These spring primrose plants lit up a corner of the Faddegon’s greenhouse, heralding the season in cheery, colorful form. They are fleeting beauties, like the season they represent, and all the more beautiful for it. What doesn’t last is always loved a little bit more.
This spring I intend to take each day as it comes, finding a little ray of hope – the essence of spring – at every turn. In this blustery stretch of March, these primrose blooms will suffice. May they cheer your day too.
Today marks the anniversary of Madonna’s epic ‘Like A Prayer’ album. For those of us old enough to remember the spring of 1989, this will always harken to that heady time of burning crosses on MTV, and a darker, more somber and serious Madonna than we’d ever encountered before. It remains a masterpiece that holds up – a timeless classic rooted in solid songs and musical brilliance – and it has endured because of its universal themes. Let’s revisit its track-list, link by exuberant link:
St. Patrick’s Day came and went, and the first day of spring was right behind it. This week has exciting events coming up too, but rather than get ahead of ourselves, let’s take a peek at some seasonal verdant underwear by Burberry, and recap the week that ended this winter.
Winter wasn’t going without a grand finale, so we weathered this storm with family and friends.
The birds were hinting at spring with a new song.
A pause decked out in purple and pink.
As Liza Minelli would say, ‘Balls!’
The humble and magnificent quahog.
The last day of winter, here at last.
Waiting for the winter exhale.
Winter ended as it began – with a meditation.
Dazzlers of the Day included Chuck Miller, Nathaniel Gray, Dominick Purnomo, and Pati Jinich.
Hello Spring!!! We have been waiting for you. Winter was fine, and far less upsetting than anticipated, and for that we are grateful. But to have spring here is better. It adds a bounce to the steps of a day, even if the weather is slow to turn. It will come eventually. A song for the moment:
Last night, a thunderstorm rumbled as if winter was still grumbling about the regime change. Spring often defers to winter’s wrath, sometimes right through April, but given winter’s comparative kindness this year, let it rumble. The daffodils are already pushing through the sunnier spots of the yard.
Soon the strappy leaves will rise, with the buds of flowers not far behind. The snow will melt away, and one day we will marvel that it ever had the conditions to stay. Crocus and snowdrops will push the door open, and then the stampede of jonquils and tulips will follow suit. Then it will be May, possibly the happiest month of the year.
Yes, we are grateful that spring is here. May it take its time, and may we find joy in each of its days.
The season of slumber ended as it began: with a meditation in the dark of night.
As I started the session, Andy came into the living room to crack open a window. He returned to the kitchen as I settled into deeper breathing, and the happy sounds of a pasta sauce coming together could be heard. Such noise was a comfort – a glad drone of background commotion that didn’t phase me, even in meditative mode. In fact, it was a comfort.
One of the things I longed for all those years ago when I was alone was the simple presence of a partner, the safety and warmth of having someone you loved in the same home, going through the same winter’s night, and offering support when needed. As the sounds of the stove carried in from the kitchen, I continued my meditation, and soon was lost in the breath.
A calm and cooling shift of air floated in through the cracked window – outside, a thunderstorm was thrillingly beckoning the arrival of spring. Winter would depart in subdued grace, a new old friend whose presence made hygge possible, and with whom I’ve reconciled after years of misunderstanding. In a strange way, I will miss it, even though we will meet again when the summer sun tires.
For now, spring is at hand, and with a flourish we turn this blog over to a new season.
The sun came pouring in the living room the other morning, the way it does only at the end of winter, when branches are bare and the air is crisp and clear. It illuminated a simple bunch of hydrangeas, which caught the sunlight and held it there, letting it warm the spirit and the room.
Since we’ve had a decent supply of hydrangea blooms during recent summers, I don’t think of purchasing them as cut flowers at any other time of the year, but on this particular week I craved their simplicity and easy elegance. And they reminded me of happy summer days, so I indulged.
She is one of my favorite chefs, and that might come down to a single, simple, epic recipe: the Señor Breakfast Sandwich. It’s become a staple on weekends when breakfast/brunch is the most important thing happening. Pati Jinich has a number of epic recipes, many of which I’ve tried – and all have been happy successes (which can’t be said for some of my kitchen endeavors). As host of ‘Pati’s Mexican Table’ she offers a glimpse of a multi-cultural world that enriches the brain-numbing drivel on every other television channel. Today she earns the Dazzler of the Day because her personality and spirit are as inspiring as her recipes – she just makes everyone feel a little happier. We need that more than ever. Check out her website, and more foolproof recipes, here.
This is a post I’ve been waiting three months to write: today marks the last day of winter. Tomorrow the calendar clicks forward to spring, and while it likely won’t feel like it for a while (March is tricky that way, and April too) technically the winter will be over, and that buoys the spirits immeasurably.
On the southern side of the house, where the sun has melted all the winter, a few pinecones have been revealed on the lawn beneath the Eastern pine. I planted it only a few years ago, and already it’s twice my height. The last few seasons it has been producing pinecones, which dangle high in its upper boughs like rustic ornaments on a Christmas tree. There, in the whorls of a pinecone, is the past and future encompassed in one spectacular package of nature, the only producer of perfection in this wonderful world.
Pinecones personify the start of fall, and in a full-circle moment they also come into play at the end of winter. Soon, the grass will turn green, the debris will be raked up, and the stark canvass of spring will be reborn. The expanse of promise…
Whenever JoAnn visits, she usually brings a couple of quahogs fresh from the Cape because she knows how much I enjoy them. In our landlocked upstate New York desert, we don’t get the privileges of quahogs or other sea delicacies, not that there’s anything very delicate about the quahog, which is basically a stuffed clam.
Odd as it might seem to some, I’ve never been a big fan of stuffing things, at least when it comes to food. There was something too precious about it – removing food and then mixing it up just to put it back in the original location. I can’t be bothered. Twice-baked potatoes, stuffed peppers, stuffed mushrooms – it’s all too fussy, and fussy = finished.
Over the years, however, I’ve come around to enjoy the stuffing – not in the doing but in the consuming – and the quahog is part of what brought me back into the stuffed fray. Andy also does a delicious stuffed pepper, and our friend Dolores makes a mean twice-baked potato.
I’m embracing the stuff now.
When the mind is filled with a winter of worries, the only thing to do is don a fancy coat and hold your head up. As we careen toward the start of spring, I find that a certain winter weariness has set in – the opposite of the energy and excitement I typically feel at this time of the year. Maybe I’m just tired out, from everything. It isn’t that I’ve been going all that hard – I just haven’t given my head the break it needs, despite the day meditation.
The block of ice in the pool is still intact – one large, continuous piece that has only started to recede from the edges, still thick and impenetrable and foreboding. To look at it makes one feel that spring is far away. The snowbank by the driveway is also hanging on – a triangular patch like the tip of an iceberg. In the backyard, the earliest of our perennials, a stalwart Hellebore that has been with us since we moved into the house twenty years ago, is still matted down with a wet blanket of oak leaves. It went largely unprotected by any substantial snow cover for the bulk of the winter, and doesn’t look like it held onto many of its usually-otherwise-evergreen leaves. That’s not a bad thing – such cleansing is necessary for a bigger crop of fresh leaves and flowers come the warmer weather. It also makes my job a little easier – I find myself having a difficult time being so ruthless to anything green so early in the season even if removing the tattered live would do the plant a greater good.
So begins a Friday that’s predicted to be warm and sunny. This is the switch of the seasons. Ambivalence and hesitancy and a full moon.
Easter candy is too pretty for my belt’s safety. Take these malted milk balls in pastel form – such prettiness demands to be devoured, first by the eyes then by the mouth, and they spill onto the tongue with such ease they should come with a warning. It’s so cruel to time the season of Lent with the season of such sweetness.
Yet another one of Catholicism’s little fuck-overs.
Today one of our favorite restaurants in the world, dp: An American Brasserie, celebrates its 16th birthday. In honor of that, and all of his contributions to the community, owner Dominick Purnomo easily earns this Dazzler of the Day. From his impeccable attire to his mastery of every single detail of hospitality, Purnomo has cut a winning stride through the Capital Region. A true gentleman, his philanthropic work and community service prove he is more than his exquisite boutonniere (check out the Feed Albany organization he began shortly after COVID hit). For an elegant yet relaxed dining experience in downtown Albany, visit his restaurant, dp: An American Brasserie. He promises more great things to come in their 17th year, and we’ll be reserving a table soon.
When I began my mindfulness journey, I started with Thich Nhat Hanh’s ‘The Miracle of Mindfulness’ and one of the first descriptions of the practice was found in the simple act of washing dishes. Granted, this was not a task in which I had any extensive practice or history, but over the past couple of years I’ve started washing the dishes I use when cooking. It’s all part of the process. ‘The Miracle of Mindfulness’ instructs on how to be present at each step, how to experience the sensation of warm water and soap, the way the dishes feel, the way the sponge runs across their surface, the way the skin gradually wrinkles and softens.
One of the main lessons of life is in how to fill the space of a day. Whether we realize it or not (and for many, many years I had no idea how powerful the pull to occupy one’s time could be – so intent was I in merely finding and then wasting free moments) much of a person’s daily goal is to simply fill our day with something of service. For many, myself most definitely included, that is service to self – but I’m not here to judge or condemn one sort of service in comparison to another. Comparison is still the thief of joy.
Instead, I have begun to understand the human need to fill the mind, and often the body, with tasks and duties and things that merely take up space. Before I realized that such space might be better served in meditating or being mindful, I filled it with the usual stuff of fantasy and dreams, and all the daily bothers that comprise adulthood – worry and doubt and fear. As the decades went by, those stresses and worries became the normal part of a day, always there in the mind, always creeping into moments of joy and release. That meant I had to learn how to push the worry and concerns and stresses to the side, and the best way to make this happen is through mindfulness. Inhabiting the moment and the present space as fully and encompassing as possible.
Which brings us back to the kitchen sink, where last we left off feeling the wrinkled skin of our fingers against the wet dishes, now piled on a towel and waiting to be dried. In that act, a fresh towel, slightly tattered but all the more soft from it, warms and dries the hands, then the round smooth curve of each plate, then the tricky interior of a coffee mug handle. Each piece is laid gently back in its place, as the breath steadies and slows, and the worries and thoughts that would otherwise occupy the mind drift away, replaced by the appreciation and realization of everything at hand. That clutter of the mind – the hoard of ill-thoughts and worrisome ideas – suddenly feels diminished.
It’s not a permanent fix, and soon those concerns come creeping back. Some of them will be genuine ones in need of addressing – a scheduled meeting, a load of laundry, a phone cal to one’s parents – and some will seem suddenly unnecessary. Mindfulness helps to sort them out.
It’s been about two and a half years since I stopped drinking alcohol, and in that time the mocktail has successfully supplanted the cocktail in my life. Some drinks lend themselves to such a transformation, and the Amber Jewel is one of them. (It also helps that I don’t quite remember the first version because that’s generally what happens when alcohol is involved.) To that point, the ingredients and method to the original Amber Jewel cocktail have been lost in a happy haze of the first and only time it was served, way back in 2011. At the time, it utilized a saffron mango tea for the base, a generous amount of ginger vodka, cointreau, a simple syrup, and a secret ingredient (coming in a sentence or two).
It was an exquisite concoction, one that kept us spellbound in the entry room, and we never got any further that first night (until the skinny dipping began). Garnished with star anise, which looked both starry and spidery, it lent a discomfiting aspect to the cocktail glass, the whisper of licorice mingling beautifully with the few drops of that secret ingredient, which I shall now reveal as, wait for it… root beer. That night, by the sixth or seventh round, we eschewed the complicated and precious parts and ended up downing glasses of vodka with a few splashes of root beer.
We recently revisited this infamous drink this past weekend, when JoAnn joined us for an end-of-winter weekend. It seemed the perfect time to resurrect the Amber Jewel, but in revised and updated mocktail fashion. Missing the saffron mango tea bags of the first version, I decided to go a more gingery route, creating a star anise/ginger simple syrup, a base of ginger lime seltzer, and the requisite splash of root beer. Lighter without all the liquor, it was a refreshing revamp of a drink that brings back some hilarious memories. Here’s the recipe of the ginger/star anise syrup, which can be used in any number of drinks (and you can easily omit the star anise if a hint of licorice isn’t your thing).
Boil for ten minutes, stirring sporadically, then strain and cool. Keeps for two weeks.
Monday arrived, and in the depressing aftermath of a wonderful weekend with friends and family, I spent most of the day in the attic, listening to Tibetan flute music and reacquainting myself with the drudgery of the work week – the way almost every Monday has gone for the past two decades. As I responded to e-mails and reviewed postings that had come to an end, I heard the muffled calls of birds outside the window. Turning the music down, I paused in the work day, taking a few slower breaths, and listening to the birds.
It was the sound of spring, and the birds had changed their music from lamenting winter to celebrating something on the way. Their birdsong was more cheerful, anticipatory rather than reflective, and I got up from the desk and moved to the window. I unlocked and lifted it, feeling the release of a winter spent mostly closed. The birdsong carried inside, along with a light breeze that gave the merest hint of warmth – the delicate whisper of spring.
