Dear Al ~ May I call you Al? Perhaps that’s a bit disingenuous, as I’ve already called you that twice. Also a bit hypocritical, since I don’t take kindly to anyone who calls me ‘Al’ without having known me for at least twenty years. Then again, I don’t care to be particularly kindly to you, so perhaps we should keep things formal after all.

Dear Alcohol ~ You and I go way back. From my 21st birthday, when I made my friends watch ‘Leaving Las Vegas’ as I got drunk on whiskey and Coke, you’ve been a companion, savior, hindrance, crutch, fair-weather friend, mortal enemy, and ultimately an ex as of four years ago. That’s when I had my last drink, and in one of the wisest and best decisions I’ve made in life, I haven’t had you since. It’s been one of the best break-ups I’ve ever had.

The top down in the summer sun
The day we met was like a hit and run
And I still taste it on my tongue (taste it on my tongue)
The sky was burning up like fireworks
You made me want you, oh, so bad it hurt
But girl, in case you haven’t heard

I used to be love drunk but now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever, forever is over
We used to kiss all night, now it’s just a bar fight
So don’t call me crying, say hello to goodbye 
‘Cause just one sip would make me sick
I used to be love drunk but now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever but now it’s over

It’s not entirely your fault. In fact, it’s probably not your fault at all. Just beginning to understand that leaves me exhilarated and flummoxed, because I’m still not accustomed to taking the blame, even when I’ve been so terribly wrong, so awfully seduced, so willfully deceived. You were there when no one else was, when I couldn’t be there for myself, and, more frightfully, when I did happen to be there to ambush my own heart. We had some good times – and yes, when all else failed you saved me, like on that day I had to give a presentation in one of my required literature courses. Paralyzed by social anxiety, and terrified by the thought and idea of speaking in front of the class, I had you to keep me company – a bottle of orange juice poured mostly out, replaced by the surefire strength and sting of vodka. The idea of downing it before class in the morning, on the commuter rail and the paths leading to campus, didn’t feel dangerous then the way it does when I think of it now. Survival means different things to different people. We all have to do it. In a morbid way, you helped me survive when I knew no other way. I can’t be entirely mad at you. 

You were there when the awfulness of a family funeral presented itself, and my own parents, whom I had repeatedly begged not to volunteer or agree to have me do a reading in church, left me unprotected again. I smuggled you into my backpack, hurriedly guzzling another massive screwdriver in the hotel bathroom before I had to do that damn reading, my social anxiety off the charts and barely blunted by your vital sting. You held my hand as I walked to the front of that church, having lost a relative just like everyone else, and your effects lingered enough to get me through the moment. It was all I needed – just get me through the moment, I thought as my voice struggled to find itself and read verses I no longer quite believed. And you did it. Later, in the garage, with the macho straight men of my family who had always frightened me, I strode through, all confidence and sanctioned drunken grief, courage by beer at that point, and whatever it took was fine with me.

Hot sweat and blurry eyes
We’re spinning ’round a roller coaster ride
The world stuck in black and white (stuck in black and white)
You drove me crazy every time we touched
Now I’m so broken that I can’t get up
Oh girl, you make me such a lush

So warm and safe, so sexy and seductive, so sure and certain – you were my courage and commitment in one – the surefire way to get me through any situation, and every situation. Another instance of me faking it and faking it until parts of it came true, until parts of me could genuinely believe in myself. I thought you were taking away the fear, I thought you were giving me power and confidence, and all the while you were only hiding it, allowing the anxiety to grow and evolve. Maybe that’s why I find such joy in this break-up song, and such joy in when I finally kicked you to the curb four years ago. 

I used to be love drunk but now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever, forever is over
We used to kiss all night, now it’s just a bar fight
So don’t call me crying, say hello to goodbye (oh, yeah)
‘Cause just one sip would make me sick
I used to be love drunk but now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever but now its over

There is anger here, not at you Al, but at myself – at the person I didn’t quite know how to be just yet – and there is anger at all the people and events that perpetuated it over all those delicate, formative, crushing years. There were times I should have said more, explaining what was happening, and there were times when I should have said less, should have let things go and not torn myself up to the point where drinking was the only escape. I was just so mad, and so hurt, and I couldn’t see why. I’m only just starting to see why…

All the time I wasted on you
All the bullshit you put me through
Checking into rehab ’cause everything that we had
Didn’t mean a thing to you

I used to be love drunk but now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever but now I’m sober

Four years after leaving you, I’m beginning to find the forgiveness that lessens the pain and releases the anger. (Screaming the bridge of this song always helps ~ All the time I wasted on you, All the bullshit you put me through…) Four years is a decent stretch of time to allow for some sort of reconciliation. They have been four wonderful years – and they included some very heartbreaking times, so if I can find the worth and wonder in them, and come to the realization that I did not once look for you even when my Dad died, I’m ok with where we currently stand. 

I used to be love drunk but now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever, forever is over
We used to kiss all night, now it’s just a bar fight
So don’t call me crying, say hello to goodbye 

‘Cause just one sip would make me sick
I used to be love drunk but now I’m hungover
I’ll love you forever but now its over

And so my old friend, my old lover, my old savior named Alcohol – you have gone your way and I have gone mine, and those ways diverged four years ago. Too late, too soon, or just in the nick of time, we have reached a place of acceptance. It wasn’t you, it was me… and it’s ok now.

Now it’s over
Now it’s over (still taste it on my tongue)
Now it’s over

After last year’s epic Boston Children’s Holiday Hour, which required a Part Two and even a very-extra Part Three to fully process, Suzie and I almost took a year off from this annual-but-for-Covid event. Our first one was a whopping eight years ago, meaning that most of the Children that once formed the impetus for this gathering are now teenagers. That stings, as the passing of time so often does. Rather than skip out on a year however, we are doing it on a casual and scaled-down degree. Whatever happens is what will happen, and as long as good people are involved it can’t help but be a good time. Right. Right?

With the way this year has gone, it also looks to be a bit of a fiasco because whenever I let my planning guard down, shit goes wrong. I’m embracing that though, and playing up the ridiculous panoply that we regard as life these days. It’s the only way to survive a joint-planning expedition with Suzie. Best laid plans and all… 

Here is a peek at our prep process for the holiday mayhem about to ensue:

ALAN: What are your thoughts on this year’s Boston Children’s Holiday Hour?

SUZIE: I say, charcuterie board. Pack of cards, some plastic spoons. Done. I don’t know how we can top last year what with Argentina’s massive win. So why even try.

ALAN: Don’t cry for me Argentina. I mean my wardrobe anyway. That can always be topped. It was fucking Adidas x Marimekko. Plastic spoons or chocolate spoons? Should’t we at least try something festive? 

SUZIE: Yeah! That’ll totally do it! Wear the [redacted].

ALAN: Hush hush sweet Charlotte, that is a mystery of the holiday card that shouldn’t even be whispered about yet. Remember John Mulaney! Loose lips sink ships! Besides, [redacted] are too hot. Are you thinking silk organza?

SUZIE: How did you know that?

ALAN: I have a fifth sense about such matters. And no on silk organza. There’s usually at least one spill at these things. A spill that someone else will have to clean up, but still, I’m often in the general area.

SUZIE: That’s true. Silk organza is too risky…

Well, you get the idea, and you have an inkling of how this year’s holidays are going to play the fuck out. All of which brings me to the following photo, taken during our ‘Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?’ era, on the morning that I served Suzie whisked eggs in Ithaca, NY. 

“I didn’t bring your breakfast, because you didn’t eat your din-din!”

‘Promising Young Woman‘ was one of my favorite films of the past few years, and its director Emerald Fennell has a new one coming out next month – ‘Saltburn’. It’s the only film I’ve been truly excited about seeing (I haven’t even seen that ‘Barbie’ movie yet!) And I’m not just talking about Jacob Elordi and Barry Keoghan and Rosamund Pike… this looks truly diabolical, and I can’t wait. 

This sort of reminds me of ‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’, another thriller that came out right around the holidays, adding intrigue and drama to the festive season. I’ll be looking for escapism and thrills right about late November…

“Honestly, home doesn’t mean the same for me as it does for you, Felix. I don’t think I’ll ever go home again.”

Our colder nights and rainy days have brought beautiful color to the trees in this area, and if there was any hesitation or doubt, this is the week fall confirmed its presence. On with the weekly recap…

It began with the promise of gilded beauty (a promise which looks to be fulfilled October 29). 

This shirtless gay brigade was headed up by Jim Verraros, Gus Kenworthy and Tom Daley.

At the ripe old age of 48, I can’t remember a thing.

The best part of that Harry Potter play.

A celebration indeed: Madonna returns in fighting form.

Is it me?

Forcing the cheer.

A friend in need of a kidney.

A wonky weather spell.

Happy birthday to my husband.

Our first trip to Ogunquit without Dad.

The blush off an Ogunquit rose.

Through the eyes of rusted berries.

Dazzlers of the Day included Ross Lynch, Alexis Nikole Nelson and Yono Purnomo. 

Winding my way along a path blessedly bereft of other travelers, I reach a point hidden from the view of the main road, as well as the walkers along the shore. In this little pocket of solitude, I unwind and relax my countenance, easing into the comfortable state of being alone. This has always been my comfort zone, and it is here where beauty has always opened up to me. 

Leaves rich with their fall color are scattered along the side of the path. Looking up, I see their source still holding many points of color against the sky, most of them fluttering in the slight breeze. I wait and watch a few more fall to the ground; the passing of time can sometimes be seen in such plain form. Is there irony in watching this passing of time while creating a memory to still the moment?

Above my head another tree leans down to whisper more secrets, its berries like wandering eyes, offering another look, and possibly some poison. I walk onward.