ONCE I WAS A SENTIMENTAL THING
THREW MY HEART AWAY EACH SPRING;
NOW A SPRING ROMANCE HASN’T GOT A CHANCE
PROMISED MY FIRST DANCE TO WINTER;
ALL I’VE GOT TO SHOW’S A SPLINTER FOR MY LITTLE FLING!
SPRING THIS YEAR HAS GOT ME FEELING LIKE A HORSE THAT NEVER LEFT THE POST;
I LIE IN MY ROOM STARING UP AT THE CEILING
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST!
In this spring that feels like anything but spring, bereft of much hope, despite its relatively benign beginning, this song was shared on FaceBook by Kevin Sessums. It’s perfect for this moment in time. Ambivalence, melancholy, and a thread of worry belie all the awakening beauty of the season, not unlike the way most doomed romances awaken in a mess of mixed emotions. For early April, particularly in years like this (not that we’ve ever quite had a year like this), the voice of Ella Fitgerald is one small balm on the frazzled emotions we may be experiencing.
MORNING’S KISS WAKES TREES AND FLOWERS
AND TO THEM I’D LIKE TO DRINK A TOAST;
I WALK IN THE PARK JUST TO KILL LONELY HOURS
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST
ALL AFTERNOON THOSE BIRDS TWITTER TWIT
I KNOW THE TUNE, “THIS IS LOVE, THIS IS IT!”
HEARD IT BEFORE AND I KNOW THE SCORE
AND I’VE DECIDED THAT SPRING IS A BORE!
LOVE SEEMED SURE AROUND THE NEW YEAR
NOW IT’S APRIL, LOVE IS JUST A GHOST;
SPRING ARRIVED ON TIME, ONLY WHAT BECAME OF YOU, DEAR?
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST!
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST!
It was a squirrel that alerted me to the action in the front yard. Digging in the soil near the dogwood tree, the gray thing’s movements drew my notice to a pair of cardinals that cavorted beneath the dogwood’s ever-expanding branches. I saw the bright scarlet streak of the male then noticed the duller female a foot or two to his left. He reached down for a seed and brought it over to her, and for one quick moment it looked like he had kissed her on the beak. Allow me this brief moment of anthropomorphic romanticizing, because what the world needs now is love, sweet love. On a dreary, rainy Sunday morning, this simple interaction was worthy of gratitude, if only for having seen it.
It was a thrilling exchange, even if he was just offering a bit of food. I called Andy over and we watched them cavort for a bit. Andy said he thought they might be getting ready to start nesting, as their feathers were starting to change. The squirrel scurried away, his job done. When you have love in your own front yard, why mourn for not being able to go anywhere else?
How does one reconcile the spiritual world with the material world? And what’s someone supposed to do when they’ve spent the majority of their life as a proper material girl? I’ve struggled with this dilemma for far longer than it might seem, and though I’ve literally just framed it as such, it’s never been that much of a struggle. It gives me pause, and that’s always a good thing. Whatever it takes to check oneself.
While stuck at home, I signed up for a free online course that Yale University was kind enough to offer. ‘The Science of Well-Being‘ is reportedly the university’s most popular course, offering a supposed path to a greater happiness in one’s life. I’m on week two of the lessons, and they’re telling me that it’s wrong to place faith in material items bringing me happiness. Well, duh. I mean, on some fundamental level I think we all know that. It’s how most of us were raised ~ one of those trite truths that is ingrained in our heads like a nursery rhyme, something that we generally all think we know, but that course is teaching me that maybe I don’t know. Or rather that I do know, but it’s not enough to know. We can know facts to be facts, but that doesn’t mean the sensible action or reaction will result. The human mind is trickier than that. On week two, it was waking me up to the idea that we have certain expectations of what we think will make us happy, but the reality is that those items have been proven not to lead to any discernible increase in genuine happiness.
Just before the lesson wound up, I was making the argument in my head that, hey, maybe I’m one of those rare exceptions that can genuinely be made happy from a new Tom Ford Private Blend fragrance, when the professor listed that very notion on the Powerpoint and I was caught with my pants down.
Maybe there is more I can learn, and perhaps more importantly unlearn, from this course. There are a lot of lessons going on right now. And just in time.
Happy Birthday! Now you are ten years old! That’s a double-digit milestone, and an important one. This is usually the age where you will start to remember things. I know you have memories of your younger childhood, but even those are fading by the day. There is so much happening now, and it’s all happening so quickly. Maybe it’s good that we have birthdays to give us pause, to mark a day and a moment, to make a memory that lasts.
I still remember your first birthday. It had rained all morning, but it was warm – a balmy spring day that was perfect for starting two new lives. Uncle Andy picked me up from work as usual and we drove to the hospital to find the two of you – so tiny and impossibly small – wrapped tightly in little blankets. You each fit in a single arm. I loved you instantly, and that’s rare for me.
In those early days, you didn’t do much. You slept, you cried, you fussed, you drank, you slept, you pooped, you cried, you slept, you peed, you cried. And gradually you grew. Little by little the tiny infants you were turned into babies – with more recognizable human attributes. A smile, a frown, a laugh, a coo, a shriek, a cough – and a growing recognition of the world around you. What did you see when you first recognized your Uncle Al? I’m afraid to ask.
By the time you were walking, I wanted to tell you to slow down, to stop growing, to stop moving toward the future, even when that’s exactly what you should be doing. You may need to remind me of that, because there are going to be times when your Uncle is wrong. (It won’t always or often happen, but it will on occasion.)
The years flew by and there were glimmers of the people you were about to become. How slow the days must have felt to you, how long a single week stretched out in your young minds. Your impatience was a mark of childhood – you didn’t want to wait for anything and I only wanted you to wait a little longer and stay as young as possible for as long as possible. Most of us, if we’re lucky, miss our childhoods.
Our first family vacation with you was in Cape Cod, where your Dad and I spent so many vacations as kids. Lolo and Lola joined Uncle Andy and I, and we had the best time watching you play on the beach, burying your Dad in the sand up to his head, and walking to dinner as the sun went down on each perfect day. Still, time moved forward, as much as we may have wanted to pause in the summer sun.
When you were old enough, you began to stay over for longer periods of time. As unaccustomed to babysitting as I was, we managed to get along rather swimmingly. Your Uncle can be as much of a kid as the two of you, if not more childish on occasion. We knew how to have fun together. You reminded me of that, and your own wisdom taught me things I had both forgotten and never known. We could learn from each other.
We could also be silly and completely ridiculous, something I’d always wanted to be but never quite allowed myself. You brought that back into my life, and I will always love you for that. Who knows what you thought of your crazy Uncle Al for mirroring your silliness, but you never seemed to mind. Don’t ever change that.
We watched you play with Suzie’s kids, Oona and Milo – the next generation of an Ilagan-Ko alliance bravely marching forth into a new world. It tickled all of us, extending the idea of my world into our world, broadening my typically-self-centered existence into something more. You expanded and enriched our lives. Whenever you doubt yourself, think back to those days, and what I’m writing to you now, and realize that even at a young age, you were bringing happiness, and perhaps some necessary chaos, into the world.
You have my promise that I will always do my best to be a better person when I’m with you, and hopefully that will go beyond. You know me pretty well, so you know I won’t sugarcoat anything, but I will put some sparkle and pizzazz on things. I will try to bring some magic and enchantment to your world, a little dose of crazy creativity and artistic sensibility to the doldrums of school and rules and proper behavior. Above all else, I hope to remind you that it’s ok to be different – and even better than that, being different is sometimes the best thing to be. It marks you as special. It’s not always easy to step apart from the pack and do the right thing, it’s not a simple move to be good instead of popular, but these are the things that will make you into someone marvelous and magnificent. I know you have it in you. I’ve already seen it in action.
Emi and Noah – you give me hope. I know the world sometimes feels scary, and there may come a time when you wonder how things turned so dark just when you were coming into your own, but that’s good. It will be up to you to make things better, and if you keep your hearts and your sense of kindness and fairness and goodness, you will help lead the rest of us into that better place.
Have a wonderful 10th birthday. For the past decade you have lit up our lives. I can’t wait to see where the next decade takes us. And always remember, your Uncle Al loves you.
‘On these magic shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.’ –J.M. Barrie
For those who are still working from home (as we all should be as much as possible) it may be hard to differentiate the weekdays from the weekends, but it’s important not to lose sight of time that way. Get up, take a shower, and above all get into something better than that ripped cartoon t-shirt and rumpled boxers shorts. I see you. And I don’t want to see you like that. On with a recap that will hopefully provide some escapism rooted in our grim reality. Come fly with me!
Damn the damn Brady Bunch: ever since Peter Brady pushed ‘pork chops and applesauce’ into the pop culture lexicon, I’ve been unable to shake his voice whenever a pork chop comes into play. Today, however, I did just that, because this recipe turned out so well I couldn’t be distracted by anything else. If you’re looking for an easy but impressive Sunday dinner, look no further. It comes from that collection of 24 one-pot dinners that was recently in The New York Times. This one was Pork Chops with Feta, Snap Peas, and Mint. And that’s basically it. I didn’t expect something so simplistic to taste so good, but that’s the magic of the best recipes, and this definitely ranks up there with the best.
You must begin with a pair of bone-in pork chops. Season liberally with salt and pepper on both sides then sear them in a medium-hot skillet with a couple tablespoons of olive oil, 4-5 minutes each side, and absolutely do not touch them once they make contact with a glorious sizzle. Cover after both sides are done with their sear and cook on low for 3 minutes more, then remove chops to a plate.
Carefully transfer the chops to a plate and let rest for five more minutes. Add the peas and squeeze some fresh lemon juice over it all, then top with fresh scallions and chopped mint. Again, I don’t know how it works, but it turns out delicious. And you’ve only soiled one skillet!
Sometimes the only thing that gets people to sit up and take notice is a shirtless guy. So here are a bunch, but before you scroll down please read this explanation about the simplest way we can protect ourselves in these scary times. Yes, it’s about handwashing, but the source knows her shit. It’s also a much-needed reminder that what is simple is often the most powerful. When we were kids, we all washed our hands. Why did we move away from that? The minimum-of-twenty-seconds method may be new for some people, but it’s a good practice to make part of our lives now. Anyway, you didn’t come here for getting clean, you came to get dirty, so here are your shirtless male celebrities, and a few links for inspiration. Also check out the original PSA that advised you to wash your hands like you would wash these shirtless guys.
Let’s begin with a recent Hunk of the Day, Anthony Bowens. He earns pride-of-place as the featured pic placement because, well, look at the guy. (And he bats for my team now.)
Not everything that Tom Ford touches turns to olfactory gold. I didn’t care for ‘Lost Cherry‘, I’ve never liked ‘Shanghai Lily’ and I wasn’t a big fan of ‘Rose Prick‘ when I finally got to try it. That meant a Valentine’s Day gift had to fall by the wayside, but Mr. Ford has so many other gorgeous scents there is always room for a do-over.
Over the years, certain Private Blends have started out as non-events for me, then grown into veritable obsessions. Take his very first PB, ‘Tuscan Leather‘. For too long I fought against its opening blast of pure, dirty leather, and for all that time I missed out on the beautiful raspberry dry-down. Only once I gave it a chance did it open for me. (My appreciation for deeper and more complex scents also had to develop a bit which is why if you think you hated something many years ago, I suggest you give it another try. Our tastes develop and change over the years.)
The same thing seems to be happening with both ‘Tobacco Vanille’ and ‘Tobacco Oud’ – both of which were unimpressive to me a couple of years ago, but have since become intriguing and desirable, to the point where either might make a lovely gift. I’ve been on a tobacco kick of late, with its smoky, resinous richness, and the way it embodies memories I’ve likely never had – a tufted leather sofa in a richly-wood-paneled library room, a green-shaded banker’s lamp, a bulky old overwrought desk, and a pipe from which perfumed smoke trails off in mesmerizing fashion. This is all fantasy, comprised from literature and movies and the like – the only actual memory I have of any perfumed pipe is the overweight gruff owner of an aquarium store in Amsterdam, who sat at his counter smoking a pipe while I surveyed clownfish and anemones. Not a bad memory, but nothing very glamourous. In my mind, I melded the beauty of the sea with the scent of a tobacco pipe. When growing up in landlocked upstate New York, these are the fantasies I had. We all come to favored fragrances in different ways, and my path to the two Tom Ford tobacco scents began all those years ago.
That said, I’m also open up to another delicious fragrance outside of the realm of Mr. Ford. In fact, before finding my way back to the ‘Tobacco Vanille’ I was toying with the idea of Frederic Malle’s, ‘Portrait of a Lady’, which is an absolutely exquisite scent. My hesitation in diving right into it stems from the fact that it veers perhaps too dangerously close to ‘Oud Fleur’ which I already have. Avoiding duplication is my new way of reducing expenditures. But if this is a gift, I would never turn it down. ‘Portrait’ carries a powerful rose note that would be lovely for spring leading into summer. We need more of that. And quite frankly, I need a new fragrance if I’m going to make it through this isolation period.
It turns out this ‘Weird Science’ post wasn’t my first foray into the crop top. For a Valentine’s Day shoot I did with Andy many, many years ago, I slipped into these 80’s-inspired looks and held a bottle of beer to add to the trashy scene we hoped to conjure. It exemplified an opposites-attract vibe, while playing up people’s perceived images of what we were like together. (Nothing is what it seems.)
As the world grows ever-darker around us, we need these moments of play and memory. They illuminate the blackest of hallways, lighting the way around the shadiest corners. They give laughter and life to days in which many of us are struggling to find that touchstone of humor. I never expected that half a wig and a trucker’s cap would lift my spirits, but here we are. It’s a brave new world. Hang onto your hats. And your crotches.
When the time is fraught with danger and uncertainty, I find myself looking back to such vintage moments and remembering how things used to be. It’s strange and unsettling, and probably to the best way of coping. My usual stance is looking unflinchingly forward to the future. That keeps me going. But when that path is laden with doubt, perhaps these vintage recollections aren’t entirely bad. Happy memories can fortify the heart in unhappy times.
Marline posted this on FaceBook the other day, and while I didn’t have time to do it there and then, here it is with some answers that are longer than one word. Feel free to post it on your FaceBook page because I love reading these about friends.
Who are you named after? My parents got my name from a ‘Name Your Baby’ book. It was the 70’s. That’s where my middle name is from too. (It turns out there is also a great author named Alan Bennett, whom my parents are probably hearing about for the first time as they read this.)
Last time you cried? Serious crying, a couple of weeks ago. But I welled up two days ago because these are crazy times.
Do you like your handwriting? Only when I put effort into it.
What is your favorite lunch meat? Pulled pork, because it’s not just a verb.
Do you still have your tonsils? Yes – I can’t bear to part with pieces of my body.
Would you bungee jump? Probably not.
What is your favorite kind of cereal? I haven’t had cereal in years, but there was some granola shit I used to love. And frosted mini wheats. Only the minis.
Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? No. Lazy fuck.
Do you think you’re strong willed? Much of the time. Too much, perhaps.
Favorite ice cream? Mint chocolate chip, but I won’t turn down cookies and cream.
What is the first thing you notice about a person? How well they listen, and not just to important things.
Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? Mom. (I hate talking on the phone as a general rule.)
Married? Yes.
Hair color? Salt ‘n’ Pepa. Supersonic!
Eye Color? Brown.
Favorite food to eat? All of them.
Scary movies or happy endings? This is a poorly-worded question. It doesn’t deserve an answer.
Last movie you watched In a theater? I had to check texts with Skip to see that it was ‘The Emancipation of Harley Quinn’ or whatever the longwinded title was. I think we had more fun at the concession stand than at the movie.
What color shirt are you wearing? I’m in a robe. A fabulous red silk robe with pink and cream flowers and matching pants. Da fuck are you wearing?
The New York Times recently published a special cooking section with “24 Brilliant Recipes For Everyone Who Hates Doing the Dishes” which obviously caught my attention. It’s a collection of recipes that only require one pot, pan or skillet to cook to completion. That is my kind of cooking, and it should speak to anyone who has to do the dishes (which admittedly isn’t always me). A quick google search will put you in touch to links for these recipes, because in all honesty I just don’t feel like typing all that shit out. If you want to eat, you’re going to have to put in a little effort too. And maybe get a subscription – I already have one so maybe I get access that non-subscribers don’t.
I started with the recipe for ‘Sausages and Brussels Sprouts with Honey Mustard’ which was excellent, especially at the tail-end of winter when the wind was still whipping around and the ground remained frozen. Besides, how can one go wrong with sausage? It’s a wonderful thing. For the second dinner, and the one featured in the photos here, I opted to try the ‘Spiced Chickpea Stew with Coconut and Turmeric’.
From the first time my five or six year old self strode into Pepe’s Italian Restaurant in a little house in Amsterdam, New York, I’ve loved garbanzo beans. In that long-since closed happy place of childhood memories, they marinated the garbanzos in a delicious mix of spices, onions, and some special marinade that tenderized and flavored them in a manner I have to find or replicate to this day. A stew of garbanzos sounded like it was tailor-made for me, and since I love coconut milk, and the healthy servings of turmeric, garlic, ginger and red pepper flakes that went into the recipe, I expected great things from this. Mostly, those great expectations were almost met, but perhaps I wanted a bit more.
The best part of the stew was the addition of the yogurt and mint leaves – both of which were oh-so-much-more than mere garnishes: thanks to the spiciness of the dish, that substantial dollop of yogurt and its requisite sprinkling of chopped mint were integral for tempering the heat. Just something to keep in mind if you want to try this one out.
Any weight I may have lost in the past few months is creeping back on thanks to Easter candy and isolation – a bad combination , especially when one has lost the stairs of the office and the mobility that previously allowed for such occasional indulgences. Now it’s non-stop indulgence and a sedentary lifestyle.
