Only two days into the New Year and we are already looking back at shit. This is what happens when holidays fall on Sunday – it fucks everything up. Blame it on Mercury in retrograde – as I’m blaming everything for the next few weeks. God help us. On with the recap of all the year’s recaps…

Christmas came and went, but this juniper holiday post kept things festive.

Don’t sleep on meditation. 

The December burn.

Hunkering down for Mercurial retro-hell. 

Blue December sky breaking through the doldrums.

Leading the boring life.

Ring of fire: the first burn.

Ring of fire: the second burn.

2022 Rewind: The Year in Review ~ Part One.

2022 Rewind: The Year in Review ~ Part Two.

Dawn enters in gray garb, less of an entrance and more of a shifting of the light.

Another calendar year begins, the way humans mark their time.

It starts, like every year has, in stillness and silence. Forget the crazed stroke of midnight – my clock for the New Year begins at the first light of this morning. That is when the world is quiet. Contemplative. The way anything of true import should start. The way a calm year should start. We have had our fill of all that is tumultuous.

Looking outside, I see the tall bare stalks of the cup plant, next to the sturdy bands that remain of the fountain grass. When the sunlight is able to break through in the early afternoon, both are lit like flames against the sky and the dull landscape. In the morning, when there is no snow or wind, they stand still and silent, largely gray and unobtrusive despite their stature and prominence of place. Genuine presence requires no fanfare or pronouncement.

And so it is that we begin this year at ALANILAGAN.com – the 20^thyear of this website’s existence, so prepare for some double-decade anniversary celebrations. For now, let us begin in relative quiet. There will be other years for boffo New Year’s Day blog posts, such as this one set around ‘Circus’ by Britney Spears or this one featuring ‘The Greatest Show’. Even when I don’t try to go big and brash, a follow-up post often sneaks in the bombast. For this year, I’m back to a silent beginning – shades of gray and somber tones in look, feel, and sound.

In the reflections of trees in water, a change in perspective signals something deeper, a new way of looking at things, a different take on navigating life. So much has changed over the past few years, and so many of us are still reeling from the trauma of what have collectively been through. A worldwide pandemic hasn’t happened like this in a century – to think we are over it, mentally or emotionally or even realistically, is foolishness. We are all living in the trauma of it. 

It has changed everything. Not all for the worse, and I’m lucky that my own evolution and discovery of meditation and therapy and a healthier way of living have coincided with such changes. Bringing those tools into the new year will prove helpful, and continue the trajectory that has seen me through the last couple of winters.

I invite you to come along for the next stage of the journey. It’s more fun with two. 

Continuing the saga that was 2022, here is the wrap-up to the Year in Review. The second half picks up where we left off, right in the glory of mid-summer and all the fun-in-the-sun moments that make the season so wonderful. Summer lingered into September, and then the inevitable low slide into fall, and the very start of winter. Another calendar year has come and gone…

July 2022: Summer turns to high, and starts on a lazy mocktail note. 

Bee balm.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!

Summer Speedo.

A summer day with Dad – my favorite day this summer. 

Officer Andy.

A summer visit with an old friend.

Some flowers are like old friends, and sometimes they are even more reliable. 

Bamboo high.

Summer resplendent. 

Our 22nd Anniversary.

1000 days of not drinking… and counting.

A divine visit to Provincetown with good friends old and new re-jumpstarted the summer. It was an enchanting place and we had an enchanting time. 

Highlight of the summer: the birth of my Godson, Jaxon Layne Ilagan. Welcome Baby Jax!

Familiar angels: the Connecticut Chronicle.

August 2022: The month of my birth, and the last full month of summer – August is bittersweet.

Once upon a time in your wildest dreams.

Another summer visitor,  with whom I shared a meditation.  

The sign of the rainbow.

Touching me, touching you.

Fading remnants of a full moon set to a song of smog.

August adventures with the Ilagan twins. 

Madonna: finally enough love.

Family fun in the summertime.

Birthday suit post, because who knows how much longer I can keep this up.

Birthnight moodiness.

Scenes from a simple birthday.

September 2022: In which a Boston visit results in my first manicure, a practice to which I am now addicted so send me all the gift certificates, this spectacular trip to the Encore casino, and a lovely night in my favorite city. 

Forewarned is fair-warned when it comes to getting touched by this Bishop of the Catholic Church.

Bringing the Ilagan twins to Boston to make a new kind of American history takes a lot out of everyone involved. 

Dad’s 92nd birthday.

Last summer swim?

The lust for the naked life. 

Summer Renaissance ~ dance with me, honey!

Summer Renaissance 2 ~ let’s dance again!

Autumn begins in flames.

Flames of a feather.

Andy’s return to the pie-making game.

Expressions of a Godson – hello Jaxon!

A birthday gift from two favorite friends. 

Extinguishing the burn of one fire from the past.

Flaming September in the burning sheets.

A last letter to the first man who ever kissed me.

October 2022: Fall continues its slow-burn and smolder, with the release of a long-lost project and the usual Halloween shenanigans. You know, season of the wood witch and all.

Is this how sex smelled in the 90’s? 

Andy’s canning enterprise.

The release of a once-problematic project finds greater resonance now more than ever.

This was ‘FireWater‘. 

The fire of a saint.

A letter to a mad musical genius – and a friend. 

Autumn in Ogunquit casts its own spell, and our return for the second time in a year was happy in the beauty and the company. 

These ‘Assassins’ hit all their marks. 

We walk in the woods to ease our minds.

A hint of aural sex.

30 years of Erotica and Sex, tinged with death. 

Andy’s birthday and a family dinner celebrating it all.

More expressions from my Godson – the wonder that is Jaxon Layne.

Hand covers bruise.

Hangover hunger.

Three years of not drinking alcohol… and still counting. 

Bet this made you look… at my dick.

November 2022: The month of thanks, beginning with this trial of a new holiday cake (spoiler alert: it was a hit). 

Autumn lighting magic.

There is always room for meditation. 

Swaying to a mood-enhancing song.

Openly Gray. #GrayPride

Green clouds of a matcha morning.

Candle calm.

Commencing sparkle sequence…

I can still make the whole place shimmer.

The gambler and the ham salad, and my very own set of Golden Girls.

Empty rooms of a young heart, waiting to be filled.

The new party scene.

‘Beautiful Stranger’ – the Madonna Timeline whirls onward.

Easing into the holiday season.

Tea time with Dad.

November finale.

December 2022: I which our calendar year comes to a close, with all the holiday drama and holiday mayhem you’ve come to expect at the most wonderful time of the year. 

Holiday tales and their retelling.

Take a poll and ram it up your ass.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

The Holiday Card 2022: an offer you can’t refuse.

The New Godfather.

3M.

This year’s Holiday Stroll was one of my favorites, as Andy made the rounds instead of Kira. 

Saving my Christmas spirit once again were these wonderful kids (well, pre-teens and current-teens) who reminded me what matters in the world, as well as introducing me to the World Cup.

The winter solstice at hand.

The eyes lost it long ago.

Christmas Eve with the family.

Rings of Fire: the first burn and all the other burns to follow. 

Leaving the glamorous life behind for the boring life, and all the happier for it. 

How shall you remember 2022? I’m not sure what constitutes a memory worth making, and maybe that’s why I don’t have many that come to mind. Still, there were notable moments, and there was some fun, and we made it through largely intact. There is something to be said for that. And now, let’s go back, let’s go back, let’s go way on way back when…

January 2022: Another stretch of hygge saw us through the first full month of winter. 

A good reminder: it’s ok not to drink. 

The tradition of tea can begin at any time, and you can make it whatever you want it to be. Start now for a year’s worth of peace. 

My own private social anxiety.

A childhood friend makes beautiful music. 

Meditative alignment.

The joy of therapy.

A day of hygge with Dad – a favorite day of last winter.

Morning matcha.

The wonder of Wordle.

Saturday night candlelight.

February 2022: The shiver of the second month of winter is eased by comfort food.

An antidote to winter by Andy. 

Undiscovered flaws, perfect imperfection. 

Beneath the Buddha’s tree.

2022 was the year I conquered my fear of yeast.

The unexpected delight of love.

Moroccan hygge.

In this new world, even the Olympics were ruined. 

Blue villain bad guy.

March 2022: Winter turns to spring, slowly but surely, as cracks of light emerge.

A Boston winter close-out, part the first and part the second. 

‘Twas a twinter weekend. 

A Times Union blind item begets a blind item, and proof for my back pocket.

Overlapping friends and family, circles widening upon circles. 

Spring arrives, so they say, and so they sing.

We say gay.

When it’s ok to hold hope.

A dozen years of the Ilagan twins. 

April 2022: Water runs into spring, and stream-side a meditation is possible.

A port of pirates hints at watery adventures.

Preparing the way for my Godson.

A train ride into the past, and all the way to Florida. 

That funny bunny of mine.

A two-decade wait for a parking spot comes to an end. 

A peek at the end of childhood innocence.

May 2022: My favorite month of the year begins in beauty. 

A childhood friend, lost yet still haunting me.

Our garden wedding.

A mother’s presence in the perfume of a lilac.

Swimming by the lilacs and the lilies.

Calm amid the chaos.

The prick of a Tom Ford rose.

Andy’s lilac memories.

A dozen years of being married – part one, part two, and part three.

Brushing by witches in Boston – part one, part two, part three and part four.

Returning to Ogunquit thanks to the Scotch Hill Inn.

June 2022: This month ushered in our first Itoh peony blooms.

Summer songs hit differently. 

Summer scents hit differently too.

A long-awaited return to Ogunquit arrives at last. A blessed reunion with this Beautiful Place By The Sea, our Memorial Day weekend kick-off to the summer vacay season found us in some stellar lodgings, with the same enchantment intact. 

Don’t hire anyone in this post. They want their lives to be miserable.

The thrills and mostly frills of A Streetcar Named Desire.

Channeling Vivien Leigh. 

Caught in the act.

Do you remember how we used to live in the summer?

A summer song for the night.

We say gay because Pride still matters.

BroSox Adventure with Skip in the year 2022.

A country on the verge of tipping into the shitter.

An old-love rekindled in gorgeous fashion.

Sitting and getting my haircut is one of my least favorite things in the world to do. A quick check of my yearbook photos will attest to that (I went through most of 11th grade without getting a single haircut, and being that I had no knowledge of hair products or styling techniques, it was a dark time). While I’ve come around to getting haircuts on a regular basis, I still don’t enjoy it, but I try not to take it out on the stylist giving me a cut.

On this evening, I booked the appointment and put on a smile as I went in. The place was empty except for the woman about to cut my hair. She was on the phone with her mother, and when she finished she sat me down and asked what I wanted. She began buzzing away at the back, and if there was going to be a friendly conversation, here is where it would begin. I can summon a pretty decent RBF (the kids just taught me that acronym) at a moment’s notice, but I didn’t bother. Years of experience have taught me that being difficult when you’re getting a haircut is not conducive to anyone’s happiness. Still, a good stylist reads when one wants to be left alone. 

“Are you doing anything for New Year’s?” she began, and I realized my fake smile had worked too well.

“No, just seeing some family on the day of – nothing for New Year’s Eve,” I said, perhaps a little too brightly. 

“Oh me too – I’ll probably be sleeping by 8:30!”

I loosened my smile a bit and looked over at the hair products on the nearby counter. She continued working on my hair and I felt bad. 

“There aren’t any parties anymore,” I ventured. She made a smart remark that maybe I just didn’t have any friends, to which I gave a weak laugh. 

“Do you watch any TV?” she asked. 

“Not really…” I said.

“Well what do you do?” she asked with slightly-feigned exasperation, looking somewhat at a loss. “You don’t have friends, you don’t watch TV…” and she laughed. I laughed too. 

“God, what do I do?” I mused aloud. “Well, I have a blog that I write in all the time.”

“Oh? What do you write about?” 

“It’s mostly just a personal diary…” I said, suddenly and inexplicably shy, and letting the sentence end there.

“I wish I could write. My life is a train wreck,” she replied, and went on to tell me a story of her many kids, her husband, and something to do with a misplaced baby and a broken washing machine. 

I told her it sounded much more interesting than my boring life, as she finished up and pulled the cape off my shoulders. I stood up, then bent back down to brush the hair off my shoes. 

“Maybe your husband should have a blog,” I said as she rang me out. “I have to struggle to make the most mundane things seem interesting.”

Her next client entered, and she wished me a Happy New Year. 

I don’t think I did her story justice. I hope she doesn’t read this. 

Cool on the heels of its closing days, the sky has only had brief moments of revealing its blue self, winter being more comfortable in shades of gray, cocooned in cloud-covered obscurity. On the dimmest days, the sky runs into the bare trees and dull ground with barely any demarcation – just one long monotonous sheet of a color that could be called ‘Doldrums’.

When a stretch of blue sky appears, one rushes to the nearest door to step outside and take it in. The light moves quickly at this time of the year, and the days are not as endless as they so giddily feel in the summer. I’ve admired a stand of fountain grass in the afternoon sunlight, then languidly took my time getting a coat on so that when I got outside to freeze it in a photo, the light was gone and the magic dissipated. Winter can make movers of the most reluctant of us.

Mercury goes into retrograde motion tomorrow, and is slated to be that way through January 18, 2023. My plan is to hunker down for the duration, keeping my head low and staying as quiet and low-key as possible in the hopes that the rascals of Mercurial motion pass by without much trouble or hassle. This is when meditation and a baseline of calm works to keep the rollercoaster ahead in somewhat manageable form. It’s also the time to be more accepting and forgiving of fall-outs, flip-outs, and wig-outs; my usual MO is to avoid all those outs anyway, but even the best of us can fall prey to such acting-outs at these perilous times.

Though the title of this post is all hellfire-and-brimstone/doom-and-gloom, I’ve actually learned to take these periods of uncertainty and tumult as times of learning and practicing flexibility. The tree that can never bend often ends up breaking. For far too many years, my Virgo nature wanted rigid structure and organization. It still does, and I’ve learned to appreciate that to an extent. I’ve also come to understand the importance of going with the flow and not being so tied to unreasonable constraints and order. Sometimes even reasonable boundaries need to be broken or eased. The older I get, the more amenable I am to these sorts of changes. Both meditation and therapy have helped in my acceptance and reconciliation of the largely imperfect nature of life. When Mercury slides into retrograde, and plans and routines get whacked and bumped out of alignment, I try to take it with a laugh and chuckle rather than an angry outburst or diatribe against some other entity that’s bothering me. Displaced aggression is never a good look on anyone.

For the next few weeks, let’s go a little easier on ourselves, be more forgiving and ready to laugh at our foibles, and enter the New Year with a lightness of heart that allows for minor disruptions to glance off our egos like drops of Mercury…

We have burned most of the month up, and our holiday season nears its close. I am ready for the shift, having never really gotten into the holiday spirit this year (though I came close a few times). A winter of mindfulness and meditation lays ahead, filled with baking comfort foods, nestling into heavy blankets, turning the pages of a book, and finding the subtle, sparse beauty of the season. Before we turn the page to January, however, we burn a little brighter, and a little hotter, as we round up the year in review, and close out this year with a ring or two of fire. Stay tuned…

Christmas morning began in crisp, brisk form, with clear blue skies and a stiff upper wind. Much of the snow had already been driven off by a bout of rain, and the dry cold air that’s currently pulling from the remaining snow cover. There was a clarity that only seems to come at Christmas, but I’ll watch for it on the days to come. Maybe I’ve only ben pricking my senses up on the special days when the magic is there for anyone who takes the time and care to notice. 

I only made one quick turn around the edge of the pool, to reach one of the only spots of nearby greenery still green at this time of the year – the juniper bush. Prickly of texture, it’s one of those landscaping feature that wants nothing more than to be left alone, admired from afar, and given water only at the most drought-like stretches of deep summer – and even then it would likely turn its nose up at such efforts. 

An austere visage of beauty for the beginning of winter, this juniper stretches high into the sky, having been planted well over a decade ago as something to lift the spirits at just such a point in the season. We have a wider stretch of junipers on the edge of the yard – more difficult to access with the snow, but maybe worth the little trek for a bouquet to ring in the New Year.