Ahh, Instagram.

I say that in a tone tinged with fatigue and admiration.

It’s always been the easiest social media outlet for me to use, at least on an emotional level. In a practical sense too I suppose, though some might say it’s much simpler to post a few words on FaceBook or Twitter than to take a photo worth sharing. I’m somewhere between the camps, in an overpriced hotel with a balcony because I do not do camping. But back to Instagram before I digress completely into Troop Beverly Hills wanna-be territory.

{Follow.}

It’s a platform for pictures and hashtags, and they don’t even allow you to put a website link on each post which makes for a cleaner experience. (They don’t seem to mind the ads though.) Anyway, I go back and forth between putting effort into my Instagram account and not doing anything for a day or two, and my feed swings wildly among various states of nudity, pornographic plant pics, culinary glory holes, and gratuitous cocktail money shots.

My followers pick up whenever things get racy and shirtless, then decline when I post family-friendly shit, but the latter is so much more interesting and fun for me, so I’m left wondering: is the point of Instagram to gain notice and glory, to stay in touch with friends and online acquaintances, or just to have a good time? Or maybe it’s just a time-filler for those who can’t stand to sit alone at a cafe and simply look around and engage with a real environment. I’m still figuring that out.

{Follow me here.}

The cardinal rule for social media that has allowed me to be rather successful in certain manners of measurement has always been not to take any of it too seriously, while honoring my own voice and image and doing my best to convey authenticity. It’s too taxing to fake it, but too silly to take it too gravely. I find a lighter touch works best, which is what I’m trying to work out for Instagram. If you like what you see here (I’m partial to strong color and vivid shades) check out my Instagram handle (alanilagan) and hold on tight.

{FOLLOW MY ASS.}

I earned my crotchety old man badge this July 4^th, when at 12:30 AM I was still awake in bed because some neighborhood idiots were setting off fireworks. Not the quiet smoke bomb kind or sparklers, but the real rocket deal that shoot way up in the sky and explode with thunderous booming and banging. The local dogs were going wild, so between the barking and the explosions, I didn’t have a restful night.

I still don’t know how/if that kind of explosive is legal. I also don’t think they’re supposed to be setting them off after 10 PM. I do know that I am officially a grumpy old man, but the truth is I was a grumpy old man at age 11, so now I’m just super good at it. Give me my badge and stop talking.

The heat is on! Finally, enough sun. And too much fun to be had stroking these keys on this computer. On with the recap!

It began with more heat, courtesy of these shirtless male celebrities. 

A turkey was my neighbor for a brief time. 

Some #TinyThreads for your perusal. 

The first time I heard ‘Delta Dawn’ and it was in P-town. 

The 4th of July. 

Purple stars.

Yellow drops. 

Our Connecticut adventure – Part One and Part Two.

Summer song by the Spice Girls. 

Rub it. 

Hunks of the Day included Tom Holland, Paulo Avelino, Jake Owen, and Dominic Thiem. 

EVER SINCE YOU WERE GONE I FELT DEPRESSED

EVERY MONTH, EVERY YEAR THAT PASSED

EVERY SMILE ON YOUR FACE

EVERY ACT OF GRACE

IT REALLY IS KEEPING ME AWAKE…

We rose to more sun, even if the fabled storms were on the march. Outside the bathroom window, I looked at the rolling hill of green grass that led down to the pool. Bushes of spiraea in umbrels of pink hosted clouds of happy bees, while the vining heads of bittersweet unfurled their pesky tendrils. A pale purple clematis shrugged off a few striking blooms. Summer in the moment of a morning…

Downstairs, I could already hear the kids in action. How much summer living had we already slept through? Kids are magical in the way a few minutes can elongate into hours, in the way that so much can seem to happen in such a short stretch of space, in the way their perception bends time. I wanted to slow things down as well. The day of departure begins with the recognition of impending change. Andy headed down while I took a quick shower.

As I got dressed, I looked over the little chalkboard on which the boys had written welcome messages. Gift bags that they had filled were off to the side and I suddenly felt sadness at having to leave. There was never enough time. Especially when children are involved. Soon there would come a day when these summer mornings weren’t quite as magical, when they didn’t hold as much hope and promise as a kid who just finished the school year feels. It’s still a while off for Julian and Cameron, and I only wish they hold onto them, enjoy them, and wring out every bit of laughter, sunshine, tears, happiness, and love as they possibly can. Hopefully they’ll also remember the guys who visited at the start of summer. (To make sure that those guys remember too, I’ve written it down in these blog posts.)

Over breakfast we talked over our summer plans, what little there were of them. Summer isn’t something that should be completely planned out, but it’s always good to have something substantial to look forward to. We tentatively planned a stop-by at our house – it’s been years since they’ve visited, and it would be lovely to have the kids see where we live. Eventually, the boys found occupation in the family room, as Cameron executed some gymnastic splits and Julian prepared a song on the ukulele.

I wandered in to help Cameron change out outfits for his Lego characters. A bald man wore a dress. A princess spun her hair around and became Sia. Another princess did a back-bend. The imagination bamboozled all boundaries; the power of childhood obliterated constrictions. With a fanciful eye for fashion and color (he wrote a little story on Frida Kahlo which he had colored in bright and bold shades that would have made her proud), Cameron was an exuberant life force, embodying the freedom of a childhood lived to the fullest. I hoped he would stay that way, never changing no matter what.

Andy joined us as Julian readied a song he had just written – and by written I mean he had created the lyrics and music from start to finish – which comes naturally to some, but will always be an insanely impressive feat to someone who only remembers the opening chords to ‘Private Dancer’ on the piano after seven years of weekly lessons. (I can do a bit of ‘The Rose’ too, thank you very much.) Julian is very much a musical prodigy – he’d just shown off by jumping into a couple of Madonna tunes from YouTube. Now his ukulele was strumming to the sound of his own music, his own melody, and his own words. As it was last year, this year his song would be one of the highlights of our visit.

The sun poured into the living room, and after a spat of a quick downpour, summer was once again preening in sparkling beauty. As I loaded the car, I paused by the sundrops along the walkway. They glowed in the sunlight, their cheery yellow petals still holding onto a couple of twinkling raindrops. I waited until the memory was made, then went back inside to say our goodbyes.

BUT WHEN YOU FLY AND YOU’RE FAR AWAY

WHEN IT’S KEEPING ME AWAKE

BUT THE THING THAT IS NEVER GONE AWAY

IS THE LOVE THAT’S BETWEEN YOU AND I…

Greeted with the glow of sundrops, we walked along the mossy brick entrance to begin an all-too-brief visit to our friends Missy, Joe, Julian and Cameron (and their new doggy-addition, Queenie). Their beautiful Connecticut home provided our refuge as we managed to dodge most of the rainstorms that seemed to fall everywhere else last weekend. We had, at my instigation, loosely planned a meal of Southern standards, built around a boozy glass of Southern Peach Sweet Tea. The recipe is simple, provided the making of the tea is done correctly. We’ll begin there, as that’s where it all started:

Southern Peach Sweet Tea

• 1 part bourbon
• 2 parts sweet tea
• ½ part peach schnapps
• Garnish of fresh mint or lemon

To make the tea, I boiled about 8 cups of water, took it off the heat, steeped it with a few Luzianne tea bags for about five minutes (I’ve been told this is the authentic southern sweet tea ~more authentic than Lipton, if you can imagine), then immediately removed them before adding a good deal of sugar, then refrigerating overnight. That exact order, and the exact timing of the quick tea steeping is what is integral to making it right. (Leaving tea bags in too long leads to bitterness.) Or so those Southern ladies say. Who am I to argue with the South? When followed in this way, the recipe turns out tasty cocktails that go down way too easily, and that’s all that matters.

Doug and Julio joined in for lunch en route to World Pride/Gay Pride/The Biggest Parade the World has Ever Known. On Doug’s advice, Missy turned out a hellaciously divine rack of ribs that had oodles of meat falling deliciously off the bone. Having been raised on tiny ribs with the thinnest strip of meat almost impossibly stuck to the bone, I’ve never been a fan of them. Couple that with the mess they made and I don’t think I’ve ordered them once in my life. This recipe and preparation has changed my whole thinking on them, and Andy is already looking into finding a country rib rack for our next meal. I brought along some collard greens and gluten-free biscuits (for the celiac diva) with jalapeno and bacon, as well as some super-soft ice cream in bourbon mint and peach. Doug and Julio made a cherry pie and some coconut-pineapple rum balls. It was the best meal we’ve had in a while. But that was only the beginning. Better than the food was the company ~ and this remains one of our favorite weekends because it has some of our favorite people.

Work and kids and home ownership have us all scattered throughout New York and Connecticut, so this is one of the few times when we can all get together without pressure or worry or rush. That’s especially nice when Julian and Cameron are involved. It takes time for kids to get comfortable and come out of their shells; luckily we eased out of shyness last year, so this year we moved quickly into the comfort zone and soon enough there was ukulele music, fashion shows, and Lego princess parades.

After Doug and Julio headed to the happy madness of Pride, I went down to the pool with the kids, where we played shark, seaweed and something else. Andy’s back had gone out the night before, so he took a restorative nap. After such a boffo meal, we nibbled on some leftovers before bed and the day, like our stomachs, was suddenly full…

(So was Queenie, who had the last of the coconut pineapple rum balls, without permission.)

Ahh, America.

How far we have come.

At this point, some might say how far we have fallen.

I’m not going political here, not today. I just want to celebrate the ideals of what our great country was founded upon. Freedom. Justice. Equality for all. A welcoming beacon for all immigrants and refugees. A land where our differences work together to make us strong.

Looking around us today, that seems to be slipping away a bit. I still think the American spirit will endure, that we will, at our heart, reject hate and ignorance and racism. I carry that hope because hope is also at the heart of America. We are a work in perpetual progress.

Happy Birthday to our nation.

Long may her freedom wave.