Good news!! Ariana Grande earns her very first crowning as Dazzler of the Day as she prepares for her role as Galinda (the ‘A’ is silent) in the upcoming two-part ‘Wicked‘ movie. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by Grande’s acting prowess when she’s appears in various musicals and shows such as ‘Saturday Night Live’, so I’m giving her a chance in Kristin Chenoweth’s vaunted heels. After all, it’s not about aptitude, it’s the way you’re viewed…
The month of Pride is upon us, and what a happy month it is. June has burst in with all her glory, brimming with peonies and irises and roses – the happiest flowers of the year on full display. As such, my attention was rightfully focused outside, and not in front of a lap-top, so we slip into the lazy summer posting schedule with glad disarray. Here’s a brief recap of what went down…
Some of those aforementioned peonies in their prime.
Our return to Ogunquit will be more fully documented in a bit, so for now feast your eyes on the wonderful Bed & Breakfast which became our home-away-from-home.
Following a friend’s lead to find beauty.
The first flowering of the Itoh peony.
An almost-summer song for Better Days.
A scarcity of stars, as happens from time to time.
Another summer song: no one is to blame.
Dazzlers of the Day included Leyna Bloom and Mark MacKillop.
He’s appeared here in his underwear before, touting his gorgeous coffee-table book ‘Room XIV‘ and his bodacious body of work, and now he is making his debut as Dazzler of the Day. This is Mark MacKillop, currently raising funds for this year’s Broadway Bares phenomenon, and you can donate to him here: https://donate.broadwaycares.org/fundraiser/3899538.
After a surprisingly intense therapy session, one needs a moment to process and simply breathe in the moment. There is always relief after talking about things, even if there is no simple solution. Sometimes it is enough to let it all out, and to be ok with not everything being neatly resolved, not every problem of the past put to bed for good. Most importantly, to be ok with putting certain problems to bed just for the night, just to make it through another day.
Summer starts off in such happy fashion, it’s good to appreciate these moments, even when they are tinged with slivers of sorrow, memories of melancholy. Such days need a proper soundtrack, and summer songs run the gamut from the happiest, boppiest bops to the slowest, saddest dirges. Some manage to create a sonic vibe and atmosphere that mirrors the suspended haze and heat of the season, functioning as both balm and barometer, a calming way to measure the minutes. This is one of those songs.
Summer begs forgiveness. Summer begs silence. Summer begs… and summer begs. Like its sting, its want can be paralyzing, stunning the world into focus or fracture.When that happens, you just have to chill, and slip into a song that embodies the days that can be languid and lazy and lovely.
Floating in the water, and surrounded by liquid that dispels the typical pull and drag of gravity, the body is more at ease. The mind is better-equipped to focus when the body is at ease. Sometimes summer grants a clarity that no other season allows; creating the space for contemplation can diminish a place for blame.
There is a conundrum to every season. For summer, it is often finding reconciliation of such tranquil beauty with the inevitable thunderstorms that pop up along the way. Memories can be like storms, lying in wait until the conditions are right for rain and release and, if we are lucky, relief.
The preponderance of petunias I’ve planted in various places is popping its pulchritude as these poofs preen and pose. Pink and peppy, they pop their eye-catching color in hanging baskets for now, while other varieties in the beds are just beginning to sprawl out in bud.
After ignoring their ubiquitous omni-presence in all sorts of garden centers for quite literally decades, I’ve come around the power of the annual in recent years, and no annual gives quite as much bang for the buck as the simple yet spectacular petunia. Plant them, water them, feed them, and stand back for the show.
Actress, dancer, activist and ‘Sports Illustrated’ swimsuit model Leyna Bloom brings back the Dazzler of the Day feature thanks to her beauty, talent, and power. All of that is on luminescent display in her turn as Wye in ‘Port Authority’, as well as in her extensive modeling work. Trailblazing, groundbreaking, and a superstar-in-the-making ~ watch her shine.
Like lilacs, the Chinese dogwood trees in our yard have big years of blooms, and smaller years of blooms. This is one of the smaller years, making the blooms a little more precious. The last two years have seen boffo bloom shows, absolutely covering their branches with the creamy white bracts (the actual flowers are small and inconspicuous).
I used to be downhearted on the off years, but I’ve come to appreciate them as a natural part of the ebb and flow of life. They also make the floriferous and showy years that much more impressive, and appreciated. More lessons from the garden…
Once upon a time I was anal and adamant about definitive dates when it came to things like the start of summer. Over the past few years, I’ve softened and become much more flexible, and the ease of summer has taught me that. This song kicks off our unofficial summer season here at ALANILAGAN.com, and I absolutely love its easy-going vibe.
Along with the easing of strict delineation comes an easing of the posting schedule, as well as the content of the posts themselves. I just don’t want to stay behind a computer screen when the outside calls. These are the better days.
Bridging the blooming periods (and genetics) of the tree peony and the herbaceous peony, this is the Itoh Peony. Its hybrid form combines elements of both, though outwardly it veers closer to its tree cousins. (The manner in which it dies down to the ground each year is where it shows, or doesn’t show, its herbaceous roots.)
These are also smaller in form than the typical tree peony, and they manage to stand upright without staking – an improvement on the herbaceous forms that often require support or cages. The only tree peony I grow is a variety that absolutely does not stand up on its own, and as such it’s hidden away in a side-garden nook. Love the blooms, don’t love the form. These have improved on that, proof that hybrids aren’t all bad.
I’ve planted two varieties – one yellow, one white and fuchsia – in the front yard, which is where the strongest sun lands. This is not without some drawbacks. While they love the sun, their blooms would enjoy some shade, which I found out as the white variety lasted about three days in the high heat we had this past week.
That’s ok – it makes me love them all the more. Also, their fine and handsome foliage stays mildew-free all season, even in the heat and humidity of an upstate New York summer.
While these originally sold for anywhere from $500 to $1000 (hello tulipmania), hybridizers have made them available for $50 to $75. Yes, a bit of an investment for a plant, but who can put a price on such beauty?
“It was hypnotism. I was beginning to see that Phineas could get away with anything. I couldn’t help envying him that a little, which was perfectly normal. There was no harm in envying even your best friend a little.” ~ John Knowles, ‘A Separate Peace’
In lucky seasons, there is a summer read so good that it haunts me, and even though it’s not yet officially summer, I just finished this year’s stunner. ‘A Separate Peace’ by John Knowles tells the story of a friendship between two boys during the arrival of World War II. While the conditions that paved the way for war back then seem eerily familiar in today’s social climate, it was the descriptions of the tenuous yet unbreakable bonds of friendship that spoke most resonantly to me. This is a summer read that seers itself into the soul.
“It was surprising how well we got along in these weeks. Sometimes I found it hard to remember his treachery, sometimes I discovered myself thoughtlessly slipping back into affection for him again. It was hard to remember when one summer day after another broke with a cool effulgence over us, and there was a breath of widening life in the morning air – something hard to describe – an oxygen intoxicant, a shining northern paganism, some odor, some feeling so hopelessly promising that I would fall back in my bed on guard against it. It was hard to remember in the heady and sensual clarity of these mornings; I forgot whom I hated and who hated me. I want to break out crying from stabs of hopeless joy, or intolerable promise, or because these mornings were too full of beauty for me, because I knew of too much hate to be contained in a world like this.” ~ John Knowles, ‘A Separate Peace’
These charming blooms belong to the Black-eyed Susan vine, Thunbergia alata. Our friend Carol grows these on her foot porch, and after seeing how glorious they performed there one summer I decided to try one out this year, and it’s already proven a spectacular success. These cheery flowers alone are worth putting in at least one pot somewhere where they can entwine and enchant with their vigorous vining arms.
They rightfully bring focus to our backyard patio, where all the summer action is at, and why there will be the usual lighter posting schedule in these parts. It’s June, and I don’t want to miss a minute of this beautiful time of the year. The month of summer is at hand, brilliantly reflected in the sunny smile of these flowers…
Innkeeping is an art form. It takes talent, timing, and an intuitive understanding of people – and the infinite variety of them. For almost two decades, Andy and I made the Ogunquit Beach Inn our home-away-from-home whenever we stayed in Ogunquit. Greg and Mike started off as innkeepers and became friends through the years, so when they sold their place and completed their inn keeping journey, we skipped going to Ogunquit for a few years. Then Covid hit, life events got in the way, and soon it had been half a decade since we’d been to the Beautiful Place By the Sea. After missing the calm and enchantment that always formed the core of our Ogunquit trips, we decided to return, and I reached out to Greg who recommended the Scotch Hill Inn, promising that Innkeeper Anthony would take good care of us. As is often the case in Greg’s Ogunquit advice, this was a resoundingly happy success.
Originally built in 1898, the building became an inn in 1908 and since then has had several renovations, including a new porch that went in a few years ago and now grandly looks out over Main Street. We saw the sign from the street, accented by a brilliant lemon-hued azalea in full bloom, all of it resplendent against the blue sky. Beds of bearded Iris in gold and purple signaled the arrival of the transition from spring to summer.
Inside the house, delights of music and art quietly spread their charm – a dulcimer sat beside a screen of birds and flowers, mirrored by hanging glasswork in the windows. A charming woman named Rita greeted us and brought us around inside, explaining how breakfast worked each day then letting us make our way to Room #3.
There, a high four-poster king bed took center stage in a beautiful room filled with light and windows. A spacious bathroom was bright with white tiles accented by black, and one could look down Main Street toward town. The setting was idyllic on this sunny late-spring day, and marked a happy return to our favorite vacation place. Any trepidation I may have had about trying out a new inn dissipated the moment we set our bags down; this was a place of calm and respite, just as Ogunquit had always been to us on a grander scale, and we instantly felt at home.
Breakfast at the Scotch Hill Inn is served daily from 8:30 to 9:30, and this is where the real enchantment is conjured. Innkeeper Anthony is a chef with a quarter of a century of experience, and it shows from the first course of honey roasted pears with yogurt and granola. If this dish alone was all one ever got, it would be worth extolling its virtues. As it was, this was merely the preamble to the hearty dishes available. Each day brought one savory and one sweet, which was ideal for Andy and I as I usually went savory and he always went sweet. These breakfasts would come to be our favorite part of this trip, a delicious start to the day that made lunch all but obsolete and unnecessary, fortifying the hours to come with sensational offerings. There were eggs, roasted vegetables, pancakes of almond and banana, a wondrous breakfast casserole/soufflé (seen below), pecan waffles, slow-cooked beef hash, pancakes of lemon and blueberry, and a finale of Eggs Benedict with a homemade hollandaise. Yes, the Scotch Hill Inn should be on your list of places to stay for the breakfast alone.
If it’s relaxation and comfort you’re seeking, there are places to indulge in whatever passion or practice you are looking to enjoy. A pair of tables for dining or chatting inhabit the inside rooms, while more tables and rocking chairs line the front and side porch. This proved the perfect place for passing a sunny afternoon, and I set up shop reading and sipping tea on our last Sunday there. A garden path leads to a fire pit space, and a pair of Adirondack chairs in the front. Aquilegia, viburnum, and several species of ferns lent their grace and elegance to the surroundings, giving a sense of bucolic charm and beauty. Maine again reaffirmed its place as the way life should be.
Anthony and Rita provided guidance when needed, masterfully navigating the whims and wishes of each guest, and they clearly know how to run an inn and make everyone comfortable. As sad as we were to say goodbye to the inn at which we previously stayed, this no longer felt like a substitute, but a lovely destination, and a new home-away-from-home in its own right. Credit Anthony’s years in the hospitality and restaurant business for the knowledge and experience to back up such charm and ease.
Be sure to check out the Scotch Hill Inn’s website for room and reservation info, and make this one of your vacation destinations. It perfectly complements the relaxing escape that has always been Ogunquit to us.
It often happens when we go on vacation over Memorial Day weekend: the peonies wait and wait and wait with their tightly coiled buds until we are gone, then they open up splendidly and we miss half their show. It’s been years since we’ve gone away for Memorial Day, but the peonies sensed this, and did it again. Luckily, we caught them just at the start of their act, and there are more to come.
Peonies have long held a special place in my heart, from happy childhood memories, to happy wedding day remembrances, and their perfume instantly calms the heart and head. A couple of years ago I divided some decades-old clumps in our front yard, and they have come back in glorious form – the reward well-worth the back-ache.
There are about three different varieties here – I don’t know the names they were part of some White Flower Farm old-fashioned collection sent without individual labels. The older I get, the less concerned I am with logistics like names. It goes against everything I’ve ever known or espoused, and happily I just don’t care. When the sight is as sweet as this, and the scent as gorgeous, it’s the experience and the emotional resonance that matters, for after all what is in a name?
Kicking off the unofficial start to the summer season with a recap feels like a fittingly retro move while Mercury is in retrograde, so without wasting any more time on the new, let’s look back over the old of the past week. Also, enjoy these peony flowers as seen at the Mandarin Oriental Boston.
Wearing reading glasses because I’m old…er.
These are just three of my favorite things.
A chartreuse reminder of the fleeting moment at hand.
Windflowers for a dramatic pause.
Another Boston adventure with Kira begins.
A witch in Boston passes our way.
The darker the night, the brighter the day. Our midnight return home felt very far away the next morning, when we woke to sunshine and the brightness of a new day. All around, the flowers were in bloom, transitioning into the bearded iris and roses and snowdrop anemones that put forth their own enchantment. As dark as the previous night had been, I never once felt afraid, thanks to the company of Kira. A good friend can do that – inspire confidence and courage when the world should by all accounts be a frightening place. At my best, I hope I can offer a little of the same in return. Our time together in Boston has been a comfort for all these years because I think it makes us both feel a little less alone.
Whether it be run-ins with witches, bedeviled roundabouts to dinner, or a midnight rush to beat the bad spirits, we survive by relying on each other. All bewitching, no bewilderment.
Every time we share a weekend like this, I feel a little better about everything. Good friends have such restorative powers. That makes a Sunday departure somewhat of a sadder affair, even as the sun casts its own spell in the petals and beard of an iris.
The stage has been set for the summer to come. I’ve invited Kira for a weekend by the pool, and we shall return to Boston when we get another chance. Little glimmers of hope to make our goodbye less bitter and more sweet.
He’s a fool and don’t I know it,
But a fool can have his charms…
