Sparkling across the swirling water of the pool, the sun slants down in the afternoon sky. The day has turned warm, and after working on the lawn and the garden the sweat was rolling down my back. Andy had heated the pool to a comfy 84 degrees, but instead of my customary dive I slowly made my way down the ladder into the shallow end, like I used to do as a kid.

There are two popular ways to enter a pool: stepping gingerly into the water inch by inch, or jumping right into the deep end, immediately submerging yourself. The latter is generally said to be easier to do when entering cold water. The slow and excruciating method of trying to gradually adjust and get comfortable as you painstaking lower yourself into the water is, in my mind, just a way to prolong the discomfort.

On this day, however, and into this warm water, the slow entry is pleasant. Easing my body beneath the surface, I am soon enough immersed in summer again, and as I push off into the deep end, I feel the weightless joy of floating at last.

It was a long winter, and I’m glad it’s over.

Tomorrow I will be reunited with Suzie and Chris, forming a favorite triumvirate who has roamed together for almost twenty years. This trip was not planned with much forethought (most of my trips are organized with long-range military precision) but it worked out and fell into our laps because it was simply meant to be. As things shifted into place, I realized how fitting, and necessary, this gathering may be. It will likely be the last time the three of us are together before Chris gets married this fall, and it will be the final time we’re together before Suzie leaves Brooklyn. I’ll bring my own drama to the proceedings in ways I won’t be revealing here, so this comes at a most opportune moment.

Prepare the way, New York.

It’s taken several years, but I’ve finally come around to using annuals in pots on our backyard patio. For quite some time, I was a perennial snob, not bothering with planting those flowers that could only last for a single season. I liked how the perennials got going as soon as they could – they didn’t need to wait for frost-free days, they just waited for their nature cycle to begin. There was no guess work or worry – and whatever happened regarding late frosts or snowstorms was something we could not control. It was risky, but the pay-off was substantial. An established swath of coneflowers or Helianthus could get a head start and fill in sooner than a patch of zinnias.

This was, however, mostly in my head. Most annuals, given their short life cycle, grow much quicker than their perennial counterparts. They have no choice but to make up the time, and because of that they can fill in a space sooner than one expects.

Another mental hurdle I had to overcome was the preconceived notion that pots were insubstantial and pointless. It turns out that the larger ones become integral parts of a landscape, such as in the way something like a mass of sweet potato vines can be completely transformative when softening architectural edges. Those sweet potato vines are currently the bedrock of our backyard patio, forming the living lushness that seamlessly transitions the house to the outside gardens.

This year I also planted some begonias that are taking off quite nicely. Their handsomeness is apparent in both flower and foliage. I’ll coddle and feed them to aid in their swift expansion, as I will do for this hanging fuchsia. A little extra effort reaps great rewards.

Somehow the lusty month of May slipped through our fingers, proving rather disappointing weather-wise (hello holy hail and upstate tornado) but somehow catching up as only Mother Nature can do. Cooler temps meant that spring had a slow start, which I don’t mind as long as we get it back in the fall. There’s never a guarantee on that. Rather than restrict this post to one week, we’ll encapsulate the last month, since I’m not quite ready give up the magnificence that was May.

May is for Mothers, and Mother’s Day, so I took mine to Broadway. Our annual theater trip was back and better than ever (with a surprise or two, and a walk in Central Park) thanks to productions of ‘Mothers & Sons,’ ‘The Bridges of Madison County,’ and ‘Hedwig & the Angry Inch.’

The lilacs returned, in all their fragrant glory.

Mother darling.

Dance. Just dance.

The baker in his prime.

The peonies were late!

There were sad days as well, as we lost a dear friend.

OMFG.

Love is a hotel room. (Even with a broccoli rampage.)

Preparation for The Party of the Season began – did you get your tickets yet?

The Men of the Met Gala. White bow ties indeed.

Smells like Tom Ford. And Hermes.

Though temperatures here in upstate NY stayed relatively on the low side, that didn’t stop several male celebrities from getting shirtless (or one sexy female from taking off her clothes as well.)

The gardens were late, in this case quite literally.

Madonna was stirring, as was her nipple. It’s that time of the year.

Tom Daley got a wet rub-down in his skimpy underwear.

The sexiest battle of the century: Ben Cohen vs. David Beckham.

Our ‘Profile of a Straight Ally‘ series returned, with one of the gentlemen who inspired it: Hudson Taylor.

Finally, May has always been about Ogunquit. This year proved no different, with a relaxing trip that found new Ports(mouth) of call, old and dear friends, and lots of pretty flowers. A new notebook and an old path neatly bookended the adventure.