherein we celebrate another year together, and offer gratitude to not have to go through the last two-plus decades entirely on our own. We’re still very independent people, we’re still as different as we often appear to be, but in many ways we’re still as happily compatible and in love as we were on that day so many years ago. And Andy is still the one… 

During our first months of dating, this trite Shania Twain song was finishing its epic run on the charts. I came to many songs late, taking my time to wrap my head around them and appreciating their melodies, so while the world had long since stopped listening to this one, I was just getting into it. I played it many times in the early days of dating Andy, wondering if one day I’d be able to play it and look back over the shared history of a life together. I almost didn’t dare to wish for it, but the heart knows what it wants. 

These days there’s a security and warmth to our marriage, a reassuring camaraderie that has happily replaced the rollercoaster of passionate, obsessive love that was once a trademark of our romantic entanglements. We had those crazy days, and they served their purpose and provided many memories (perhaps a bit too much excitement!), and now we’re evolving into something deeper and quieter and better. As we ride into the latter half of our lives, we appreciate that a lot more. 

Happy Anniversary, Andy. I love you. 

Stultifyingly-hot temperatures, soaring humidity, and the sweaty mess that results – this is when summer turns to high, and after several summers that never quite got off the ground, we are embracing this one. A bit of discomfort is a small price to pay for such glorious summer weather, and whenever I find myself about to complain about the heat, the desolate memory of an expanse of snow and ice blanketing the pool comes to mind, and I inhale the happy heat and carry on with the day.

Smoky and hazy days lead to sultry nights, and the slow-burn of a jazzy torch song breaks the midnight silence. For the day, something equally languid and spell-binding, such as this tune by REM – ‘Summer Turns to High’ from their ‘Reveal’ album – the ideal embodiment of the heady and hot days we’ve been having of late. 

mercury is rising still
turn the fan on high
I won’t step on my own shadow
no one wants to cry

someone put a pox on me
I’ll spit in their eye

summer turns to high

Lounging about the pool, in between dips, slowly reading the same page of a book over and over again because the brain is too hot and fuzzy to make sense of it – this is summer gladness and summer madness. Plans crumble in such heat, outfit-plotting becomes about survival and comfort rather than fashion or fit. A towel in most instances will do, and nobody bothers with shoes anymore. 

with my bedsheet cape and sandals
circle citronella candles
summer’s here, the light is raising
hopes and dragonflies

If those hopes are overshadowed,
cotton candy, caramel apple.

summer turns to high
summer turns to high
summer turns to high,
summer high

An attitude of ‘fuck-it-all’ pervades in the giddiest and most polite manner possible. A tricky thing to navigate, unless it’s summer, then anything goes and no one seems to mind. A carelessness pervades the messy days, all imperfection and sweat, and dousing oneself in the water of a hose while watering the gardens… it’s all here, and it’s all right. 

after wine and nectarines
the fireflies in time
move like syrup through the evening
with a sweet resign

I won’t pine for what could have been-
I’m preoccupied

summer turns to high
summer turns to high
summer turns to high,
summer high.

Never has summer moved more swiftly than this one – and so many wonderful things have already happened that I seek ways to slow down and inhabit the moment. I understand quite profoundly that it will likely never be quite like this again, and I hold the minutes closer. To that end, a recap of the previous week…

A visit from this birthday boy rekindled happy memories, and well over a double decade of friendship moments. 

While July is releasing some of it stifling heat and humidity, there are ways to stay fresh and cool, starting with a yard full of ferns. 

A bright refreshing thirst-quencher entirely devoid of alcohol is this year’s summer mocktail, the Calamansi Cooler. 

This is what I do – I push people – especially if it’s in the name of meditation. 

Summer is so often about the big and brash and bold, we forget that the smaller, quieter moments are just as important. 

A brief snippet of a post – no more than an echo really, a whisper. 

A bit of business, as my agency is currently recruiting for a few very important positions. 

When the world seems to have lost it bearings, there are still things that happen every year at around the same time, and the blooming of this balloon flower is one of those happy events. 

The full Buck Moon should have switched out the ‘B’ for an ‘F’ because all sorts of full-moon mayhem occurred. 

A bamboo summer should be calm and contemplative, inviting serenity and tranquility, carving out the place for peace and contentment. 

Off of their prairie home turf, certain queens falter and flail, and I can completely empathize. 

The week ended, and began, with this butterfly’s lesson, which managed to be tattered, torn, and anything but tragic. 

From a distance, it was splendor and enchantment – a semi-circle of cream tinged with spots of Robin’s egg blue and hints of rust. Fluttering from the Korean lilac to the ostrich fern and back again, it charmed on this sunny summer day, demanding a closer inspection, demanding a second look. Butterflies often play this game.

When I approached, it didn’t flit away like they often will. Instead, it paused for me to see its tattered and torn wings, the way pieces of it were missing, the way it was incomplete. Undulating its wings gently, it seemed to rest there with a certain weariness, not able to garnish the energy to fly swiftly away. 

The world isn’t always kind to pretty things.  

How it came to be in such a state, we will never know. Maybe it was some terrible storm that knocked it about, flinging it into brush and debris and ripping apart some of its decoration. Maybe a hungry bird pecked away at it before giving up, the pattern working its magic of confusing the predator, allowing the butterfly to escape without damage to its vital organs. Maybe it wound itself into a thorny predicament where the only way out was to rip some of itself off to get out. I can empathize with all of those scenarios. 

The world isn’t always kind to many things. 

Andy and I have been having Sunday dinners with my parents for quite some time – a practice Mom suggested a couple of years ago, to keep us all together and intact. Covid wreaked its havoc with that, but for over a year we’ve been going over every Sunday night, and I’m grateful for Andy for doing the drive and offering whatever food we can bring. 

Last week I didn’t get back into town until later on Sunday, so we pushed our dinner back a night to Monday. On the way back home, I caught these pics of the moon and sky – before realizing we were about to have a full supermoon – the Buck Moon – on Wednesday. I should have known, as Dad was off the past few days, as was work, and both seem to coincide with the full moon. 

Hopefully things will calm the Buck down for the next few weeks.