Here’s some levity to end/begin the week because we need it.
This is a mug that Suzie recently gave to me.
I’m still deciding whether to keep it or re-gift it to her next Christmas.
Neither of us will remember where it came from so it’s all good.
The sentiment is timeless.
When the world has gone mad – and by all indications it has – it’s a good time to go quiet and focus on what is immediately at hand. It’s a form of mindfulness that, for me, puts the present moment (and whatever small task or action you are doing) into your brain, thus eliminating the empty space that worry and stress and doubt might otherwise occupy. In this manner, mindfulness can become a constant form of meditation throughout the day.
A couple of days ago, I set my evening focus on the pictured dish of linguini with red clam sauce, which Andy had lovingly made for a Friday in Lent. I thought of the care and preparation that went into it, the way he increased the recipe so as to send a batch to my parents, the repeated tasting he did to make sure it was progressing as it should (I always forget to taste what I’m making, which is basic Cooking 101 and why I’ve never truly excelled at it), and the delicate way he draped the pasta onto the plate so I could get a photo of it for this very post.
From there, I focused on the visual feast before me – all delectable scarlet against cream with accents of fresh green, all backed by a plate of Robin’s egg blue. Watching the gentle ribbons of steam unfurl upward, and noticing the chip that seems to now be part of every plate we own, I took it all in, without judgment or annoyance (even the chip) before moving onto the scent. One eats using all the senses, and scent is one of my favorites. The earthen wheat-based coziness of the linguini melded with the spicy tomato into a familiar cocktail called dinner, and I paused, as much to appreciate the fragrance as to let it cool. A side of garlic bread completed the culinary cologne – all these gourmand fragrances coming out lately are no accident.
Finally, there was the indulgence of eating – the way the fork felt in my hand, the way the plate was warm to the touch, the way the pasta wound around the fork – and finally the way it tickled my tongue, gave way between my teeth, and traveled into my stomach. All the magnificent taste sensations, all in the most mundane actions for human survival. The simple act of eating dinner, when performed mindfully, can be a soul-enriching experience, offering moments of gratitude and appreciation, and occupying the mind with the goodness of what’s presently happening. Does it make the reality of the world go away? Not at all. Soon enough, the news cycle re-entered consciousness, the social media nonsense continued its endless scroll, and the concerns of elderly parents re-emerged, but the mind was slightly more at ease, and a little more equipped to handle them.
That said, I won’t pretend I’m always this mindful, as much as it’s a goal. Take this chocolate chip cookie from Stacks Coffeehouse in downtown Albany. The other day I popped in for a quick lunch break and just scarfed it down, without being the least bit mindful. I was hungry, and it was sweet. End of story.
Today is supposed to soar into the 60’s, with the accompanying wind show to be expected with such drastic temperature fluctuations. The wilderness of March on blustery display. It’s tempting to get a little excited when that first scent of spring is in the air, when the snow hastens its melt, and the trickle of water somewhere sounds like a little stream that might couple as the tiniest tinkling of bells from some swirling wind chimes far away. Apologies for running away with that sentence. The mind is somewhat scrambled these days.
There is a small park in downtown Albany that is closed from November to March 15. On Instagram I posted a photo of the sign indicating that the other day, when a thick carpet of snow and ice still covered the messy expanse, and I wondered whether March 15 would indeed free the sidewalk section of this park. So many of our messiest snowstorms happen now and into April, so I’m not sold. But I’m open, hopeful even, to being wrong. I simply hesitate to hype up spring too much too early. The world seems intent on proving humans wrong, especially in these last few years; we’ve all been beaten down to hope for that much.
On this morning, when the weather is unsure and uncertain, when it might be stormy or windy or sunny, 30 or 60, happy or sad, I turn within to find the quiet and the still. Whatever may churn outside, it’s what happens inside that will direct the journey of the day.
Does the week end tonight or tomorrow night? Or, in the words of Dame Maggie Smith’s Downton Dowager, “What is a weekend?” Regardless of when, precisely, it happens, let it happen easily and uneventfully, because in these last weeks of winter my mind and countenance are frazzled and fretful. Enter this hot cup of matcha, which has been my morning go-to these past few days, in an effort to jolt some inspiration, or at the very least the energy required to make it through the damn duration. When work and daily responsibilities heap worry upon wear, the best thing to do is retreat to your quiet place.
The saving grace throughout this winter has been my meditation practice, which is back up to about 20 minutes per day, and I’ve insisted on doing it on a daily basis since the start of the year. After a couple of months, the differences are more and more profound, which is the whole point of meditating, and why it only gets better the longer one works at it.
Does this mean the highlight of my Saturday night is a 20 minute meditation session?
Absolutely. And I am in no way sorry that it should be so.
Happy Saturday Night, everybody! Go crazy.
The Ilagan twins came for a weekend visit, fulfilling a promise we made to them for a winter weekend retreat, just under the winter wire, as there are a scant few weeks of the season that remain. When last we had them over, it was for our annual Fall Treasure Hunt weekend, a tradition we’ve managed to keep going throughout a pandemic and a world in crisis, and it is a testament to the power of children in keeping the rest of adults sane and focused on what is truly important.
With the sun shining so brilliantly on the snow, and the sky this gorgeous hue of blue, we made our way to the Five Rivers Environmental Education Center (shout-out to my own agency, the Department of Environmental Conservation, for keeping up such an excellent site!) where we met up with Suzie for an import walk along the Beaver Tree Trail. (Lord knows I love a beaver.) Suzie’s daughter Oona joined us and we entered the wintry wilderness.
I will not be revealing the wretched outfit I had to wear to brave the elements, but a hat, a hood, furry pants, and chunky boots were involved.
The blessedly-short and quick trail was just the right length, allowing us to feel removed from the world without an extreme exertion of effort or distance. The charms and enchantments of a forest in winter cast an immediate and effective spell. Here, we were all children again, feeling the wonder of the world all over again, and experiencing a trail for the first time with my niece and nephew will be a memory that I file away for future reminiscences.
With whispers of beavers in the air and some tell-tale/tail signs of their previous presence, I was transported back to my own childhood for a thrilling little remembrance of how much I had read and researched the polarizing creatures as a kit, err, kid. It was a bit of a full-circle moment as we finished up our walk and returned to civilization.
After a wintry expedition, there’s nothing finer than a cup of hot cocoa with extra whipped cream. (We couldn’t find any mini-marshmallows.) After a dinner of Moroccan chicken, we watched a movie (‘Into the Woods’) and headed into the attic for evening traditions.
We resumed our meditation practice, doing our best to clear our minds from school and work worries. I asked them what their intentions were – Emily said she wanted to worry less about things, and Noah said he wanted to have fun. I told them my intention for the weekend was to be more present and in the moment, then explained how all of those intentions tied in together – when you are mindful and in the moment, you get to enjoy and have fun with what’s happening, and when that occurs you also remove the empty space for worrying and stressing about things.
Before bed, Emily read a chapter of ‘The Trumpet of the Swan’ out loud, and I tucked them in with a goodnight hug. We all slept in the next morning, which is how the last day of winter break should be. Our next gathering will likely be for their 12th birthday… when it will be spring again.
While Friday nights are my quiet favorites, the fully-fleshed-out sprawl of an entire Saturday carries a fortitude of rejuvenation that no single night can conquer. Kira and I awoke to a sunny start, but we stayed in bed for a bit as Cafe Madeleine was closed until March. Looking back, that moment of morning passed quickly, too quickly, and so a melancholy song, sent to me by the universe later on in the day, will back our remaining little adventures. It’s entitled ‘Evergreen’ and is by Alexander Walk.
A wind-ravaged landscape required an early bowl of pho to warm our bellies, so we made our way to Chinatown, and a table for two at Pho Pasteur. Sipping soup with Kira is one of winter’s best past-times, a tradition which has seen us through the darkest seasons. It felt like we were putting another winter to slumber soon. I wanted to slow the day and still the moment, but I couldn’t. Not by putting it into words, not by freezing it in a photograph. Not even by making a song into a memory.
The relentless passing of time, and the way it only builds and builds in speed and forgetfulness… these were the rough facts of our age and our present predicament. Where once we carried purses of pretty bracelets, we now place daily allotments of pills and prescriptions. For hypertension, for vitamin-deficiencies, for immunity – as much for our mental ease as for our physical comfort. What a strange new world, this getting older…
Before we headed back to the condo for our blessed afternoon siesta, I saw this little sticker with a QR Code, and a dancing trio of bears, and it brought me to this song. The universe whispers its music to you if you slow down and wait for its quiet clues.
This ‘Evergreen’ is a fitting little song that closes out a winter weekend in Boston with bear and flair and a very good friend whom I now miss. Just a few more weeks until the clock ticks into spring, when we shall return to this special city for a whole new season of adventures and fun.
It will likely be our last Boston rendezvous before the official arrival of spring (cheers to that!) and as such an air of celebration and giddiness was in the atmosphere as I met up with Kira for a recent weekend in our beloved city. Peppered throughout this first part of the recap are quotes from Kira and bits of conversation that struck me as funny. You will likely be largely unamused, and to be fair you did kind of have to be there. No matter – it will crack me up writing them down again, so for my enjoyment, please indulge.
The weekend began with my arrival at precisely 3 PM, so as to procure an available spot in one of the coveted visitor’s parking sections of a few nearby side streets. I found one quickly enough, then paused in the condo bedroom to take in the very best part of the day there, and to take this picture.
After making a quick trip to Newbury Street to get my retail footing and some food stuffs before Kira arrived, I set up to lighting the candles and taking in the holiday decorations, which remained from our canceled Holiday Stroll. Yes – 2021 and Omicron finally dealt our decade-plus tradition a mortal blow after we trickily beat its curse in 2020, and the year passed without a proper Holiday Stroll. Rather than wallow in regret or sadness, we decided to put that tradition to bed for a bit and start something brand new: the Spring Stroll. Watch for that coming the very first weekend of spring (provided a snowstorm or pandemic doesn’t change plans, which is no longer the empty threat it once was).
KIRA: What’s wrong with my outfit?
ME: Nothing!!
Also ME: Are we parachute jumping today?
When at last Kira arrived to a condo filled with warmth and memories and the lingering coziness of Christmas, the Moroccan chicken dish I’d made for us had finished heating up, and dinner was promptly served to our weary selves. The preceding work week had been busy for both of us, and we relaxed into the luxury of a Friday night with a cherished old friend.
ME: Yes you are. Without the polka dots.
Catching up over dinner, we laughed and sunk back into the comfortable groove of a friendship going back well over two decades. Outside the wind whirled and scurried about in blustery charges against the brick, but within the condo all was glowing and warm as if Christmas had decided to come back for a quick second to see us through the remainder of winter.
KIRA: That’s why we wear hats.
ME: You’ve never been afraid to look stupid in a hat.
The spell of hygge had been cast, and its emboldening enchantment worked its magic on our souls, healing and rebuilding what had been broken and bruised through the sheer act of surviving. Christmas lights still twinkled in the corners, and the scent of spicy candles lended another layer of warmth to the proceedings.
We finished dinner, Kira had a spa shower, and we tried starting a movie but fell asleep before getting very far. Winter felt very distant at that moment, and the ills of the world felt miles away. One last quote from the next day, to give you a hint of what was still to come…
ME: Can you just fucking enjoy the moment?
KIRA: No, I can’t. I’m cold.
My favorite Dazzlers of the Day are those whom I know personally. This happy selection is one such Dazzler, as my friend Kira snatches her crown in anticipation of an upcoming Boston weekend post. Kira and I have been friends since our days at John Hancock in the late 90’s, making a friendship that’s sustained for over two decades. We’ve learned to enjoy each other’s company as it is, work on our friendship with its ebbs and flows, and been there for each other as a comfort when the rest of the world descends into madness.
There was something raw and tender about the winter of 1998. Living in Boston at the time, and following the bloody trail of my bruised but not yet broken heart, I longed for love as I got lost in the muck of desire and decadent depravity. It wasn’t a sexual awakening I was seeking, or even a blooming of the soul, it was the acceptance of not knowing where I was meant to be, and greater than that an acceptance of realizing I might never know. It was the journey of almost every early-twenty-something – both lost and found, both elated and despondent – and I embraced it as much as I pushed it away.
That March, Madonna released her best album to date, ‘Ray of Light’, the album that changed her career, solidified her status as an artistic force (when she so desired), and gave her lifelong fans cause for celebration and reflection at once. The music was especially moving for me – one of those moments of youth where music collides with the magical time of the early twenties – and in each song I found something in which to marvel, to ponder, to wonder.
The witching hour of the midnight release at Tower Records on Newbury Street arrived and the new Madonna music poured forth from the sound system. After rushing back with album in hand, I hastily put it on the stereo and laid down on the cold wooden floor. My silly retail job – the very first job I procured on my own, and one that I loved so dearly because I was so good at it – would begin in just a few hours. It didn’t matter. Madonna’s voice – the one that guided me throughout my childhood, the one that had shaped me into the young man I was – sounded throughout the empty rooms. Born out of night and darkness, born out of the depths of winter which echoed with frozen memories, it was music to soothe the soul. Looking back, I realize it was music of meditation, even if I was decades from meditating.
Today marks the 24th anniversary of the American release of ‘Ray of Light’, and with the day comes the remembrance of the night I flew through Copley Square and the front yard of Trinity Church on roller blades, my black coat fluttering wildly behind me as I screamed loudly into the night air. It recalls the fall I said hello to a new love and the following winter in which I said goodbye. It brings back the loss of innocence, torn from the firmament of my youth like a little falling star. More than that, it shines a sliver of light on a past that feels both dimmer and brighter than it probably ever really was, cracking open the heart like a frozen drop of water cracks open a rock.
Stage, screen and television star Ariana DeBose recently won a Screen Actor’s Guild award, setting the stage for further Oscar gold thanks to her turn in ‘West Side Story’. After turns in ‘Hamilton‘ and ‘The Prom‘ she proves her status as a triple threat, and now she can add Dazzler of the Day to all that glory.
Arriving at this second day of March, a simple bouquet comprised of a trio of tulip blooms and a riotous little bunch of ranunculus makes for a primary triumvirate of color when backed by a blue winter sky. Hints of the seasons to come, hopes for the last winter days to tick by quickly, but not too quickly, as there is wonder and some magic in the waiting.
When so little of the outside world feels fresh or alive, a baby bouquet like this makes all the difference. The power of a single flower can still the most formidable winter day. All the sun seems to inhabit its bright face ~ all the warmth and all the glory.
A comfort post for the tumultuous start of March.
A cupcake from Andy.
A plate by Marimekko.
Glimmers of giddiness, reminiscent of summer with this cheery plate and sugary treat.
Perfect for the month in which spring returns, however she may return.
A cupcake cannot cure the ills of the world.
And how many more ills seem to be dropped upon us with each passing day.
Yet for a moment, for a brief spell of suspended day, I’m going to pretend.
The subtle thrill of a mid-day sweet treat.
Andy takes care of all of my Mini-Cooper’s bang-ups and bruises, sometimes with his own hands, and sometimes with a skillfully-handled phone call with the insurance company after a stone dented the windshield on I-87 during a recent trip to Amsterdam. Such an act is always appreciated, because after being on the phone during a typical day at work, doing the same thing on my off-hours would prove too unhappily awful. As thanks, I put together this bouquet of flowers to greet the month that spring returns, as Andy is getting as antsy as most of us.
He recently floated out the idea of an early pool-opening, mostly I think to keep our minds and thoughts buoyed with the hope of a warm spring and summer, especially after last year. I’d be happy with a couple days of sun and warmth, and not ask for the moon and stars just yet. But I won’t say no to it if it happens, and as we enjoy the sun coming into the bedroom in the afternoon, we feel it linger, throwing rainbows up onto the ceiling and walls from the crystal lamp finial by the window.
I added some bright yellow lilies to this arrangement to signal that the first month of spring is at hand, and in about twenty days we will officially be in the swing of things. Until then, let’s have a few more flower bouquets to pass the time in prettiness and gratitude.
It was the mid-90’s, and in the midst of the tattered-flannel grunge muck I was just starting to acknowledge my sexuality. Flickering boldly across the television screen was the audaciously and unapologetically queer character of Rickie Vasquez on ‘My So-Called Life’. He was astonishing to me – so supremely confident, yet so heartbreakingly vulnerable – and the portrayal of such a person by the exquisitely talented Wilson Cruz suddenly made me realize that there might be a place in the world for other queer kids like myself. In the ensuing years, I came out and began to find my way in the world, forever thankful to Cruz for showing me another way, while Cruz forged his own journey in Hollywood, crafting a career in defiance of the typical entertainment rules for openly gay people of color. His trailblazing continues to this day, as evidenced by his current turn on ‘Star Trek: Discovery’, boldly going where no one has gone before as he shares an on-screen kiss with his on-screen husband. That’s courage. That’s bravery. That’s even more than a Dazzler of the Day.
What a wild winter week it’s been, with whispers of war carrying on the wind and the wicked tumult of a world that is inconceivably giving space and possibility to thoughts of encroaching autocracy. While I wonder and shake my head at such notions, let’s get on with this recap, and close our February chapter of 2022 with a dismal thud.
A raging wind was tempered with a focused meditation.
A shirtless Shawn Mendes post was precisely what this week needed.
Sparkling light makes a thing go right.
Amid the snow, signs of spring slowly emerge.
Some sweet heat for the stomach and the soul.
Brown and desiccated, but brought back to life.
Dazzlers of the Day included Claybourne Elder, Christine Baranski, Ryan Eggold, Jesse Palmer, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and this amazingly courageous Ukrainian woman.
