From their album ‘Pale Sun, Crescent Moon’, this is a Cowboy Junkies tune entitled ‘Cold Tea Blues’ – the perfect soundtrack for a snowy day. Sometimes it’s best to let songs speak for themselves – and for you – without my interruption.
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January
2014
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January
2014
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January
2014
One Missing Finger, Lost in Our Garage
It turns out that my somewhat-celebratory post about getting over the hump regarding our kitchen renovation was premature at best, fate-defying at worst. While I was in Boston, much progress was made, as seen by these photos. The cabinetry is in place, and there is finally a sense of what it will look and feel like when complete. This is the moment I was really waiting for, and it comes with a bit of relief, as I was worried the dark wood and additional line of cabinets would close things in too much. The removal of the wall between the dining room and kitchen, however, achieved the desired effect of effectively opening the space up.
As wonderful as all this was to see, it did not come without a price. That price was the fingertip of one of the workers, who accidentally sawed it off in our garage. Being that I was away in Boston, I didn’t hear the screams. Andy did, but by the time he made it to the other side of the house the poor guy was already en-route to the hospital. They said it was just the tip, but isn’t that what all guys say? What’s worse is that they couldn’t find it anywhere in the garage. I was assured that they did an extra-thorough job of sweeping up that day, but I’m still waiting for the thing to come crawling into the house and begging haunting us forever. (I didn’t ask which finger.)
Aside from that bloody snafu, the project looks to remain on schedule, with the template for the granite countertop being measured and designed, hopefully before the storm delays anything. Once that happens, there’s a typical-two-week waiting period for the granite to be cut. Everyone has said that was the toughest wait, and I think that might be true. The first waves of renovation fatigue are starting to kick in. I may have to make one more trip to Boston… or somewhere else.
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January
2014
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January
2014
The Light at the End of the Kitchen Tunnel
It’s far too soon to say we’re out of the kitchen woods just yet, but when you have a visible bit of final-product – like the floor and the cabinetry seen below, it gives one more joy that would reasonably be warranted. At the time of these photos, the contractor said they were about half-way through the project. That was quite the happy bit of news, as it seemed rather early. I was not about to complain about that though, and if things have progressed accordingly then by the time this post goes up we may be ready to have the granite countertop template set into motion.
At my insistence, we went with the large (24â€) tile size for the floor, set on a diagonal. Andy was against it at first, despite my explanation that it would make the space appear larger (he didn’t believe me until the woman at the tile store said the same exact thing – story of my life). Now we’re both thrilled with it, and the shininess, while making for a more slippery surface, reflects all the wonderful recessed lighting from above. My only concern with the darker wood color (I fought for white, but compromised my ass off whether anyone admits it or not) was that it would darken the space too much. Thanks to the floor and the lighting, however, my concerns were abated. Of course, I’m saying that before having seen the rest of the cabinets installed…
The way things look, however, is a jolt in the right direction, and though I still may have to visit Boston for a few more weekends, I feel like we’re over the hump.
In a strange way, part of me will miss the planning and the in-between flux of construction. It’s a nightmare and a headache and a dirty and dusty bit of work, but it carried with it the hope of what was to come. Once it’s all done, that will be it. But then the cooking can begin, and the gathering of friends and family, and, finally, the warmth of a home centered around the kitchen.
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January
2014
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January
2014
Ben Cohen and His Enormous Balls
It’s a new year, and the perfect day for checking in with Ben Cohen, especially in the form of the video below, which finds him acting all sexy and shirtless at his ‘Attitude’ cover shoot. They should have panned down to his underwear, but instead you’ll have to be content with the following photo of Mr. Cohen and his big balls.
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January
2014
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January
2014
A Kitchen in Progress: Orange Floors
The kitchen renovation, while somewhat annoying, has not (to date, knock on a boner) been the traumatic experience that some people warned us about. A few minor issues aside, we seem to be on track for the original schedule to unfold as planned. That alone is impressive and worthy of gratefulness – and don’t think we don’t appreciate it.
It’s also been surprisingly uneventful being without a kitchen. The absence of running water is mildly bothersome, but we managed to set up the refrigerator and microwave in the family room, and it turns out we do more take-out than I realized. Minor adjustments on all fronts.
In the early days of moving the window and re-doing the ceiling, there were a few moments of chilly weather that seeped into the place, and when the tile floor was initially laid down we couldn’t walk on it for a day and night (resulting in the strange set-up of having to walk outside to go to bed at night). But with some pre-planning and preparation even that wasn’t a big deal.
I will admit that I miss cooking. We had a snowstorm a few weeks ago and the only thing I wanted to do while cooped up all day was make a collection of comfort food. I’d grown accustomed to trying out new fish dishes and other meals, and there really isn’t a possibility for any kind of food preparation at this time.
Yet the pay-off will be well worth it, and we’re already starting to see the results. The wall I’d wanted gone for twelve years is now history. The dining room walls, and a bit of the kitchen, have been repainted for the first time in as many years as well. (A subtle shade of green called, quite unironically, ‘Quietude’.)
The orange floor you see here is actually the “membrane†that they use as the base to hold the plaster (at least I think that’s what it is – Andy lost me in the translation). For a moment I didn’t want to change it, but cooler heads and pre-ordered tiles prevailed.
Coming up next, the orange goes away, and the first hint of cabinetry appears…
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January
2014
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January
2014
A New Year, Under Construction
Most years I like to open in a quiet way, silently contemplating the stillness of the morning, gently sipping a cup of green tea while outside a red cardinal sits perched in a bush. This year will be different, and I’m opening it with a bang: the renovation of our kitchen, still in progress. While most of the major noise and banging has been completed, there is much work yet to be done, as the next series of posts will attest.
Luckily, there is a bang-up group of gentlemen who have been working on the project: Skylands Services. I cannot say enough good things about them. Not only are they on top of their game (as of this writing things have remained tightly on schedule, and the work has been executed flawlessly), they are also an affable and friendly group of guys who entertain concerns and questions with courtesy and aplomb.
When we indicated a possible change in plans and questioned whether a doorway opening we had originally laid out was big enough, they explained that not only was a vent in the way, but that the size was good because it left each side of equal proportions, thereby lending balance to the dining room area. (I’m fine with most issues if a decent explanation is made.)
Aside from their obvious expertise in such matters, they also clean up at the end of every day. We didn’t realize the importance of this until they did it, and we didn’t have to worry about tracking dust and debris throughout the rest of the house.
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2013
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December
2013
The Year in Review ~ Part 3
The third and final installment of the Year in Review finishes with the fall and the start of winter. There are riches in the last months of a calendar year, buried treasures in the final stretches of the holiday season. And this last look back, much as I abhor looking back, is the best way to prepare the way ahead.
September 2013 ~
Music led the month, with such memorable songs as ‘Alone‘, ‘The Sunset Room‘, ‘When I Fall‘, and ‘Autumn Leaves‘.
London is the new black, and it will happen if I have to go on my honeymoon alone (which would make it the anti-honeymoon, as some things are non-negotiable).
Flapjacking off, poaching down, driving home, taking it all off, drinking it all down, and doing it in bed.
This was plum crazy, by way of Tom Ford.
Nine out of thirteen, and how it all began.
Down to my chakras.
Doing it doggy style, trying to recreate North End magic, and a decent cock.
There was nothing miserable about this production. And I have high hopes for this one as well.
One of my favorite posts of all-time.
October 2013 ~
Yes, I’m addicted. There, I said it. I’m a sinner, too. Dream on.
Put it in my mouth, fill me up, then piss on this.
Put some bass into it. Like David Beckham’s ass.
Just for the smell of it.
Ten.
October usually means a last stop in Ogunquit, before the season turns, and a first climb up the mountain.
A Madonna milestone, almost – and everything that came before ~ Part 1 and Part 2.
One of my favorite straight guys in the world.
For baseball season, I squeezed myself into a jockstrap again. And again… And one last time. And the ones that were too hot for FaceBook and Instagram.
A plan set into motion, and a bit of caffeine forgiveness.
A naked Zac Efron, for real.
November 2013 ~
Mounting it ~ Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 ~ because sometimes it takes three times.
It’s all about popular, in the cold November Rain.
The Madonna Complex.
Home has always been a hotel, preferably in a city distant and exciting. Like Washington.
Keeping my pants on when friends are near.
And taking my pants off when alone.
Dress you up… Red, gold, and green.
December 2013 ~
Was this the most important announcement of the year? Maybe…
Holiday Strolling, with a very dear friend.
The best kind of blue is Tiffany blue.
I don’t know why, but music will always move me, in giddy ways too.
A surprise trip to Dallas, to get away from everything, came just in time ~ in time for an ice storm.
A dozen. A preview. And a song for winter.
Holidays cards past and present, naked and clothed. Memories unmasked.
Simply put, a masterpiece.
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2013
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December
2013
The Year in Review ~ Part 2
May 2013 ~
One of my favorite months of the year, May is always glorious in New England. The spring is ripe and full, and the first tantalizingly sun-drenched hints of the summer to come sparkle on the petals of flowering trees.
That time of year is burned even deeper into memory by a love song. Or a pair of songs. Or a memory that has yet to be made.
May also brings me back to our wedding in Boston – here, here, here, here, and here.
This woman never fails to thrill. Especially when telling Papa not to preach.
Thank God FaceBook was not around in the 90′s.
Not just good, great. But even then there is room for reinterpretation.
Growing up, and moving on.
Hung.
Heaven in a little orange shopping bag, courtesy of Hermes.
Of art and friendship, and interior design.
Up in the cherry tree, on a warm spring night.
It’s not easy being green, take it from the frog.
Here comes the rain again.
June 2013 ~
A secret path to start the first month of summer, where songs in the night whisper of hope and longing, or tell tales of early-morning madness.
A great party for a great cause (and a great boater hat).
Junes means roses and dogwoods and peonies – bucketfuls of peonies, spilling over and scenting the air around all. The climbers are up and about now too, as evidenced by this clematis. But the most fragrant of them all is the magnificent mockorange.
It also means fresh vegetables and herbs, some garden-grown, some market-purchased – all delicious. The grill was in effect too, allowing for wonderful yet simple meals like this.
The mantle of a lady. The poppy of celadon.
Six of one, half a dozen of another.
Summer fun with the twins.
Hitting Broadway with my mother, and my best friend, for ‘Kinky Boots‘ and ‘Pippin‘.
Nobody rocks a top hat harder than Madonna in Dietrich mode.
The pool. And accompanying cocktail. And requisite Speedo shots. Plus, skinny-dipping!
Enchanted by the sun… and even though it’s not needed, some things are still very much wanted.
I finally met my favorite stalker, and it was well-worth the wait.
July 2013 ~
High summer was crowned by a Super Moon, and I don’t mean my ass, or these butts either.
Eating well continued, with offerings from the grill and summer cocktails in full effect. There was a lychee drink, there were beets, things got Bloody, and things got sweet. Sometimes we got muddled, sometimes we got tart, and sometimes we kept it simple.
More summer fun in the pool with the kids and the family, along with some naked alone time. (Because some people can’t wrap their heads around that juxtaposition.)
This is my kind of weed. This one is pretty weedy too.
I was finally getting the hang of Instagram.
July marked a milestone for this site (which would be surpassed in later months). It also marked the time I was unceremoniously booted out of Starbucks!
August 2013 ~
A rare, but welcome, trip to Maine for the wedding of our pals Eric and Lonnie ended as it traditionally does. Before that, however, was this amazing stop in Portland, where Andy wore yellow pants. Ogunquit was in full, high-summer bloom, but I was too consumed with consuming. The beach was blooming too, but the moon was manifesting its tricky emotional machinations.
Stepping out on Tom Ford, but only if it’s with Hermes.
My 20th high school reunion was proof that I graduated from high school at age 5.
Boston is magical and mysterious in August. But so is our backyard when the right people populate it. Still, Boston beckoned with its charm and beauty, so did what came after the bridge – and high into the sky. Even when you have to say good-bye.
Summer: Season of the Speedo. And mooning the camera. And poolside cocktails.
Poach me, tie me, bitch-slap me, sniff me, disrobe me, and make it hard.
Wait, not Bill Murray, Chevy Chase, right?
An introduction to Mary Oliver, and the wonder of poetry. And figs, because God loves figs.
Summer music, makes me feel so happy-sad, even when it makes one Misty. Time to talk about such things that go on in the life of a day.
My birthday celebration was a quiet one, and by request we went to The Mount, Edith Wharton’s home, which was just a brief drive from Albany.
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2013
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December
2013
The Year in Review ~ Part 1
Outwardly, it doesn’t feel like 2013 was very eventful. Inwardly, though, there were some major cosmic shifts, some seen only in the rippling echo of a few subtle posts. This was the year that you had to read between the lines if you wanted the full picture, as I tend to not talk about family issues or relationships issues or any of the issues that most people want to hear me talk about. That’s the gloriously infuriating fun of this site – at least for me. Still, revelations were there for the finding, if one bothered to read closely enough and wade through the smut. Here, then, is 2013, in a nutshell:
January 2013 ~
The year kicked off with the tenth anniversary of this very website. Since 2003, I’ve been bringing this site into your homes and lap-tops, through your iPhones and Galaxies, and, for the more progressive locations, into your work places. Ten years is an eternity in the blogging world, and I’m a dinosaur in this game, but I like it that way. This tortoise is in it for the long haul.
A childhood memory, conjured by a sofa-sharing moment with my brother on New Year’s Day, was brought to life by the Gummi Bears. His kids also greeted the New Year with these precious smiles.
The Boston condo was the best place to ride out a winter storm, and it’s been keeping me safe and warm since 1995. It’s hard to beat Boston for a momentary Winter Wonderland.
One of Madonna’s greatest songs was selected for the Madonna Timeline ~ ‘Live to Tell‘. Yet it was newer fare like ‘Falling Free‘ that proved she still held sway over my musical affections.
A fun hotel romp, literary-style.
This dressing gown, a wedding gift, inspired more memories than I initially thought.
A new project received the quietest release I’ve ever done. Without the hype and hoopla, ’13’ began with a whisper.
My naked romp on a couch got more notice. So did this naked romp on a bed. And this naked moment in the shower.
Shooting the football shit with my brother.
Sometimes the only thing you can do is run.
I love a surprise, especially when it involves traveling. Several notable surprise trips were made this year, starting with this one to Washington, DC, which included a stop at one of my favorite fancy watering holes. And some hotel sauciness. But skip all of that and go to the condensed versions: Parts 1, 2, 3 and 4. Or just go here to see the underwear pics. (And the naked ones.)
It was a family affair honoring my Dad’s lifetime of work, and an overdue acknowledgement of all that he’s done.
A new series (which has fallen by the wayside of later, until I hear back from Taylor Hudson and Ben Cohen) premiered in January ~ The Straight Ally Profile. The very first installment – and the one that remains my personal favorite – was this profile on my friend Skip Montross.
February 2013 ~
Music continued to provide one of the main touchstones of inspiration for many of my posts, including this musing on a classic standard, along with this Sam Cooke treasure (that also includes an ‘Adventures in Babysitting’ anecdote) and a weekend with the twins – in a robe, no less. Peter, Paul and Mary provided another blast from the childhood past with ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane‘.
I love posting photos of naked men (myself included) that also feature favorite quotes from books I want people to read. One of the hallmarks of this site is hopefully the spoonful of sugar (nude males) that helps the medicine (writing) go down.
Try one, eat some.
New bedding.
Another new semi-regular feature of this site was established in February, with The Couple Profile. The first one is a favorite because it features these two amazing gentlemen.
Second verse, not quite the same as the first.
Tom Ford is my naked obsession.
Waiting for a new bed in Boston was surprisingly peaceful. As was lounging around in my underwear, and even unpacking and undressing. I blame James Baldwin for making me take my clothes off.
February was not too early for picking up a bouquet of daffodils and praying for the speedy arrival of spring.
March 2013 ~
It supposedly comes in like a lion and out like a lamb, but in between could mean all sort of craziness. Especially when one is felled by a nasty stomach virus. And you thought I was a brat before…
Fittingly, March marked the Madonna Timeline with this ‘Ray of Light’ entry. That epic album (to date, Madonna’s best) enjoyed its fifteenth anniversary.
Another one of my favorite albums of all time was by James, Laid. I love every single song in that collection. Music still has the power to make me cry.
Boston is often more enjoyable when shared with a dear friend. Or when it gets christened by brand new bedding.
Third time around.
As a child, I was severely traumatized by a certain frightening Easter Bunny. This past year, I overcame that fear with this unexpected Easter Brunch catharsis.
April 2013 ~
April flowers brought Boston back to bloom, and Boston Chops proved it was the meat and not the motion. Yet it was the Boston Marathon bombing that moved and united us the most.
When spring is carried in on the night wind, songs like this bring back adolescent memories. And sometimes songs like this one by Bon Jovi go back even further.
Does this inspire you?
April is usually the month that the gardens come fully back to life, but that doesn’t mean the battle is over. All the lessons of life can be found there. Weep not for the Lenten rose. Everything can be accomplished as long as there is a proper plan. And event if there isn’t, there can be peace in that too.
After hemming and hawing about starting an Intagram account, I finally did it. And soon enough naked-ass pics like this were being banned.
There once was a time when Madonna scared me.
But it was nowhere near as frightening as my pornstache. Or the wall-paper that goes with it.
This sort of thing only happens once a century. Not super-thrilled that this was that once-a-century moment.
Windmill and bridge, on the edge of a Cape.
Albany disappoints on a number of cocktail levels. Except in cases of statuary.
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2013
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December
2013
A Year, Coming to a Close
It was the year of learning.
It was the year of explosions, outward and inward – in the city I loved and the homes I thought I knew, in the culture of acceptance and the name of liberty, in political wars and social embattlements.
It was the year Miley Cyrus stole everyone’s thunder, but Madonna still made the most money.
It was the year I learned, from the wisdom of friends old and new, that being unhappy is quite different from being depressed.
It was the year I learned too that when the people who love you the most try to help without listening, it usually ends up hurting. (And a year in which I wondered why so many things done in the name of love result in the name of the opposite.)
It was the year I longed to be so many places other than where I was at any given time.
It was the year I learned to escape.
It was the year where renovation was begun for both the soul and the kitchen.
It was the year I learned how to cook.
It was the year Tom Daley surpassed David Beckham and Ben Cohen in hotness.
It was the year I had to pretend I was wrong to prove that I was right. (But in all fairness that’s every fucking year.)
It was the last year I do the above.
It was the year I almost started to doubt myself, but almost learned to let it go instead.
It was the year this website had 17 million hits in a single month – topping out at 2 million on one otherwise-lackluster day.
It was the year I finally understood that a stranger 3000 miles away could understand me better than some of the people I’ve known for 30 years.
It was the year of transition. And it isn’t over yet.
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December
2013
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December
2013
A Perfect Ending to the Year
1995 was the year I was obsessed with ‘Sunset Boulevard’ – mostly the musical, but my enthusiasm spilled over to the original movie (which has worn far better than the musical over the ensuing years – and probably before too). Granted, the musical is far from perfect, but this scene is. It features the original Broadway cast – which is the one my mother and I saw together. Glenn Close gave one of her seminal performances as Norma Desmond, and it really was her magic that stole my heart – she was frightening, feral, humorous, desperate, moving, melancholic, giddy, ferocious, hilarious, hopeful, and utterly mesmerizing. While Betty Buckley may have had the vocal prowess, and Gloria Swanson may have been the real thing, it was Ms. Close who moved me the most in this role. I recognized in her the frantic last grasp at happiness, the distorted and disturbed result of years of being loved and adored by strangers but not one specific person. There’s a loneliness like no other in that.
I usually post this clip of my favorite scene from the musical for New Year’s. The one seen above is the best quality of the show I’ve found thus far, and in it we get to see the many nuances of Ms. Close’s performance. From the opening entrance down that magnificent staircase to that ridiculous but somehow poignant feathered-hairpiece, the whole thing always brings tears to my eyes. It wasn’t the dramatic histrionics that moved me so, or the over-the-top trappings and costumes – it was the simple moment of falling in love with someone who didn’t love you back. Ms. Desmond storms into the scene all fiery hope and intensity, refusing to believe in anything other than the happy ending she has planned for herself and Joe Gillis. She does her best, pulling out all the stops, seducing alternately like an army sergeant and a little girl, tugging on the heartstrings and a passion that was never there in the first place. I cannot watch that futile act without feeling sad. She wants so badly to be loved…
At the 3:19 mark they begin their dance, and in her eyes is all the hope of the world, focused in her gaze, her giddy motion, her girlish glee. We’ve all danced like that in our hearts – at least, if we’ve been lucky once or twice. To not know that kind of unrequited love is to not have lived. I watch her happiness at that moment, the way she loses herself in their dance, and my heart breaks a little. Every year.
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December
2013
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December
2013
13:13
It is better for the heart to break, than not to break. – Mary Oliver
He told me tales of Russia, and a hundred spiders dancing in his hair as he rode in a little boat, drifting across a lake. I thought of him there, gliding in the vessel, looking up at the night sky, hurtling on the long trajectory that would bring him around the world, across time and space, to where we would one day collide. He’d been born tiny, he said, and had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks before he went home. I wondered if that’s why he could stand to be alone, if that’s where his fierce independence originated. It made me wish I’d been left on my own earlier, so I could deal with it, so my heart wouldn’t ache so when he was gone.
Part of me knew what was going to happen. I’d been here before. It wasn’t the first time. And if I had just a little more strength, if I could have been a bit smarter, I might have put off the whole wretched thing by stopping then and there. I did not do that. I loved him already. I loved him too much. And so I fell.
The fever he inspired lasted a few days. Little by little it subsided, overtaken by the duties of life, until, a few months later, he could be remembered with the slightest of aches, the dullest of pangs, the merest wistfulness. One day I found myself laughing at my silly retail job, wondering how it was possible, then I realized I had been pretending all this time. No one had seen that something was wrong with me. No one had seen what I had lost. The laughter, as it was genuine, felt foreign, and frightening. It felt like I might swerve seamlessly into a crying fit, so I stopped myself. They’re not that much different – laughing and crying – especially when in the extreme throes of either.
The tools were here, the messages, already established, in the code of his written cadence, in the way he wrote, the words he chose, the way he put it all together. I was in love with his mind more than anything else. We could only last that way. And we couldn’t.
I couldn’t give him any more. I didn’t know what else to do. So I gave him this. Words, collections of words, words that conjured memories. They are all we have now. I tell the story to make it present, to make it real, to make it known that it mattered.
The way out of the old hurt was always through writing. Putting it down on paper was a little exorcism of the soul, in the same way that we sometimes felt the need to unburden and confess our feelings to friends. Though it’s often under the pretext of ‘What should I do now?’ there is never an answer to that question, not a fulfilling one anyway, but it’s enough just to lay it on the line and have it out there. Even if it’s just one other person on the entire planet, a shared secret is always better than a solitary one.
I gave him a letter. The story – our story – written out of love, out of a way to remain close, a way to cling to whatever it was we had. Like a favorite book of poetry, bedside and hearthside, waiting to be opened again, complete in itself but never completely done, never completely written, it remains without ending. For my part, I try to close the book, and take away something to sustain through the ensuing years. Mostly, I miss a friend. It’s a feeling of homesickness, for a home we never had, a feeling of missing someone you never met.
I could not regret it. How to regret something like that, how to pretend that each sensation was not welcomed, not wanted, not worthy of going through so I’d always have it to remember? I knew I had the choice. There is always the choice. I could let it pull me down, wallowing in the pain and inconsolable madness that his departure left in its wake. It was tempting to do so, and for those first few days I may have indulged in that. But there was also the choice to go on living, sharing the same world, miles and hours apart, perhaps, but watching the same sky, seeing the same moon, following the same sun. And I could take what he taught me, the enjoyment of the moment, the beauty of what was all around if you looked hard enough, if you examined it closely.
I stole whatever scraps I could of his life before he was gone. A hastily-scribbled note. A spritz of his cologne on a handkerchief. Is that all we are to each other? Symbols of something we need, something we lack? Can he exist in a faded scent on fraying cotton, in the soft, worn paper falling apart from running my fingers across his writing so many times? What was his presence but a nourishment to my soul? In his absence, bits of me – the best parts of the person I most wanted to be – fell away.
My mind goes back to him gliding on a lake. That’s where I think of him now, on a lake at night, looking up at this same sky, coasting along the gently-lapping water, his eyes bright and searching – as they had once looked into mine – and navigating his way through life, as alone as I was… as I am.
—————————————————————–
{See also 1:13, 2:13, 3:13, 4:13, 5:13, 6:13, 7:13, 8:13, 9:13, 10:13, 11:13 & 12:13.}
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December
2013
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December
2013
On A Cold Winter’s Night
Though it may not feel like it yet, the daylight is slowly starting to grow longer. Winter has just begun, but a beginning is the only way to get to an ending. In these photos the battle between day and night creates this wondrous effect, aided by the snow and cloud cover. Even in the darkest time of the year, beauty can be found if you wait and watch for it.
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December
2013
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December
2013
Alone for New Year’s Eve
For the first time as far back as I can remember, I’ll be spending New Year’s Eve on my own in Boston. (Which means I may just wear the outfit I barely have on here – or maybe just the underwear.) A few weeks ago I asked Andy to come with me, but apparently he didn’t want to deal with the parking, so he’s not joining me (but he’ll be representing us at the family gathering). I’m not sure what I’ll be doing when left to my own devices on NYE, but if temperatures are as they traditionally tend to be, I might just stay in with a bottle of champagne, some videos, and a ball drop.
Quite frankly, New Year’s Eve has always seemed more of hyped-up bit of nonsense than anything particularly meaningful, so I’m not going to dwell on being apart from Andy. Hopefully there’s not some sort of bad luck involved in not ringing in the New Year with your husband. At this point, I’m partied out for the year, and just want the new one to begin. Now, to pick up the bubbly…
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December
2013
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December
2013
Little Christmas Wizards
This is what Christmas should be about ~ magic and wonder and a pair of wizard wands (shown off to best effect in a darkened bathroom). Here are the twins having fun with the gifts I got for them this year. In some respects they take after their Uncle (they were much more excited by these than the requisite items of clothing we got for them).
