Our first full week with the pool in effect makes it finally feel like summer, just in the nick of time. There’s a light now for nightswimming, and a fan of steps that makes entering the water so much nicer than using a ladder. It’s my new favorite hang-out. While I’m luxuriating there, and making up words here, ride this recap like a wave…
“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.†―Desmond Tutu
The cup plant has been in its seasonal glory the past couple of weeks, the blooms bursting like countless orbs of sunshine against the sky, providing a feast for the bees and butterflies and a pair of hummingbirds. A group of yellow finches favors the flowerheads too, and will be here until the fall, when the seeds ripen and turn brown, hoping to fall into some remotely hospitable patch of dirt somewhere and carry on the legacy. With all of these visiting creatures, there is much activity in the garden now, and it’s a glorious sight to behold. So much of these last few months have been filled with a sense of quiet in the backyard.
Bereft of the usual string of parties and gatherings and get-togethers, and bereft of the pool for the first half of the summer, it’s been a strange season, as this is typically when we would see our friends and family. Come fall and winter we tend to retreat from the world a little – this would normally be our chance to connect for the year, to see the people we love and make the memories that would warm the winter.
And so I spend the days trying to soak in the sunshine and the cheer, the things that summer does best, the things that only summer can do, trying to warm the heart enough so that it will see me through another winter.
Acute observers will hasten to point out that only one of the photos here actually features a black Speedo (by Marc Jacobs) – the rest are just basic black briefs by Tom Ford masquerading as a Speedo. I can’t be bothered with authenticity when it comes to blog post titles. Not in the summer, and certainly not on a Sunday morning.
Surrounded by the finally-lush quartet of hanging sweet potato vines, a pair of fruiting fig trees, and a trio of tomatoes that has finally produced enough to be considered a proper harvest, I recline in the midst of our bucolic patio, facing the pool and contemplating another dip. The trials and tribulations of summer.
Let out a summer sigh…
Soaking in the sun, soaking in the day, I soak in the minutes, and do my best to still and slow them. The neighbors are not yet out, and the silence seems to add to the slowing of the moment. I’m trying to make the most of the summer. Sometimes that means simply sitting, watching the bees buzzing by, and waiting for the next visit from one of the hummingbirds that’s been gracing us with its presence.
Out of boredom and isolation, I did something I always advise against doing: a blind fragrance buy. In this case it was a bottle of Aesop’s ‘Tacit’ which is absolutely my new favorite summer scent, so the stupid and moronic gamble paid off. It doesn’t usually work out that way, so be wary. The literature on ‘Tacit’ sounded glorious (Jo Malone‘s combo of Basil and Neroli has always been an unexpectedly enjoyable whimsy, one much I may have to revisit to enhance this basil experience).
Tacit was born of two key inspirations: the fresh notes of traditional colognes and the culture, topography and fragile perfumed vegetation of the Mediterranean coast. It is familiar in its Yuzu-inspired citrus notes, yet innovative in inclusion of Basil to deliver a green accord with delicate spicy clove-like undertones.
I love a citrus scent for summer, even if I know they won’t last. Issey Miyake’s take on yuzu is a collegiate bottle of summer I once used for a Yuzu Summer Party (yes, we’ve had parties centered around a citrus and a cologne, what’s the question?) Hermes does a delicious grapefruit with their Eau de pamplemousse rose, and there is a Grapefruit Lime concoction by The 7 Virtues that is divine.
Tacit combines the citrus-zest of yuzu with the green, herbal essence of basil, which pushes it into slightly fruitier territory, wrapped up in the one part that was the biggest gamble for me – vetiver. I hadn’t been a big fan of vetiver since a downstairs neighbor in my college years wore it, and wore it badly. Those kinds of experiences tint and shade our fragrance views, whether warranted or not. I did not return to it until Tom Ford coaxed me into a winter try with his ‘Grey Vetiver’ and I realized if done with a citrus I could handle it. Happily, it also holds true for ‘Tacit’.
That yuzu and basil combination is perfect for summer, and the vetiver propels it into something that lasts – not usually a requisite for this season’s scent, when you don’t want a heavy fragrance to stick. It retains a freshness for a couple of hours, and you won’t mind a reapplication because it’s that delightfully effervescent.
YOU’VE BEEN SANCTIFIED
AND I’VE BEEN TRIED
GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION
YOU’VE BEEN CANONIZED
AND I’VE BEEN FRIED
GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION
First she broke my heart.
Then she got me angry.
Now, she’s silently seeking forgiveness but in silence there can be no forgiveness.
We need to talk.
She needs to talk.
Not talking is giving up.
And if she wants me to give up, I will not fight it.
Madonna recently posted that crazy video of a homophobic lunatic (and I say that because this woman believes that cysts are the result of us having sex with demons in our dreams) in which she denounced the need for masks, a video also shared by Trump. Instagram deleted it for being false information, then she re-posted it again, only to have it taken down a second time. Then there was radio silence, after which she started posted videos as if nothing had happened.
After a righteous firestorm of negative responses, Madonna has still not addressed it. That’s not good, and the fact that someone who once acted so intelligently could be so duped and then so defiant about it is a disheartening statement on how far humanity has fallen. As each hour passed in which she ignored it and pretended it never happened, I felt us fall further apart from one another.
Those hours hurt.
Those hours stung.
Those hours worked to change my life-long love of Madonna.
It still feels wrong to listen to her music. I still have a sour taste in my mouth after everything, and so I haven’t heard anything by her in days – which is rather an unprecedented development. By aligning herself with conspiracy theorists and wacky doctors, not to mention the evil of something like Trump, all the joy I once felt in hearing her songs suddenly drained from the experience. (Thank God for Taylor Swift’s ‘Folklore’ right now.)
I’m working through it.
Working to reconcile how to find that joy in her music again despite her personal failings and faults. I believe in forgiveness, but I need her to say she’s sorry.
2020 takes and takes and takes, degrading and destroying everything we once considered stable and unbreakable, every last thing on which we thought we could always count and rely.
I was originally going to post Madonna and Joe Henry’s version of ‘Guilty By Association’ because that’s such a fitting song, but that feels wrong. And so I take her voice out of the equation, giving you the original writer’s version of it, silencing Madonna’s foolish nonsense and misinformation, her dangerous stubbornness, her death-defying lunacy.
For now, I mourn the mistake. I mourn the madness. I mourn the disgust I feel at it, and the level of my reaction, wondering if it’s all too much. Mostly, though, I mourn the fact that right now I cannot locate the joy in her music – the joy and celebration I’ve always felt, from her saddest songs to her most silly and exuberant. That joy has slipped away. And though my opinion makes no difference to her, if a lifelong fan like me is this disillusioned, I don’t see this faring well for her future or her legacy, and that’s a fucking shame.
Even if wearing a mask helps me reduce the chance of transmitting a virus by 5%, that’s worth it for me to put one on. I don’t get the people who don’t. These memes offer some perspective.
Glistening in a stainless steel colander, these fresh cherries are a feast for the eyes and the tongue, a dazzling duo that doesn’t always come to fruition. It’s easy to do one or the other quite well at any given point – mastering the double whammy is a skill best left to Mother Nature. Mothers always know best.
Fresh seasonal fruit is one of the fleeting joys of living in the world. Even if it’s a chance-grab at some mulberries from a street tree, there always seems to be something sweet lurking around every summer corner.
Many plants don’t like their leaves wet, especially if they’re the slightest bit furry or hairy. Cases in point include tomatoes, clematis, and the begonia seen in these pictures. When possible, I water only the soil around these beauties, to keep them happy. It’s generally a good rule for all plants, as wet leaves in the humid months can lead to mildew and mold, something that is currently afflicting all the peonies. Their otherwise-handsome foliage has been ravaged with powdery mildew, lending a gray, ashen appearance to them, and marring the entire garden. Such things are largely out of control, however, and one of the lessons of the garden is in letting go of that over which we have no say. Such as day-long tropical storm events.
There is just so much shielding one can do for plants in the path of a deluge of wind and rain. And in the natural world, they wouldn’t have a patio for protection anyway, so I try not to stress to much about that. A little rain, while certain plants may not like it on a regular basis, is always good for cleaning things up, getting dust and dirt off the leaves, and refreshing the landscape.
It’s also pretty, especially when the sun first comes up after a day of gray and loneliness. The rain still clings to these dropping begonia blooms, as if they had to shed a few tears to get over everything. Some storm days are like a release. And then it comes time to dry the tears and get on with the summer.
I forget if I planted this tree hydrangea at my parents’ home or if I simply advised my Mom to plant one many years ago, but it has since come a long way and grown into the grand specimen seen here. If you have the space (they grow bigger than most people realize) and want a proven performer, check out some of the tree hydrangeas available now – there are a ton. There are also some smaller varieties, though eventually without pruning these all get larger than their more herbaceous cousins.
They are also great for their blooming period – it comes later in the season and lasts even beyond fall, as the flower heads dry intact and form architectural interest for the winter garden. Don’t discount that in the giddy heat of summer – you will be starved for such echoes come next February and March.
For now, enjoy the splendid display, and all the bees and butterflies fluttering about their blooms. Summer is high and summer is here.
Yesterday was my day in the office, so the constant rain wasn’t the killjoy it might have been had the pool been literally waving to me outside the window. As it was, we needed the rain, badly, and it relieved the daily watering we’ve had to do this summer. There were hints of tornadoes on the airwaves, and in the air, lending a tension to all of the clouds and wind. References rife with Dorothy were scattered throughout the conversation of the office, and for lunch I didn’t make my usual walkabout downtown.
The tension that has come to personify 2020 won’t be letting up for a while, and yesterday’s volatile weather was emblematic of that underlying strain. We’re all feeling it. We’re all a little exhausted from it. But that too came to an end. With the end of the storms came a surge of cool air. A crispness and clarity suddenly appeared, where once there had only been haziness and relentless heat. The blue sky was finally revealed as the clouds rolled away, then slowly turned dark to let the world go to bed with the sweet relief of all the absent humidity.
August, and its requisite ups and downs, dipped and rose.
It floats on the surface, bobbing with the little waves, occasionally upending itself with the wind. It echoes the visitors from earlier this year, in happier and hardier and more colorful form. Best of all, it gives cheer and amusement to those who gaze upon it.
This is our Rubber Duckie, a larger version fit for a pool versus a bath. I once used it to obscure my privates in an otherwise-naked pool shoot. (I’m not going to make it easy for you to find those shots – peruse the archives and type some words into the search engine and see if you can locate them. It’s easier than the quest for Carmen Sandiego – has she even been found yet?)
As for its wisdom, return to the first paragraph. Everything you need to know about life, and navigating its perilous waters, is contained there. This duck floats on the surface – it doesn’t go deep, doesn’t make waves, doesn’t cause trouble. It keeps things light and flexible, bobbing with the waves instead of fighting them, going with the flow instead of against the current, finding the easy way through rather than seeking out unnecessary challenges. It also upends itself from time to time, turning over on its side, or even going completely upside down. It doesn’t always keep itself perfectly upright. It doesn’t keep itself perfect at all. It allows the wind to wreck it a little, to fall down, sometimes face down, because it knows it can right itself again.
Where was this ducky when I was growing up? Where was it when I needed the lesson? Maybe it knew not to arrive until this year, when the student was finally ready for the teacher.
As if sensing that the world needed a summer reboot, our Korean lilac decided to throw off this bloom – something it originally did back in May and June. The pool wasn’t open then as it would have usually been, so we missed out on floating by their sweetly-perfumed mass. On the day this was taken, the first day our pool was open this year, I swam over to the bloom, hoisted myself up onto the deck, and brought this flower to my nose. May came flooding back, the hope of the summer season on the cusp and verge, not halfway finished like it is now, but rather than lament what has been, I sink back into the warm water and embrace what is.
Rebooting a summer with a single lilac bloom seems like whimsical, ephemeral enchantment, the stuff of fairies and fables, and maybe that’s precisely the twist and turn of a key that will start the righting of our wayward world. A little pixie dust never hurt anything. A little magic and make-believe, if it works to wrest a wrong from taking hold, can start things anew.
Our pool is finally open! After a number of delays and issues, the new liner arrived and went in, so we were splashing in the water by Saturday. Of all the summers, it had to be the summer of 2020 that had such a rocky and lengthy road to such a simple thing that has always gone smoothly and without incident. You had us to thank for all the sunny and hot weather we’ve had so much of lately, and you will have us to thank for the next thirty days of rain that will no doubt fall now that the pool is operating. On with the recap!
This year’s birthday wish list, because no matter what 2020 may bring next, unless it’s my death I will be having another birthday nearer the end of the month.
Sneaking in on the cusp of the new week, Luke Evans gets a gratuitous late-night slot here, thanks to his studied and sultry work in the latest season of ‘The Alienist’. He also exhibited his first nude scene in that series this evening, and a naked Luke Evans is the best kind of exhibition. He’s been here a number of inspiring times, such as when he’s making motions in his underwear. Bonus: he seems to prefer a Speedo as his chosen swimwear.
