He stands alone in the window, seeing the vague outline of what someone else might see. The luxury of being home in the middle of the day does not escape him, the illicit thrill of being unknown is an added spark. Slowly, the sunlight moves through the room, passing deeper into the sky, climbing up and over the bed.

These are his favorite hours to be there: from about three o’clock to six o’clock ~ the last stretch of sunlight in the bedroom. It is a quiet time. He honors that. No music, no talking, no phone. It takes a while to embrace that stillness, to calm the racing mind and quell the rushing heart. Eventually, though, if he can be patient, if he can let the thoughts come and go, everything settles down. A peace appears, not so much deliberately or with any sort of announcement, but more in the absence of chaos, in the removal of accustomed agitation. The relief of that is the closest thing to religion.

Now here’s a pouch I prefer fried. (Spicy avocado version.)

Having no control over everything, I turned 38 this past week on a quiet low-key sunny day in upstate New York (more on that later). We spent the day at Edith Wharton’s estate and garden, The Mount, which was amazing – did a little shopping at the Lee outlets, and returned home to have dinner with my parents. All in all, it was a very good day for this birthday boy. But since marking the passage of time is not my favorite thing to do, let’s take a quick look back and be done with it.

The infuriatingly tricky way to navigate through this site was only partially-successfully explained here. I recommend just typing words into the ‘Search’ feature at the bottom of the page and praying to get lucky.

Nothing inspires me more than a good song, which were in plentiful supply with the likes of Verdi Cries, Already Gone, Misty, and Darling Be Home Soon…

Unless it’s a new Tom Ford Private Blend, like this Rive d’Ambre. Now that is inspiring.

The amazing Ben Cohen tweeted me a Happy Birthday message, which just goes to show he’s not just beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well. (Not that there was ever any doubt.)

Boston was filled with flowers, many flowers, on the way to Charlestown.

Because of the blue full moon, I took it all off and jumped in the pool on a steamy summer night. (That’s right, naked shots here and here.)

Finally, I said good-bye to not knowing when the truth in my whole life began. (Further proof that I can turn any post or conversation into a Madonna lyric.)

Sometimes I go to great lengths explaining what I post on this blog.

But sometimes I don’t want to do that.

These are my friends – old and young.

That’s all anyone needs to know.

I should have simply entitled this post “Things At Which I Totally Suck” and been done with it. Saying good-bye and letting go – especially of friends and family – is just not one of my favorite things to do. And I tend to be bad at it – at least emotionally – so my good-byes are short, and hopefully sweet, so I can get the hell out and try to move on without too much damage. Not for wanting to leave, but for not wanting to prolong the pain.

It usually happens on a Sunday morning, and no matter how sunny or nice the day, it might as well be pouring rain and drizzling unhappiness. Often, it will be JoAnn leaving our home in upstate New York, or Kira saying goodbye in Boston – but no matter what, the same heartsick feeling results – even when I know I’m going to see them again. It’s the loss of proximity, the lost of camaraderie, the loss of the comfort of being near a loved one. That can never be matched or even very much mitigated by texting or Skyping or anything else. Sometimes you just have to be close to someone to feel better.

Liza Minnelli had one of the greatest good-byes as Sally Bowles at the end of ‘Cabaret’. As she bids her lover farewell, she turns and walks away. He watches her go, and with a little backward wave of her hand without looking back, she acknowledges the moment and continues on her way. I always thought she was crying a little when she did that – mostly because that’s what I tend to do. So if we say good-bye, chances are I won’t look back, but it’s not because I don’t want to – I just don’t want anyone to see me crying.

The same feeling settles over me whenever it comes time to leave Boston. I usually depart early, to get it over with, and to get back into the mindset of the daily grind, mentally forcing myself back to work, back to home, back to husband. I do not look in the rearview mirror, I look straight ahead – West to upstate New York, yonder to Albany. Boston is behind me, to be revisited at another time. The good thing is that only a chapter is done. There will be more to come.

If ever there was a day for me to strip naked on this site, my birthday is it. Though it seems odd to give so much on one’s own birthday, there’s no more fitting time. Besides, think of this as a thank you for all the birthday wishes I’ve gotten so far.

More to come…

Thirty-eight years ago I was born in Amsterdam, NY. According to records, it was a little after 3 PM, but I was too young to remember. A few years later that would be my favorite time of the day (as that is when R.J. McNulty Elementary School let out for the afternoon).

This is a quiet birthday year. No trips to Boston or Provincetown (and no cool art installations like this and this), and though I toyed with the idea of San Francisco or Seattle, neither was quite in the financial cards (which are largely in the red). It’s all right – some years aren’t big banner years. Better to welcome them quietly, without pomp and pizzazz, and be grateful simply to be alive. That will be the goal for the ensuing year. Gratefulness. Appreciation. Kindness. Love. On the day that’s supposed to be all about me, I tend to remember how small my life is in the world, and how someone’s birthday is just another day for everyone else.

(For the remaining 364 days, however, we’ll return to me, so enjoy this one-day respite and prepare to pay homage again tomorrow.)

“Late in the night we enjoy a misty moon.

There is nothing misty about the bond between

us.”

~ Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji

Full Moons have not always been my friend, as evidenced here and here. But a Blue Moon – that is a bit of a gift. Usually these lunar events have a difficult influence, bringing out the beast not only in me but in all those surrounding me, leading to some fierce clashes. This time around it was a calming moon. It rose in the sky as the night grew long, and the weather stayed warm and fine. I ventured back into the pool, taking leisurely laps as the moonlight sparkled on the water.

It was just me and the moon, tossing it back and forth, two drifters – only one of which could see the world as a whole, the other flailing a bit, like he always does, but calm tonight, even beneath the surface.

“I had not known the sudden loneliness

Of having it vanish, the moon in the sky of dawn.”

~ Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genii

Summer had returned. The night was warm and for the most part still, with just the slightest breeze that didn’t so much blow as slowly move the air around, gently shifting the atmosphere, transferring a pocket of summer-sweet perfume here, the cologne of the butterfly bush there. Above it all, the blue moon, traveling in a slow arc across the sky, watching and illuminating with its ghostly reflection of sunlight.

The best part of the moon is that we all see it. No matter how far apart we might be, no matter how much time passes, we can look up on certain nights and be sure of each other, sure that we are seeing the same thing. There is solace in that, in something that can be so shared. It’s impossible to feel too lonely with the moon as your companion.

“So long as I look upon it I find comfort,

The moon which comes again to the distant city.”

~ Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji

This same moon will fly over all of our cities, sometimes hidden by clouds, sometimes barely breaking the horizon, sometimes rising out of the ocean – and each of us at some point will see it.

Everyone will get their turn – separate, but together.

Apart, but connected.

Lunar consolation.