Pete Buttigieg has been here shirtless before, thanks to a snapshot by his husband Chasten. This post rings a little more importantly, as we focus on his words, and the vision he sees for our country’s future.
“It’s not enough to just replace Trump. We must do away with the cruelty and division that have defined this era, and elect leaders at every level who will build a better, more inclusive future for this country and the next generation.” – Pete Buttigieg
This night was supposed to be about finalizing an outfit and packing our suitcases for a weekend getaway to my friend Kristen’s wedding in Virginia. Instead, I’ve been sentenced to the attic because of contracting COVID (as happened exactly one year ago today) and no one is going anywhere. That is one of life’s not-so-little fuck-overs, and I am heartbroken over missing out on Kristen and George’s wedding, as well as seeing all of our friends.
The one bright spot in all the sadness is the notion that we will make our trip in the fall, and get to spend some more intimate time with the newlyweds – something that wouldn’t have been possible in the happy frenzy of a wedding celebration. But really, that’s a small bright spot in a devastating blow of disappointment, and I’m nothing but down and sad about things right now.
That’s all there is to say.
The 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris came to their very-French closing yesterday, closing the chapter on the summer Olympics until they arrive in Los Angeles in 2028. Will this blog still be going at that time? I never promised you a rose garden. On with the weekly recap as we begin the week that breaks the hump of August…
A poignant scent memory: ‘Azure Lime’ by Tom Ford.
This bashful beauty carries the burden of most of the August bloom.
Feeling seen, feeling attacked, feeling all the feelings.
It’s the grammar – and it’s a fucking joke!
A friendly birthday reminder, because I’m a Virgo.
The Paris Olympics: A Tale of Two Penises.
A practically pornographic point of view.
The Olympic Spotlight illuminated Jakob Ingebrigtsen, Josh Kerr, Rebeca Andrade, Cole Hocker, and Jack Laugher.
Dazzlers of the Day included Mondo Duplantis, Gabby Thomas, Grant Holloway, and Bob the Cap Catcher.
With its marijuana-like leaves, the cleome seen here has been reseeding itself for quite some time now. For the last couple of years I’ve been ruthlessly removing 95% of their volunteers because space has become more important than filling it. I leave a few plants to develop, as they bloom just when the garden is in need of a floral jolt. That arrived last week with these flowers, which will continue to open through September, and hurriedly fan out little sticks of seeds to provide for next year’s crop. The color works perfectly with our summer coquette theme, so I’m glad I left these alone.
Bringing the coquette atmosphere into August feels right – and a theme that is kept light and airy tends to remain fresh longer than one that is heavy and plodding. Coquette flits here and there, hence and thence, darting about elusively like a dragonfly or humming bird – ever out-of-reach, ever out-of-capture. It has resonated powerfully in these parts, as evidenced by the blog stats which have shown a dramatic resurgence in viewers and hits starting in June. Usually summer ticks down in visits, but thanks to the coquette splendor and the summer Olympics, this blog is experience more traffic than it has for a number of years. Not that numbers matter here – I was doing it for ten friends in the beginning, and I will be doing it for those same ten friends when it ends.
Back to coquette… and pink panache, all in the cloak of a cleome. August whispers amid storms and rain, hinting and foreshadowing the turn of September – the turn of summer into fall. Pretending it’s not coming won’t keep it away any longer. Still, it remains summer, and summer must be embraced and enjoyed.
“The characteristic of coquettes is affectation governed by whim.” ~ Henry Fielding
Any summer day that ends with fingers like this is a good summer day.
Sometimes you just need to prune your hands.
And so summer keeps on keeping on…
Wrinkled raisins and all.
Which of these objects doesn’t belong?
For my Virgo ass, just about all of them, including that wrinkled, dirty tablecloth.
But also the pruning shears, the scissors (how much do we need to cut?), the empty vase, and the plastic fertilizer measuring spoon.
I’ll allow the bottle of Mrs. White’s Unstung Hero Insect Repellent, as it is mandatory in this humid buggy season (and its tea-like fragrance is actually quite pleasant).
And then this cute creature.
The chipmunk named Chip.
(Confession: we name them all Chip to make it easy.)
While we don’t usually allow the wildlife onto the table, we let this one slide. It’s my fault for leaving a few papery scraps of a lumpia wrapper that I had outside the other day. This little guy was so well-behaved I couldn’t open the backdoor to startle him away until he had finished his tiny meal. The winter will do its worst to starve him later on – maybe this small act of kindness will lend one creature some relief. He rewarded us with a bashful pose.
So many people (at last count… two) have been pestering me about my birthday wish list that I decided to do this little reminder post of the original list, while offering this addendum for any last minute scramblers still looking to gift me with something to ease the pain of the last year. Pictured is the very latest Tom Ford Private Blend, ‘Black Lacquer’ which is actually not quite available yet (keep checking here). If you are so generously inclined, I’ll happily take a rain check for when it gets its official release in a few weeks. Other items that are available now so as to make it in on time shall follow below (and will someone please tell Andy to make sure to bring at least one gift to Boston with us so I’m not typically depressed on the actual day of celebration?) Also, visit my Amazon wish list for more affordable goodies.
Frederic Malle’s Promise Perfume in the 1.7 oz/50 ml bottle (and on a steal of a sale here)
Le Labo’s Bergamote 22 in the 1.7 oz/50ml bottle
Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille Beard Conditioning Oil
Hanro’s Fancy Jersey Boxer Briefs in ‘Pin Patternwork Light’ size medium
Molton Brown Lime & Patchouli Liquid Hand Wash
Tom Ford’s Oud Wood Beard Conditioning Oil
And for those special peeps who want to splurge and win me over for life, try these Tom Ford Silk Boxer Shorts in Washed Rose, size medium.
As a very wise woman once said, “A lot of people are afraid to say what they want. That’s why they don’t get what they want.”
It was a week that saw the one-year anniversary of Dad’s passing come and go. I’ve been in a reflective state of mind, guided by relief, gratitude, sadness, and the raw ache of a year of firsts without him. Everyone who’s ever lost someone has told me the grief doesn’t just end at any finite point in time, and I know and understand this. That said, finishing the year has some sense of reassurance in it, some little bit of comfort as I realize that while Dad is gone, he is still with us in so many ways.
I also don’t want to bring this space down with daily dwellings on death (even though I think we would all do better to discuss and talk about death in the way I’ve come to understand it’s such a meaningful and natural part of life) and to that end there were and will always be a multitude of distractions and other things on which to focus. This past week has been about the Olympic Games in Paris, which found equal bits of athleticism, inspiration, and eye candy. On with the weekly recap in typical roller coaster fashion…
It began with a sizzling hot coquette moment. Our coquette summer burns and burns…
Aiding in the coquette atmosphere was this Silver Mountain Water fragrance by Creed.
Completing the coquette feel of this summer was established in our third summer playlist: Coquette-Me-Not.
The bulge seen round the world belonged to Jules Bouyer.
The room where my father died.
A gratuitously shirtless Olympic pause.
The second bulge seen round the word, when this pole vaulter’s pole knocked down the pole.
Pommel horse guy Stephen Nedoroscik goes shirtless.
Tropical the landlocked breeze, all of nature wild and free, this is where I long to be…
Pinoy Pride was in full effect as Carlos Yulo secured a second gold medal for the Philippines.
the Olympic spotlight shone on Asher Hong, Carlos Alcaraz, Paul Juda, Anthony Harding, Bobby Finke, Carlos Yulo, and Noah Lyles.
Dazzlers of the Day included Maxim Bouchard, Jules Bouyer, Stephen Nedoroscik, and Rhys McClenaghan.
Carlos Edriel Yulo just earned the Philippines its first-ever gold medal in gymnastics, and Yulo becomes the second Filipino to win a gold Olympic medal. (The amazing Hidilyn Diaz was the first Filipino to win a Gold Medal back in 2021.) With this pinnacle of gymnastic awards, Yulo easily becomes the most successful Filipino gymnast in the country’s history. Pinoy Pride!!!
Arriving at the end of July brings a bittersweet moment, as it means one full year will have passed since Dad died. It still stings when I say it, and I try not to skirt saying it in the hope that one day it won’t sting as much. I don’t know if that’s the best way to do it, but I refuse to bury it. Instead, I let the sadness come when it does, I allow myself to stay in bed on weekends if I don’t feel like getting up right away. And in the same vein, I allow the happiness of summer to wash over me too. To that end, here is our weekly recap for the last week of July, when summer is at its most potent.
My Godson celebrated his second birthday.
Every summer is a brat summer here.
Getting naked and making every muthafucka turn.
Three visitors on a summer evening.
Olympic spotlight on: Caeleb Dressel
Dazzlers of the Day included Aya Nakamura, Léon Marchand, and Rene Farias.
At first there were two.
I couldn’t quite make out what they were as I didn’t have my glasses on. Having just slipped into the pool to find some relief for my back, and a day that found me largely asleep in bed, I only saw two forms fluttering about the cherry tree. I thought they were butterflies as I hastened to put my glasses back on.
Finding them again in the cherry, I saw that they were hummingbirds – a pair of them playing or fighting, I couldn’t tell which, and they were no less charming for whatever drama they were playing out. Flitting from thuja to cherry and back, they darted to and from each other, until one flew high above all the trees, zipped back, then did it again – back and forth to the other one, before they both took off.
One came back, but I’d already moved to the deep end of the pool, so I viewed it from afar. I saw it descend smoothly and surprisingly swiftly right toward me, so close I almost had to duck, its body solid and dark of color, its wings moving too quickly for me to discern, and then it suddenly stopped in mid air, pausing to poke its tongue into the flowers of the cup plant. A charming moment that made me involuntarily smile.
Slipping back underwater, I swam down and tried to let my back ease off itself. It had been a beautiful day – I should have spent more of it outside, I just didn’t feel like it.
After a few more slow laps to loosen up the limbs and relax the back, I floated languidly and listened to a third visitor who had just arrived – a cricket. Its chirping reminded me that the first part of summer was over. It’s the sound of August. Already an ending, and I’m still trying to be ok with it.
First it was my neck, then it was my back – both victims of trying to pull up tree roots that had taken ten years to take hold. My body was no match for such stalwart and stubborn strength. A household with two bad backs falls quickly to mess and disrepair – it’s only a matter of time before we round the turn to the fast-track to ‘Grey Gardens‘. With only one month to go before I hit the age of 49, I’m feeling all the years.
After visiting with friends I’ve had since childhood, I had a Big Chill moment, thinking back on where we are now compared with where we were then. Comparison is still the thief of joy but I couldn’t stop myself. And it didn’t steal all the joy, just a bit of it, because the passing of time does take things, no matter how careful we try to be. It also reveals what didn’t come to pass, turning our dreams against us, or endlessly and elusively taunting us with their ongoing existence.
The back cries out, the neck stiffens, and the walk becomes stilted.
Time, you win. Time, you always win. Time, go easy on us…
Slipping into the pool for some relief (gravity does bad things to backs when they’re at their worst) I let the spine elongate and relax, decompressing those discs or whatever might be going on to cause the pain. The relief is cruelly temporary. Outside in the air, in a strange breeze of early evening, the chill caused my back to hunch up again. The spell has dissipated. The dull ache returns. Middle age haunts us in different ways. I’m trying to make that ghost into a friend.
Siting in the attic, I hold a letter that my friend Ann left for me. She and Missy joined us for an all-too quick weekend visit, part of our coquette summer and a vital recharge of the soul and heart. Whenever such time together comes to an end, I find a bit of sadness and mourning in the hours after – the way my heart would sink a little after every tour visit or on the ride home from one of those Saturday night card games. Re-reading her card, I feel the gratitude for the time we had together – not only this weekend, but the decades that came before when somehow we followed and held fast to the delicate threads of friendship. So many friendships are finite and fleeting – the three of us have managed to maintain our connections no matter the time or distance apart. For that reason, we know things about each other than none of our partners or spouses know – and that sort of connection seems to be more and more rare. Even my niece and nephew – just fourteen – have gone through more friendship circles than I did in twenty years. I hold Ann and Missy a little closer for that elusive bond. As this song plays in the empty room that Ann left as the sun was still pouring into the window to start the day, I go back to the Friday afternoon that she arrived…
It had been a work-week from hell – early signs of the full Buck Moon had already been felt in a tumultuous Friday, and by the time I got home, my nerves were frazzled, compounded by the general madness of the world right now and the approach of my Dad’s anniversary. Part of me wondered if I had it in me to make it through the weekend – then I remembered it was just Ann and Missy. And by ‘just’, I mean my dearest and nearest friends – the ones who have become family over all our years together. We didn’t need to maintain our friendship or closeness – people change, people move onto different lives, people simply fall out of touch – only a few remain the same, retaining the close comfort and safety when all guards can be down, when you can speak freely, laugh loudly, cry quietly, and simply spend a summer weekend in a happy state of calm – but somehow we did it. I’d almost forgotten how important it was to reconnect like that, to recharge the soul and shut out the sorrow in this particular moment of the world. Ann and Missy would remind me immediately of that.
Ann and I settled in for a couple of good talks – out by the pool, in the dining room, and ultimately on the conversation couch, where we stayed up later than either of us usually does – the way old friends pick up where they last left off, but with all the happy memories lapping upon them to add layers of reassurance and safety. It dawned on me, all these years later, how much we had seen each other through, especially in those shaky high school years. I would not be here today if it weren’t for Ann. It sounds like such a simple proclamation – but oh how much heartache and love is in everything that that encapsulates. Only she and I will ever know. What a treasure to have someone with which to share it, and to realize, perhaps a little too late, that as alone as we both felt at various times, we never quite were. I think we kept that in our minds more then than we do now – and this weekend was a reassurance that it still holds true.
The next morning we slept in more than we typically do. The cozy non-rushed company of an old friend lends an ease to a sunny summer Saturday that I will bring to mind on the colder, darker days of the year that will undoubtedly come, and I was glad to make a memory to save for then. We slowly entered the day, then got into our coquette outfits – pink, pink, and more pink. Ann is always game for a theme, and it was she who brought in the featured sign for our coquette era. Missy arrived – shockingly and beautifully in pink (because pink is not a color that Missy has ever worn) but for this special weekend she made the effort, resplendent in bows and pearls and a dusty rose dress. Her son Cameron had actually helped pick out the coquette theme for the summer, advising on what was and wasn’t coquette, and Missy delivered the look and the missive. She brought a bouquet of pink roses, and the three of us immediately returned to the gossipy fun of our youth as if the past twenty years hadn’t happened. (At my best calculation, the last time the three of us were in a room together was our 10th reunion back in 2003.)
While it may have felt like no time had passed in the way we instantly fell into our laughter and memory-laden merry-making, much had in fact happened in those two decades. It came up in references to those we had lost, in the way our stories sometimes led to moments of melancholy, in quick recaps that spelled out some of what had happened in matter-of-fact language that merely hinted at the sorrow and heartache behind it. Old friends have a shorthand way of taking that all in – of being aware of the things that informed each others lives, nodding to signal an empathetic bit of telepathy, and helping to heal in the next sentence when it was already ok to laugh again.
Following the same loose trajectory of the day before, we moved from poolside to dining room to conversation couch. I felt us relax and lean into the safe harbor of friendships that extended well back into our childhoods, and in one of those lovely moments when memories past, memories-in-the-making and a realization of the moment at hand all cross like arms in a hug at the end of the day. As we laughed uproariously at things that were just being said, I thought back to our first tentative days as friends, back when we were only kids. Finding someone who got you and your humor, who didn’t judge the differences but rather found comfort in your similarities, made for a sense of security that I’m not sure we even felt all the time from our own families. Our bond was forged then, even if we didn’t fully grasp it. Maybe on some level we understood that one day we would eventually lose those loved ones, that we would need this chosen family when things got dim and dark. Maybe we held onto it for all these years because in addition to losing loved ones we might also have lost a bit of our own way. Maybe this is the start of reconnecting more regularly and relying on each other again – so much easier to do in a world of texting and social media, when we can harness the technology for something sacred and good.
The next morning, they had to get going early, and Andy and I had Jaxon’s birthday to attend early that afternoon. Life wouldn’t wait, but I paused in the attic, opened up the letter from Ann, and held onto the moment until it was seared into my heart.
And so we move boldly, bravely, and still trepidatiously ahead.
The survival of America – of democracy itself – is, finally, up to the American people.
I hope we have it in us to do the right thing.
#VoteBlue
This swallowtail butterfly paid us a visit a few days ago, right after a hummingbird had been flitting around the cup plant blooms. While this plant can get unruly and push its volunteers out of all sorts of bounds, the charming visitors it brings, and its own whiny and charm, more than merits such a cost. With carefulness, it can all be kept under control.
The same cannot be said of the magnificent swallowtail butterfly, or any butterly for that matter. We can provide a safe haven, plant its favorite flowers, and make for a welcoming environment where it won’t be bothered, but the rest is entirely out of our hands. That the butterflies and hummingbirds and bees still visit is a happy turn of fortune.
