The view seen here was ripped to literal shreds with our recent storm, but it was such a pretty scene over the summer I wanted to put up one last look on this fall Friday morning. After the storm, I cut down the sweet potato vines which had put on such a stunning show, and clipped out the purple salvia which was equally impressive. I’ll take the awning down this weekend if weather allows – the final motion that will transform the patio into its bare winter look. I much prefer nakedness when it involves skinny-dipping rather than the bare bones of a summer canopy gone into storage, but we don’t always have that choice.
Fall is here. There’s no going back. Embrace the morning chill and let it toughen us up for the winter ahead.
After a few rough days of non-stop news-watching, I awoke just before my work day at home was about to begin, checked my phone, and saw that my friend Lorie had sent a message that her husband Cal had dropped off doughnuts. Rushing to the front door, I saw the bags from Bella Napoli and my heart jumped with joy and gratitude. My stomach rumbled as I hurriedly brought them in, setting them out on a plate for these pictures before devouring one in giddy glee.
The initial flush of excitement and happiness was tempered, however, and not in a totally bad way, as I thought of all the dinners and gatherings with Cal and Lorie that we normally would have had over the past few months were it not for the Covid state of the world. A brief pang of melancholy came over my quick sugar high. The sweetness still on my tongue, I was touched that Cal had stopped by to leave breakfast – a reminder that friendship can still hold true and steadfast even in the tenuous times of connection in which we are currently immersed.
It was a sweet start to the morning, a flavorful souvenir from dear friends, and a happy pause for memories of our time together. I sent up a silent wish and prayer for the chance to do it again someday soon. Thank you Cal and Lorie!
Remember when the tornado dropped Dorothy and her house in the middle of Oz? There was all this loud mayhem and whirling and detritus flying through the air, and suddenly the big thud of a landing. Then there was quiet. An eerie profound stillness and silence that momentarily made you wonder if you’d gone deaf or been struck dumb. Slowly, you came to a consciousness both literally and figuratively, waking and walking into a brave new world that was as colorful and grand as it was dangerous and deceptive.
We tentatively stepped outside after our recent storm, to examine the damage (nothing major) and find our way in the altered landscape. This was a bend in the road, a place where the next part of our journey was still not fully seen, when mystery and unknown parts still waited just out of sight.
I walked in the space where the Eastern white pine and the Coral bark maple met the mighty oak – a triangular convergence that formed one somewhat secretive corner of our yard where no one ever goes. It is a sacred space made for special summer days when company is expected or those fall afternoons when you need a little shaft of secret sunlight to make everything feel right again even when everything is wrong. It is utouched by human footsteps in the winter; only the squirrels and birds enjoy its beauty then.
It came upon us quickly. One moment I was hosting my very first Webex meeting and the next the outside world was tumbling down, the electricity went out, and the house was plunged into darkness and silence. Typical 2020.
Out of the corner of my eye I’d been warily watching the outside turn steadily darker as my video conference progressed. The window was cracked open a little to let the air in and the rush of the wind sounded an early warning. Yet it was still a surprise when the sky was suddenly filled with falling pine needles. Like some Steven Spielberg bit of filmmaking, it was the onslaught of falling debris that signaled something larger and more ferocious at work.
Bigger boughs of oak and pine soon flew through the air and suddenly the deluge came down. Rain and wind collided, the electric went out, sputtered weakly on for a moment (never enough to connect for a quick Webex goodbye) and then went out for a couple of hours.
Gusts of wind clocked in at 68 miles per hour at the airport down the street while we hesitantly peered outside at a yard now filled with wet debris. All the potted plants had been felled – both fig trees, the immense angel’s trumpet, two containers of tomatoes, and the salvia, still blooming at this late stage of the game. Clumps of sweet potato vine had been torn from their perches and were strewn about the patio. Everywhere there were pine needles which had apparently been waiting for their chance to jump because there they all were. Even the mighty oak, always the last to let it its leaves go, had given up lots of little leafy ghosts.
There was something poetic about it all – the final reckoning of the sweeter season, torn asunder in dramatic form. Left in its wake was an instantly colder atmosphere. The warmth and humidity of earlier had been replaced by a chilly cousin. The world turned upside down.
It seems to be a week of male celebrities getting naked for commercial pursuits, and I’m not complaining. Here is Hugh Jackman getting nude for R.M. Williams Boots. Mr. Jackman has been half-naked here before a number of times (click here, here and not here but it’s so worth a click) and it’s always a treat.
These beautiful Japanese painted ferns overcame their own 2020 horror story, as early on in the summer season some animal ate them down to the ground. As evidenced here, they recovered in a valiant, and gorgeous, show of defiance and resilience. The afternoon sun of October shows them off to great splendor, and is a reminder that somehow nature endures, no matter how much awfulness humans, and non-humans, may attempt to inflict.
The Japanese painted fern’s delicate beauty belies its hardiness. From a single small specimen planted several years ago, this clumps has expanded, notably by spores – popping up in damp unexpected places (such as around the pool pump) and I’ve managed to transplant them successfully. A couple now populate the side yard garden, lending an additional Japanese element to a space now planted with bamboo, Japanese aralia, and a Japanese maple. It is the peaceful portion of our yard, shaded from the hot afternoon sun, filled with subtle performers who express themselves in soft shades of green and architectural interest rather than boffo-blooms of hot pink or fiery orange. That sort of quiet and respite is necessary in the summer months.
Here’s what the Phony Negroni looks like when you use a blood orange – it’s a bit deeper and richer in hue than the one that uses a typical orange. I prefer this, as it steers the color closer to the traditional, where Campari adds such a rich shade. We will stock up on blood oranges this season. Such prettiness deserves to be repeated.
Rob Gronkowski has come close to this before, posing naked here and here and here, and in this manscaping commercial he pretends to expose a bit more. It’s a nifty little reminder that manscaping matters, even in the age of COVID.
“When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt
Some of the angst I’ve been feeling was explained in the weekly recap yesterday, but not all of it, and I’ve felt so icky about the past few days that I’m going to excise a bit more here. Since it was supposed to start with a once-a-year-get-together with a family friend and end with a fun couple of days in Boston, sitting glued to the television and watching the news was probably a poor idea, and I have no one to blame but myself.
I ended up staying home due to Boston’s rising Covid numbers, our family get-together was cut slightly short, and the Harvest Moon was in full effect. For three days I mostly watched the news, and it was the perfect recipe for a run-down funk. Wallowing in the misery of our country, I broke through my vegetative state only for meditation, a couple of meals, showers, and a smudging. I’ll get into that another time, I think, as it was a minor point in the weekend. Better than that was sausage and pasta dinner Andy made on Sunday afternoon, and the shared commiseration as we watched the news together.
Those quiet moments took the place of dinners out and shopping excursions on Newbury Street. The occasional walk around the yard, when the sun was slanting low in the afternoon, punctuated my lounging, but the extensive inactivity fed upon itself, and I gave in to the laziness of the weekend. And it was such a pretty weekend, it felt like a bit of a waste, and a bit like it played out exactly as it needed to play out.
Lenny Kravitz should have been featured here a few times before now, because he’s simply amazing. Today he gets a post because a recent fitness magazine spread has everyone envious about the abs he’s showing off at age 56. I should be so lucky to find such muscles at 45. Anyway, let this be an inspiration to all of us.
A full Harvest Moon is nothing to fuck around with, and so the insanity of the past week was not wholly unexpected. I did not take that into consideration when I planned to spend the weekend in Boston, so when the COVID numbers started to rise, I decided against the trip, but took the day off from work anyway. That turned out to be a good thing, not only because I honestly didn’t realize how badly I needed a break, but I also didn’t know Andy and I would be glued to the television seeing Trump being transferred to the hospital and watching his team of doctors spew lies and tales of obfuscation. A good doctor will not lie or give a rosy account of their patient; these are not good doctors. But that’s on them, and deceiving the American people about the health of the President rarely works out well.
As far as days off go, it wasn’t quite as relaxing as I would have liked, but I have a number of vacation days I need to use before the end of the year, so we will try this again soon enough. The moon exhibited its tumultuous full-force in more ridiculous family drama, but you’ve heard it all before so I won’t get into that yet. On with the recap…
I have a huge problem with people who write ‘All Lives Matter’ in response to or even in conjunction with ’Black Lives Matter.’ First of all, all lives won’t matter until Black Lives Matter. Second, that’s like responding to a ‘Save the Whales’ comment with ‘Save All The Animals’. It’s dumb and completely misses the point. As for the #BlackLivesMatter movement, it is very much needed, and will be for quite some time. History has shown it, and the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor continue to show it.
“People still get shot because of their color – people still get mistrusted because of their religion – people still get sneered at because of their gender and sexuality. Does this look like a civilized world? We may have the tangible brain capacity to build a civilized world, but we are not there yet, and we are not going to reach that destination any time soon. However, the work must begin now.†― Abhijit Naskar
I hate snickerdoodles. What is the point of them? One of the greatest disappointments in life is the realization that snickerdoodles have nothing to do with Snickers candy bars. That’s one of life’s little fuckovers. And is there a more dull and boring cookie in existence? I mean, cinnamon. And blandness. Big whoop.
The walls back then were an unabashed bordello red. I tried tempering it with a rag-off technique, but there’s just so much one can rag off when blood red is splattered over all the plaster. It didn’t translate to most photos anyway, so for all intents and purposes it was as red as the reddest rose. The kitchen, adjacent but for an occasional curtain (at the time it was purple velvet, I believe) was a bright Kelly green. The recessed lights glowed warmly, bouncing off the shiny wooden floors and lending more visual heat in a Boston fall which grew colder and colder with each passing day. This then was the condo in the fall of 1997, a mostly uneventful pocket of time – and one that is slightly hazy for its lack of memorable events. I’d just gone around the world in the first half of the year, and now I was back in Boston a little lost and a little found.
WE HAVE A SPECIAL NEED
TO FEEL THAT WE BELONG
COME WITH ME INSIDE
INSIDE MY VELVET ROPE
On the stereo, the new Janet Jackson CD spun its challenging music and concepts, and the title track provided the aural backdrop to a photo shoot for that year’s holiday card. The song became a fall staple, bringing me back to that cozy evening, where I made myself one of the first true martinis I ever had, as much as in service to the photo as to the desire to try something new. I didn’t do a very good job. Consulting Mr. Boston’s book of cocktails, I found the requisite ingredients (gin and dry vermouth from a recent party) but didn’t have any ice readily made, so I tried it without. (I know, I know – one, how was there a time when I didn’t have ice on hand, and two, what on earth was I thinking to make a martini without chilling it?)
Early days. Fledgling kills. Myriad mistakes.
THIS SPECIAL NEED
THAT’S WITHIN US
BRINGS OUT THE BEST
YET WORST IN US
FOLLOW THE PASSION
THAT’S WITHIN YOU
LIVING THE TRUTH
WILL SET YOU FREE
It went down my throat like fire, and I cringed. What in hell was this all about? What the fuck was wrong with James Bond? And why would anyone drink this? I set up the camera and posed, the martini would mostly be a prop that night, and I sipped a few more sips for photographic documentation. Wearing an acid green 60’s/70’s wide-collar shirt in swirls of psychedelic paisley, I had on a pair of matching tights. Yeah, tights. These shots would end up on the cutting-room floor, as the outfit wasn’t quite reading the way I wanted it to – the final holiday card would show me in a more dramatic ostrich feather robe, and a blue cocktail in hand (composed mostly of Windex and quite clearly for looks only). It was the 90’s. I was a fucking mess, but I didn’t see it then.
WE HAVE A SPECIAL NEED
TO FEEL THAT WE BELONG
COME WITH ME INSIDE
INSIDE MY VELVET ROPE
Ms. Jackson sang of the need to belong, and ‘Velvet Rope’ became one of my main songs that fall, mostly due to this single evening of solitude in the condo, continuing a tradition of fall songs that came to signal the shift in seasons, and the short path to the holidays. There was a coziness to it, and a certain dramatic flair that came with the falling leaves and the harsher winds.
Outside, Boston twinkled and glowed in the night – as my head danced with visions of those holidays to come, the friends and family I’d get to see, and a time we would be together again. This distance – of time and space – kept me feeling safe. I didn’t need the martini as anything more than a prop, and on that night I didn’t even bother to finish it. Feeling a twinge of waste as I poured it down the kitchen sink drain, I couldn’t stomach finishing it, as lovely as I suddenly felt.
PUT OTHERS DOWN
TO FILL US UP
OPPRESSING ME
WILL OPPRESS YOU
OUTSIDE LEAVE JUDGMENT
OUTSIDE LEAVE HATE
ONE LOVE’S THE ANSWER
YOU’LL FIND IN YOU
The rest of the ‘Velvet Rope’ album played out in the background as I cleaned up and gathered the rolls of film for developing. (Does anyone remember 35mm film anymore? Oh you kids – you had no idea how much work we once had to go through to get a decent image…) It ended with something called ‘Special’ – an echo of the sentiment of ‘Velvet Rope’ – and this remains one of Ms. Jackson’s under-appreciated jewels. This too became a song of that fall, and every fall afterward.
“You see, you can’t run away from your pain, because wherever you will, there you will be. You have to learn to water your spiritual garden. Then, you will be free.” ~ Janet Jackson
Hidden behind an arbor made of the boughs of an Easter Pine and a Coral-Barked Maple tree, the side yard of our house, behind the wooden fence, is one of the relatively uninhabited and unused sections of our small property. It comes into prominence mostly at this time of the year, when the sun slants prettily through the oak leaves and the maple lights up its corner with a brilliant show of bright chartreuse color, echoing its spring emergence in one of those parallels only nature can conjure without seeming trite.
In this space, the sun can bake the ground a bit when it’s clear during the day, and the scent of pine needles and pine cones rises like a batch of potpourri emblematic of a cozy fall day. I favor this place at this time of the year, and I pause here in my daily ambulations, taking in the afternoon light, the fading warmth of the year.
