The Wedding Cake Bush

I didn’t get around to posting these photos back in May when they were taken, but they are a welcome reminder of the freshness of the season, one that still lingers in these early days of summer. This is the double-file viburnum, commonly referred to as the wedding cake bush. It’s more than fitting, as there is a photo of Andy and I on our wedding day taken in this very spot, with this very bush in the background, in full bloom.

It doesn’t get its name from our ceremony, but rather the horizontal wedding cake layer-like countenance of a specimen in flower. Despite its elegant and delicate appearance, this is a very hardy shrub, that withstands drastic pruning and less-than-ideal conditions. It also has more than one way to show off – not only on its branches, but on the mosaic-like stone tiles of the Boston Public Garden.

Consider it a double-file doing double-duty with its load of beauty, throwing off a second showing for those of us closer to the ground. A home-grown toss of confetti, if you will.

No matter how you look at it, the viburnum is a gorgeous landscape addition.

Another May, another day

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Sweet Scent of Summer

It was one of the first arresting fragrances I remember. In the hot entryway of Suzie’s Victorian home, a bouquet of mockorange blooms stood unobtrusively on the shelf that housed the Guest Book that I never failed to sign (I think I held the record for most signatures in that book – at the very least, I’m a strong contender – and I’m adding to it every few months.) On the day recalled here, the book was beside that vase of flowers which filled the space with the sweet scent of summer – the mockorange. Commonly named from its fragrant approximation of the sweet citrus blossom, it came at the very start of summer, when the world was at its seasonal happiest. Here, tamed in a smaller space than the expansive side-yard of Suzie’s house, it released its potent perfume, and I all but swooned at such sweetness.

Certain flowers carry their power in their fragrance. Peonies, lilacs, certain roses, lavender – each packs its own olfactory punch, conjuring memories of childhood or summers long gone by. The mockorange is one of them. Unassuming and rather rustic in leaf and form – even the flowers are simple and white – it makes up for the lack of visual pizzazz with a scent that would blow more stunning show-offs out of their colorful orbit. I like an underdog that can surprise in such a manner. And I love a mockorange in bloom.

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Grady Smith: The guy who’s gay but not acting on it

At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I know what it’s like to struggle with a devotion to the faith and religion in which you were raised when you are a gay person whose religion condemns homosexuality. Even today, I find it difficult to reconcile the safe, life-affirming comfort of the church in which I grew up and served as an altar boy with the Bible-quoting God-fearing zealots who would have me stoned for loving my husband. That’s not an easy thing to go through, but I did it because I knew that what I was doing was not sinful. There is no sin in loving another person, even if he happens to be the same sex as me. And there is no sin in expressing that love. But before I start eviscerating what you may not have seen, take a few minutes to hear Grady Smith, a self-proclaimed gay Christian, explain his choices:

My first feeling upon listening to you, Grady Smith, was one of profound sadness and pity. How lonely to give up your desires, to give up your love, to give up and give in to the antiquated and archaic rules of a civilization long-ago ruined. How pathetic to even entertain the notion of entering into a marriage with a woman to raise children knowing full-well you are a gay man who will never feel the same excitement or attraction to a woman. (That’s sort of how being gay works, Mr. Smith.) Above all, how terrifying and joyless to live in constant suppression of what was admittedly a natural, God-given desire for the same sex.

After a few moments, however, my feelings turned to anger. This is the same exact theory that drives the notion of “Love the sinner, Hate the sin” – a sentiment that you so easily dismiss, only to stand behind in action. The problem isn’t with Christianity, or your belief system, but in the limited interpretation of the Bible that, if you are going to read and follow so strictly, should also have you drastically revising your view of shellfish, slavery, and stonings. The rigid thinking you want so badly to decry is the very thinking you are espousing for yourself.

Mr. Smith, that “huge suffocating culture of shame that covers anything that even touches the word gay” which you reference and rightfully condemn comes from Christians like yourself, who choose to perpetuate the shame by proposing and living out a life that is forced, unnatural, and goes against the very grain of how they were born. The guy who’s gay but not acting on it… that is a definite conundrum, and there’s not much room for true happiness there. You may not want my pity, but you have it.

After gritting my teeth and almost talking back to the computer screen (something I never, ever do), my anger subsided, and the freedom to do what Grady Smith is doing – to talk about his conflict – is something I will always defend. Here’s a guy who is going to put his life and his journey out there, not unlike the certain someone typing away here, and although I still cannot bring myself to respect Mr. Smith, I can honor the process. And in so doing, I can also say that Mr. Smith is full of shit.

If you really want to change the culture of this whole beast, Mr. Smith, then start by thinking of that one young gay boy who sits alone and terrified that his nature should never be acted on, that he should never kiss the man of his dreams, that he should never become what it was his destiny to become. Think of that lonely gay kid who feels, based on your example, that he should never be who he was born to be, and that he should never find love or, worse, act on it. Think of the many horrific ways in which that might warp a young gay person into the very perversion you are trying so desperately to excise. That’s the real abomination at work here.

Grady, I hope that one day you are able to stop fighting who you are. God did make you in His own image. Why would you want to suppress all that it encompasses?

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Drops of Sunshine

Behold, the evening primrose. Scientifically known as Oenothera, these perennials also go by the more apt moniker of ‘sundrops.’ Either way you refer to them, they are a burst of bright color at this time of the year, and provide a striking anchor for a perennial bed or border. They spread quite well, and will reseed if given the chance, though their blooms are so happy I can’t imagine many would be too upset by this gentle bit of invasiveness.

As is often the case in such matters, the most fiery of blooms are often the most fleeting, and while these yellow stunners unfold over a number of days, they will not last much longer into the summer, so take this into count when you’re counting on color for late July and August. They will occasionally offer some autumnal color, however, so don’t fully dismiss them. The best plants are full of such surprises.

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Tom Daley: Stripping Down & Stretching

Yes, this post is just here for the sake of buying some more time before I can put together some Cape Cod vacation posts, but there should be no complaints when Tom Daley is stripping down to his Speedo and stretching his butt, in glorious GIF motion. I won’t bore you with a long list of links where he is similarly and scantily attired – that was partly taken care of here – but you can always search the Archives for such gratuitous nudity. (And yes, somewhere in the annals of this site there is a legit Tom Daly naked pic. Honestly. Seek and ye shall find…)

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Dappled Sunlight in Boston

Cities often suffer in the summer. Once that heat gets into the concrete and the subways, it’s there until October. Still, there are spaces and moments of reprieve, such as in the dappled shade afforded by street trees, or the increasingly-landscaped stretches of the Southwest Corridor Park, where these photos were taken.

Here, some snowdrop anemones and blue flags find comfort beneath the filtered sunlight before the heat becomes unbearable.

At this early stage of the season, everything is still fresh, everything is still cool. The greens are softer, the edges pristine, and the blossoms unripped by hot winds.

It’s the secret side of Boston, unknown to tourists, and often unnoticed by locals, and I hold it more dear because of that.

The lips of an iris are sealed, the petals of an anemone silent.

Sometimes summer doesn’t shout – sometimes it whispers.

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Vacation’s Over

“No man needs a vacation so much as the man who has just had one.” ― Elbert Hubbard

Truer words were never spoken. Having just returned from a family vacation in Cape Cod, I am in no mood to start cranking out blog posts. It was a grand time, including a number of fun moments with the family, and some relaxing days on the beach. We could have done with a few more, but alas, there is work to be done, and parties for which to prepare, and the incessant parade of the internet marches onward with little room for slowing.

Fortunately, this is all by choice, and my website is done mostly for myself. The moment it becomes less than enjoyable is the moment it goes dark. I haven’t gotten there yet, but after being away from a computer and this blog for five days, I’ve realized that the best part of life goes on off-screen. So, for a while, the summer perhaps, I’m taking a bit of the vacation mentality back with me and employing it here in the form of two posts a day versus three. Trust me, you won’t miss that third one – and if you do, then you’re doing something wrong with your life too. Let’s live a little… in the real world… just for a summer.

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The First Summer Recap

Barely a couple of days into the summer season and we’re already recapping. Well, that’s what Mondays are for, so let’s dive in and get it done. My first family vacation in two decades comes to a close today, so you have those posts to look forward to, but in the meantime, things stayed relatively steady here, with a week of events that included the following:

The Albany Gay Pride Parade and Festival, to which I wore sequins – lots of sequins – and in which I wasn’t alone, came and went in a sparkling flash.

We attended one very long dance recital for my four-year-old niece. As antsy as we may have been, it was nothing compared to the behavior of my four-year-old nephew.

Haunted by a ruthless rhododendron.

It’s always hot when Harry Judd takes his clothes off, as he did here.

No summer start would be complete without Tom Daley in his Speedo.

There were a couple of Hunks who kept things as hot as the weather, like the unconventionally-attractive Adam Driver, the more conventionally-pretty Torben King, British swimmer Mark Foster, Danish model Ken Bek, the commonly-monikered Kevin Smith and, last but certainly not least, my pal and webmaster Skip Montross.

Here’s to the start of summer – let’s rock!

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Soft as an Evergreen

Only the first flush of foliage in the first few days of growth on an evergreen is soft to the touch. Soon enough, it will harden and darken and become the prickly but hardy form that will see it through the coldest winter. Of course, I like its fleeting form the best, when the colors are the brightest, the texture is still pliable, and the coarseness is not yet in evidence.

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A Family Vacation

Our family vacations were not for the relaxation or refreshment that most people think of when they plan a vacation. Our parents saw to it that we were up by 7:30 most mornings, seeing the local sights, traipsing through the museums and historical locations before there was beach time or pool fun. It was a regimented routine that I still find myself recreating on trips.

The first thing my Mom would do, much to our impatient chagrin, was unpack the luggage and put the clothes away in the chest and closet. While we were antsy, she methodically unpacked everything. We would whine and run around the room hoping to go anywhere or do anything other than such mundane housekeeping. These days, I rarely unload a thing from the luggage, aside from hanging some shirts of jackets to undo any wrinkling.

As for the early alarm, I realize now that she probably didn’t want to waste a moment, and I get that. I am the same way when it comes to seeing a new place for the first time. The best time of the day in many places is first thing in the morning. THat’s when the air is fresh, the light is good, and the crowds are still asleep.

For our upcoming family vacation, however, I’m going to do things a little differently. I’m not going to rush myself up in the morning. I’m not going to jam a few days of nonstop events into the itinerary. In fact, there will be no itinerary. I will make no plans. I will make no commitments. I will do as I feel, when I feel like doing it.

With a new job that has its own non-stop schedule, I want to refresh and replenish and relax. I don’t think I’ve ever truly done that before. Now is the time.

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Unconditional Parental Love

I’ve been avoiding YouTube tearjerkers like they were flash mobs, but every now and then someone I admire and respect shares something like this, and I take the time to watch. It’s a little long for the usual YouTube clip, but more than worth it. This is a family that could teach many other families some wonderful lessons.

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Summer Arrives, Shirtlessness Abounds

The first day of summer is here at last, and the promise of the happiest season of the year finds fulfillment. While it’s the hope of all to come that fuels these glorious early days, here’s a brief look back at a summer that came before. Only by acknowledging the past can we move gaily toward the future… or some bullshit like that – it’s summer, who gives a fuck?

It wouldn’t be pool season without a few gratuitous Speedo posts, like this one featuring Tom Daley.

My reign-of-terror on Instagram began last June, and since that time far fewer photos than expected have been taken down for objectionable content. I’ve disappointed myself, and no doubt a few of you. Those who follow, however, had a chance to see the banned pics before they get pulled, so what are you waiting for? Follow.

How long will it take to get used to me? Don’t wait that long.

This year was all about Tiffany’s, but last year it was Gatsby’s party.

The tea-scented tree peony in all its fragrant splendor.

A winter Olympian in the summer has no choice but to get naked.

What’s simple is true, and beautiful.

Eat me, I’m juicy.

Not clitoris, clematis.

Last year at this time Ian Ziering was stripping for the Chippendales. I hear he’s doing the same thing this summer.

The babies, the babies!

A tale of tomatoes.

Go Doogie.

A look-back within a look-back.

Lovely ladies – two of them.

Cruise this JP.

It’s always summer where Madonna is concerned.

The pool. Nothing matters but the pool.

And the Speedo.

And the skinny dip.

And the sun.

And Tom Daley in a Speedo.

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Boston Street Views, Game in Sight

There haven’t been as many Boston trips of late, but a few are coming up, with a possible game at Fenway in the works with a certain webmaster. I haven’t been to a baseball game since 1993, when the Red Sox were down by 11 in the 7th inning and I left to go shopping on Newbury Street. It was the best decision – and they did not make any sort of miraculous comeback.

This summer, guided by my brother and his methods of procuring tickets, we may check out a game, as long as it’s not against the Yankees. Cooler heads must prevail.

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The Replacement of a Rhody

Certain people loathe hydrangeas, others loathe rhododendrons. I’m in the latter camp. When we bought our home, a gigantic rhododendron stood in front of the large window of the living room. It blocked the light and the view year-round, with its evergreen foliage and enormous stature. In late spring, it bloomed in the traditional bright magenta – a color I usually love, except in the ubiquitous form of the rhododendron. The trouble was, I had no clear idea of what to do in its stead, so it stayed in its spot, growing larger and larger from year to year, despite my futile pruning attempts.

Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore, and early one spring I chopped it down. This was a difficult endeavor. The trunks were thick and gnarled, and the roots had twisted in on themselves. It was a stubborn thing that initially refused to budge. I let it go for a few days before hacking away at it with a hatchet. Finally, it released its hold, and I fell backward in a shower of dirt and sweat.

I amended the soil and planted a double-file viburnum where the rhody used to be, in a poorly-thought-out moment of viburnum obsession. I hadn’t realized the importance of the former’s evergreen nature, and when winter came the bare branches made me question my decision. In another year, the fast-growing branches of the viburnum had reached the same proportion of the rhody that I’d taken down, leaving me with the same predicament.

Once again, I got out the saw and hatchet, and chopped away at another overgrown specimen. This was the ruthless part of gardening that, once I made up my mind to do it, I executed with cruel deliberation. Even in its relatively short time, it had somehow burrowed deeper than the relatively-shallow-rooted rhododendron, its long tap root extending beyond comprehension. I had to dig an enormous well around it just in order to get deep enough. For having such a delicate flower form, the viburnum is a hardy wench, but I fought until its death, because a gardener doesn’t give up. In the end, a bare patch of ground remained.

I didn’t move hastily to fill in the spot, enjoying the expanse for a bit and carefully contemplating what to do. The answer presented itself when an umbrella pine in the background outgrew its space beside and beneath a weeping cherry. On a rainy afternoon, I dug it gently out of the only home it had ever known and put it into the empty space that always seem to fill too quickly. The slow-growing nature of the umbrella pine was perfect for the spot, and we would have years before it would even need to be pruned.

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Best Commercial Ever

For All State Insurance no less, and bloody brilliant.

(Yes, I teared up, as I tend to do these days.)

The song is by singer-songwriter Eli Lieb, who will no doubt be featured quite a bit more here – in a couple of short hours in fact…

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