Category Archives: General

The Real Final Swim

We jumped the gun on thinking we had our last swim of the season, as Andy and I both went into the pool yesterday – November 5 – which marks our very latest to be in the water. It was quite a different experience, even more-so than last time. Where the late spring swims were perfumed by lilacs and lilies-of-the-valley, this time the air was seasoned with the earthy scent of fallen leaves – it was the smell of rust and brown and gray, a tinge of rot, a dollop of decay – fall upon the fallen.

There was also a restless wind, a playful wind, that reminded me of Dad, somewhere still watching over me. I wonder what he would make of things now. What would he make of this world, of the world he once knew, so wholly transformed into something likely unrecognizable to him? I shudder in the air, so cool after the warm water. 

The yard about us is changed, leveled by the frosts, laid bare and barren by the onslaught of fall in the nights. Grasses have spilled over the pool ladder, pots of tomato plants have fallen onto their side. This will be the disheveled scene until we clean it all up in the spring. Winter snows will offer some reprieve. The focus turns to the interior. It’s time, but both of us will miss the pool. On that November afternoon, before we know what this country was capable of doing, it offered healing and calm – one last chance at floating away.

PS – Don’t take this as the definitive last swim – perhaps we’ll be in again when snow is in the air. Like it used to cover the roses

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America’s Obituary

When you’ve grown up in this country as part of a marginalized community, you see and feel enough hate to not have much faith in other Americans. While a small part of me had hope that this country was better than that, deep down I doubted it. And with a media machine that kept people woefully misled and uninformed, electing a black woman was just too difficult for many people to do. So no, I’m not surprised, just profoundly disappointed. Again

And I’m sad – mostly for my niece Emi – and all the young girls – because they saw so many of their fellow citizens choose a convicted felon over a capable and competent woman… again. She texted me early this morning, writing, “How awful today is… We can only hope and pray.”

She then followed it up with, “I can vote next election!”

I hope she’s right. 

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A Cozy Close to a Fall Day

Saving some daylight, night comes early now, increasing its hold and sway for the next two months. This post concludes our intended day of peace and calm, with a cozy glimpse of candlelight. I used this candle to light a stick of Palo Santo incense, then sat in the early evening doing my daily meditation

A very long, slow, deep breath in…

a very long, slow, controlled breath out…

and again… and again… slowly, calmly, deliberately. 

When all else fails, and you feel like you’re been left with nothing, you always have your breath, right up until the day you die. It’s one of the few constants in a world where everything we once thought we could count on has slowly dissolved away. The older I get, the more I realize that. At first it was sad, as most of the changes had to do with loss – of health, of loved ones, of youth – but then it was jubilant, as it meant a certain freedom. Some days, all we have is our breath – and it is enough. When I focus on breathing – when I slow it down and let it occupy my mind – it pushes the silly things out of the way – the grievances, the hurt, the offenses. In their place I can plant swaths of peace and cultivated calm. Weeds will always pop up in the neglected patches of our minds – the trick is to fill the space with mindfulness

On this night, of all the nights, I burrow into that mindfulness, and by the light of this candle I begin the deep breathing. 

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A Respite from the World

This day feels large and important, and slightly dangerous too, so to act as counter-programming, I’m going back to the main premise of this blog, to the atmosphere I attempted to create over twenty one years ago. Back then, and for all the ensuing years, I have tried to foster a place where calm and beauty came together for a thoughtful, whimsical, and sometimes trifling exploration of escapism. While it’s also been a diary of sorts, I’ve done my best to make things palatable and engaging, without being too off-putting and challenging. Sarcasm and snakiness often run through my daily existence, but this space has been a reminder to me to be gentle – not only on myself, but on what I present to the world

To that end, I am filling this day with hope and light and a little bit of whimsy. We begin with the very first Thanksgiving/Christmas/Easter cactus bloom, just in time for the early start of another holiday season. Just as the outside gardens are finishing up (a few last blooms a little later) this stunner of a color called to me from the guest room in which it quietly resides. I’d noticed the swelling of the buds a couple of weeks ago, and the cuttings that I took of it earlier this year have begun setting buds themselves – the circle of life finds a new generation of epiphytes taking gentle root. 

Yes, I’ve given in and begun the acknowledgment that we are already in holiday season. I’ve started my Christmas shopping, even if it’s too late to start that damn Christmas club everyone was talking about. Come back for a late-season look at some more pink flowers. 

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A Shady Milky Recap

For anyone looking for a bit of escapism this week (hello to the possible end of democracy as we know it) this site may offer you a way out with the online debut of my ‘shades of gray’ project – which marks its 20th anniversary this fall. I’ve been wanting to post it for a while, and since we are two decades into its existence, it felt like the right time at last. There were other things going on this past week, so let’s take a look with at weekly recap – and then you can go back to worrying about whether this country still believes in its original founding principles. PS – Don’t vote a convicted, lying felon.

It began with a charming trip to New York with my person

The way Maggie Smith says ‘fork’ in ‘The First Wives Club’.

A detour post.

Mid-life crisis or mid-life meditation?

When a witch turns their back

Who’s afraid of little old me?

Bewitchery becoming: a witch’s playlist.

Sound the siren.

All-too-brief visit.

Think about this.

A bad and cruel place.

A villain re-emerges.

It’s Ben Cohen calendar time.

A November surprise twenty years in the making.

Midway through life.

Gray ghost.

Summer storm, Part 1.

Dazzlers of the Day included Christopher Sieber and Cooper Koch.

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A Bad and Cruel Place

“Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do?” ~ Bret Easton Ellis

Arriving at November, the penultimate month in the calendar year, after the warmest Halloween we’ve ever had, the world feels dangerously on the verge of something. Hopefully that’s my own little world – over that I have some semblance of control. The broader universe is on its own. 

While I’ll never begrudge a bit of summer lingering this late into the year, it doesn’t feel entirely right – there’s a sort of queasy sickness to the air, a few more allergies in the slightest breeze, a sense that something is slightly off. And then I realize – things are very much off – and it’s going to take a reckoning for the world to be righted. I don’t trust all of us to do the right thing. If given the choice between doing the right thing or doing something that benefits us, we’re all headed to the latter. Fairness, accountability, and even truth itself, have been reduced to hollow shells of what they once were. Moral nobility is the exception. The hurt and wounded will do what has been done to them; the selfish and spoiled will take and take and take. The dogged do-gooders will behave right up until you lose them. A bridge too far is still a bridge, but too far is still too far. 

November always feels like the cruelest month. 

“It strikes me profoundly that the world is more often than not a bad and cruel place.” ~ Bret Easton Ellis

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Think About This

Seen online: “So many folks talk about how they’re being ‘forced to accept’ things that go against their beliefs. You’re not being forced to accept them. If you have a problem with people of color, with gay marriage, with trans people, with immigrants, with women of any race, etc. then you’re still welcome to feel however you want to feel about those people. You’re just not allowed to make their lives harder because of your feelings. You’re not allowed to turn their daily lives into a battle ground. No one is forcing you to ‘accept’ a single thing. You’re just not being allowed to terrorize people.”

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An All-Too-Brief Visit

Dad stopped by fleetingly in a dream the other night. At a time when I’ve been feeling alienated from family, perhaps he sensed some bit of loneliness I have yet to face. 

I was under my Mom’s dining room table, and the whole place was a mess.

(That’s become less of a dream and more of a reality.)

In the dream, I’m trying vainly and valiantly to clean up another mess that had been left there. A sugar bowl for coffee, a candle, and a bunch of other things lay scattered on the floor. I scrambled to pick it all up before anyone got home. I don’t know why, I just wanted to clean it up and then get out without being seen.

Dad appeared then, just from the chest down, as I was under the table. He caught me and asked if I was feeling sick.

Then the dream ended. 

Too soon.

Even in our dreams, some messes never get cleaned up.

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Bewitchery Becoming: The Witch’s Playlist

“Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvelous beliefs, are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air.” ~ Washington Irving

A companion playlist to our Fade-to-Black listening experience for this fall, here is a bewitching collection of songs to add an element of witchcraft and magic to this most terribly enchanting of days. All sung by women, they are a siren call for my heart – strange twist in the mind of a gay man – and maybe that’s why I’ve always been more drawn to women when it comes to what counts. Give them a listen if you’d like, though I take no responsibility for any spells that may be cast upon your fancy. 

Lala Lala Song – Cemetery Girls

Bella Donna – Stevie Nicks

Season of the Witch – Lana Del Rey

Sun, Moon and Stars – Loreena McKennitt

Sisters of the Moon – Fleetwood Mac

Silent All These Years – Jem

Sorcerer – Stevie Nicks

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? ~ Taylor Swift

Siren – Tori Amos 

Wolves – Loni Lovato

Silver Springs – Fleetwood Mac

Daffodil – Florence + The Machine

Possession – Sarah McLaughlan

Gypsy – Fleetwood Mac

Come to Me – Bjork

Like A Prayer (Choir Version) – I’ll Take You There Choir

Leather & Lace – Stevie Nicks & Don Henley

thanK you aIMee – Taylor Swift

Vampire – Olivia Rodrigo

Paint It Black – Ciara

Witchcraft – Chris Connor

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Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“The point is in this whole wide wicked world the only thing you have to be afraid of is me.” ~ Fiona Goode

Happy Halloween to the friends, readers, and those who dare to tread in these treacherous stretches of the internet without ever having met me. The latter is likely the luckiest of them all, and Halloween is the most harmless time of the year when you consider how much hurt I’ve caused the rest of the days. Yes, I said it. And I know it. The day doesn’t seem all that scary anymore.

… The who’s who of “Who’s that?” is poised for the attackBut my bare hands paved their pathsYou don’t get to tell me about sad
… If you wanted me dead, you should’ve just saidNothing makes me feel more alive
… So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your streetCrash the party like a record scratch as I scream“Who’s afraid of little old me?”You should be…

… The scandal was containedThe bullet had just grazedAt all costs, keep your good nameYou don’t get to tell me you feel bad
… Is it a wonder I broke? Let’s hear one more jokeThen we could all just laugh until I cry
… So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your streetCrash the party like a record scratch as I scream“Who’s afraid of little old me?”

Halloween used to begin with such innocence and end with such guilt. In my secret heart of hearts, I always wanted to be a beautiful witch – in a costume layered and rich with flowing robes, hidden jewel tones of royal violet beneath velvet as black as the darkest night. Boys couldn’t be witches then, even if we really were on the inside. The rage stayed contained – it whirled and spun and ravaged all that was inside me. It ate me up before anyone even noticed I was disappearing. The most wicked among us were devoured long ago. 

I was tame, I was gentle ’til the circus life made me mean“Don’t you worry, folks, we took out all her teeth”Who’s afraid of little old me?Well, you should be
… So tell me everything is not about meBut what if it is?Then say they didn’t do it to hurt meBut what if they did?

My potions are perfume. My spells are words. My broom is the straw-man in my head, taking me away to anywhere but here. My exorcism is your antidote. You’ve come for relief or relapse, and I have nothing to offer of either. Long ago, I learned to forge a way separate from whatever you wanted me to be. There was always disappointment in that. I know there was. I felt it too. Maybe that’s why some of us turn into witches – the world is too wicked to make it through being anything else. 

… I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made meYou wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised meSo all you kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebsI’m always drunk on my own tears, isn’t that what they all said?That I’ll sue you if you step on my lawnThat I’m fearsome and I’m wretched and I’m wrongPut narcotics into all of my songsAnd that’s why you’re still singing along

Let them call you those names – the ones that rhyme with ‘rich’ and ‘hunt’ – as they reveal who they are in their vain attempts to skin you alive. It’s going to hurt, and we shouldn’t pretend it won’t. Yes, I’m sorry to say, there is going to be much pain in this whole wide wicked world. And there is much reason to be afraid.

… You caged me and then you called me crazyI am what I am ’cause you trained meSo who’s afraid of me?Who’s afraid of little old me?Who’s afraid of little old me?

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When a Witch Turns Their Back…

… on you… watch out.

A witch rarely makes superfluous movements.

Every twitch, every touch, every nuanced side-glance of a shifty eye – they all move a witch toward their prescribed destination.

Sometimes it is a place, but not always

Sometimes it’s a state of mind, but not usually.

Often it’s simply a nod in the direction of survival – witches being in just as dire a strait as anyone these days. 

When a witch turns their back to you, it is intentional. It is intended and designed to unnerve, disarm, and transfix. All tricks of a witch’s trade

It is a determination to leave a chill in your heart.

Play this song – an incantation without words – as if such a thing could exist, as if words were nothing and music could make you feel something without meaning. 

Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Maybe you are not quite ready to assume the mantle just yet. 

My mantle is heavy, black velvet and purple lining, but it propels me into the night in ways you will never understand, gripping madly to a rough piece of wood like a talisman or hatchet or broom. 

I don’t think you know how many witches populate the world ~ which world? ~ and who among us might they count as brethren? A declaration of doubt turned into a question, or two. There, now you’re learning the ways. 

Never turn your back on a witch. Back away if you must, or wait it out – usually it’s better to wait it out. Witches appreciate those who appreciate patience. Waiting is a dark art. Patience is often disguised as a virtue. 

You only think the witch hasn’t seen you.

And you only think the watch hasn’t seen you because the witch wants you to think that. 

Already behind them, and they’re already gone. 

Rest tonight, dear reader, for tomorrow we fly

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A Detour

This space was originally slated for a very different post. 

It was a post that needed to be written, but it may need to be revised.

It was raw, painful to write, and painful to re-read. I put it down several times, and that was after shutting it off many more times in my head. It was a family post, one that tried to explain all the icky things I’ve felt of late but have largely kept quiet. My therapist knows. Andy has seen it. And a few close friends are aware. It’s the same things that have been fostering the dysfunction that’s gone on for almost five decades – and it’s literally taken me that long to see the overridden arcs and patterns as they repeat themselves in different ways. I’ve addressed it directly, in various ways over the years, as I’ve repeatedly had opportunity after opportunity of being hurt to do so, and the last time it happened I tried again. Exasperated, I blurted out at the end of an extended silence, “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” my Mom said.

“You’re right,” I said, speaking out in a way I don’t think I’ve ever done. “It’s not fine. But it keeps happening, and here we are again.”

I realized then that it was a familiar scene, and in its familiarity I realized it wouldn’t ever change, and there was nothing I could do to ever make it change. I’ve seen my parents and how they interact with their grandchildren – it’s startlingly different from how they interacted with me and my brother – and that’s absolutely how it should be. It only stung when my Mom let it slip once that she may be treating them differently because she wanted to make up for what we went through in our childhood. That felt like one of those back-handed compliments and acknowledgments – it’s wonderful that she dotes on her grandchildren – it’s a slap in the face to make it up with them when I’m still here and still getting hurt.

That probably sounds quite silly, and I’ve been told to grow up for saying far less. It also doesn’t much matter, other than in my own need to let it out. It won’t change anything, and after 49 years I finally get it. I’ve also been told that distancing myself might be helpful, for my own mental health and protection, and so I’ve been removing myself from those who have kept this cycle going. Not in a petty or mean way, at least I hope that’s not how it’s perceived, but in a self-preserving way – a resignation to how things have been. In place of that emptiness I once feared I find myself curating time with Andy, time with friends, planning for Boston holiday visits with old friends, and reading classics again – the way I would find comfort on scary high school nights when I felt isolated and alone, nights in which I wrote out in rage “I WILL LEAVE HERE AND NEVER COME BACK” on my bathroom mirror – losing myself in literature and trying to find a way out through words. 

And yes, this was the kinder post. Enjoy the detour.

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The UnHallowed Recap

Nothing sacred or special about this recap – just an end-of-October romp to get us into the week wherein we cross over to November. That’s a sordid thought of sorts, so let’s not dwell on it – the sooner we move through this dark path of woods, the sooner we may find a way out – on with the weekly recap.

Now… a warning.

Pumpkin season.

One last swim?

Kamala, obviously.

Skateboarding up a hill.

Perils of fall.

Sweet Ogunquit autumn.

Hold my nuts.

Super graphic ultra modern girl like me.

Five years of sober living.

Happy 30th Anniversary to Madonna’s ‘Bedtime Stories’

Sisters of the moon.

Marble and mud.

Dazzlers of the Day included Christian Siriano and Jon M. Chu.

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Marble and Mud

While ‘The Scarlet Letter’ exemplifies the atmosphere of a New England autumn, and all those other ‘A’ words, this season I’m reading Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ‘The House of the Seven Gables’ for the first time, and it’s reinvigorated my love of classic literature – those tried and true works that have withstood the test of time as much for their written beauty as their evocation of how humans interact with one another

“Nevertheless, if we look through all the heroic fortunes of mankind, we shall find the same entanglement of something mean and trivial with whatever is noblest in joy or sorrow. Life is made up of marble and mud. And, without all the deeper trust in a comprehensive sympathy above us, we might hence be led to suspect the insult of a sneer, as well as an immitigable frown, on the iron countenance of fate. What is called poetic insight is the gift of discerning, in this sphere of strangely mingled elements, the beauty and the majesty which are compelled to assume a garb so sordid.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

It is very queer, but not the less true, that people are generally quite as vain, or even more so, of their deficiencies than of their available gifts.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

“I’m as provocative of tears as an onion!” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

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Five Years of Sober Living

Five years ago today, I had my last drink of alcohol. At that time, and in the ensuing years, I’ve always said that it was relatively easy for me to stop drinking. For me, that was the case, but what’s easy for me is not usually easy for most people, and I state that without any hubris. In truth, I did have to work at it, but that sort of work – a challenge and a goal – has always been somewhat enjoyable to me (or I wouldn’t do it). My main hat-trick, one of which I’m not even certain why I keep playing, is to do the hard work but make it look easy. Maybe it’s my penchant for wanting to make this world a little prettier; I just never wanted to reveal the effort and machinations involved because they’re rarely very beautiful or interesting. A swan is graceful because it floats and glides effortlessly across the smooth surface of the water – even when in reality it’s paddling like a crazed cyclist on the Tour de France. We don’t need to see the frenzied paddling, but it’s important to realize it’s there.

In the case of the elimination of alcohol from my lifestyle, it was a deliberate choice to be healthier and improve the relationships in my life. It worked on both fronts, but to say it was easy may muddy the waters for others who may be wondering why it was so easy. My case, as a good friend pointed out, is singular and rather rare, though there are components that others might find helpful, so here they are:

The first step – and the key step – is also the most difficult and intangible to describe. It was the realization that I was using drinking to mask/aid social anxiety. While on some level I always knew and understood this to be the case, I didn’t fully put the connection together. That came in therapy, which was the second major step.

Once I explored that, along with the other ancillary reasons for why I drank – family issues, social expectations, boredom – the real need for drinking suddenly dissipated. Superficially I got it, and the image of a drinker always seemed more interesting than the non-drinker, cloaked in wit and bonhomie and the sort of cutting persona I like to, well, cut (“I drink to make other people interesting“). Beneath that, though, I had to get to the core reasons and address those in ways that didn’t involve the band-aid of booze.

The third thing that helped was an intentional removal from social situations for a while, and the support of friends, who were cool with my decision/evolution and who completely understood without question or ribbing if I stopped joining them for a bit. A few months after that, COVID arrived which put everyone in the same isolated place, and that also helped since it afforded me a break before we all started hanging out again. Everyone was changed after COVID, and my not drinking, by that time, was not very much of note.

Fourth, I began meditating. First for two minutes a day, then three, then five – gradually increasing the minutes by one per week so it didn’t feel at all onerous or daunting – and soon enough I was up to half an hour a day of pure meditation – where I sat in silent, deep breathing, allowing thoughts to come until they didn’t come anymore, and finding a baseline of peace and calm that saw me through more stressful moments. 

The last piece that I implemented was that free online Yale course on finding happiness, which filled my time and alleviated any boredom that drinking might normally fill. Any hobby or occupation would likely do – it just had to be something I could focus on to keep the mind occupied and engaged. That’s sort of the purpose of life too I suppose. Taken together, that’s why it was easy for me to simply stop drinking.

Finally, a caveat (as in, NOW a warning?): my drinking was never to the point of chemical dependence. Was I on the verge of that becoming the case? Quite possibly. But when I stopped, I didn’t have any cravings or withdrawal and my medical tests didn’t reveal any issues caused by alcohol, so I feel confident in saying in those respects I wasn’t yet a full-blown alcoholic. I just realized that drinking was no longer serving as the solution for the issues I used it to solve. I was lucky to have supportive friends, and the privilege of being in a circumstance where I could concentrate on becoming healthier.

Five years later, it’s still one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

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