Glamour is youth, and youth glamour. 

Whenever someone says they don’t know what it’s like to be glamorous, I always think they just don’t understand that. My friend Chris and I recently had a conversation in which he lamented that we hadn’t yet done anything in our own right to be celebrated in glamorous fashion. I understood what he meant – we weren’t famous or accomplished enough to travel in typically glamorous circles, but every once in a while we brushed up against it – at parties I managed to worm my way into through semi-famous acquaintances or film school events he hooked us into – where a certain director was so much drunker than I was that she stumbled down the stairs at one point – but we were casual acquaintances and guests – not the main attraction.

I also explained to him that I always felt glamorous at such times. And I still feel it whenever I get dolled up and outfitted in proper fashion. We have each had our moments of glamour – and it’s not something that depends on wealth or status or fame. 

We were all young once – therefore we were all once glamorous, and in our own way. 

I don’t remember
When I was young
I don’t recall the day
When I first saw the sun
But what I am certain
What is enough is just to remember
That once, once I was loved

I still surrender
The troubles I know
No use pretending
All the troubles ain’t my own
But what I am certain
What is enough is just to remember
That once, once I was loved

Youth is usually afforded the affinity of glamour. I felt that way back then – I felt the eyes of a room on me, felt the focused vision of someone directed my way, and I was fortunate to feel it regularly. “My mother raised me to be admired…” as someone once said. 

Chris lamented that we had no glamorous moments, unless we were at some fancy party by accident or approximation. “What are you talking about?!” I asked. We were young and attractive enough, and at those parties we were the ones that others viewed as glamorous – because glamour is youth. It made me sad that Chris didn’t feel that at the time, because it’s too late now – at least, it’s too late to feel the glamour of youth.

We can make up for it in other ways – and wisdom has a glamour that is even more enviable. Almost everyone has had the glamour of youth, whether they realize it or not; very few of us manage to achieve the glamour of wisdom. 

All is not lost… not yet…

After the years gone by
What amounts to the years in a life
What have we come to
When we reach our final days
If we can surrender
And that is enough
Just to remember that once
Once we were loved
Once we were beautiful
Once we were loved
If we can surrender
And that is enough
Just to remember that once
Once we were loved

When fifteen minutes of meditation, followed by fifteen minutes of cutting up vegetables for a salad for dinner, then eating said dinner, all fail to erase the stress of a wicked work day, then I turn to Duke Ellington and this song on ‘Solitude’ to ease our home into the weekend. It looks to be a sickeningly chilly and rainy weekend, so today was likely my last chance for doing any sort of outdoor work. Such is spring. You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life. 

Friday nights used to be the shit.

Now, I just want to sleep, but I can’t just yet because that would fuck up the night. 

So I force myself to stay awake until a little later, and I write this, with the hope of summoning some collection of posts for the weekend. I cannot promise anything. I’m tired out. 

When I was much younger, I used to think that men were just boys, overgrown in all the right places.

Then there was a time when I thought that men were just boys, overgrown in all the wrong places.

Now I think that men are just boys, and we’re all just trying to grow up. 

The lights of the attic are turned low, and the time is almost 10:30 PM as I write this. Vaguely mid-century vibes crossed with Scandinavian simplicity inform the tranquil space, while this musical selection, entitled ‘Asian Dream Song’ adds a third aspect that brings together three corners of the world. On this night, when spring is on the wind, and the wind is strong enough to make the rafters creak and moan, the attic feels like the coziest respite and escape from the darkness outside. 

Though this is written in the relative hush of night, the music at hand feels more like morning, stimulating and invigorating, and I am reminded that dreams are not solely the stuff of evenings and midnights. Daydreams are occasionally just as potent, and when the mind takes you somewhere else during the day, it’s sometimes a matter of survival. That’s just the world in which we live now. 

Dream, dream, dream – day or night – dream…

Jelly beans were never my favorite candy, yet every year when they roll them out, we somehow end up with a bowl in the house. These pretty things were a gift from our friend Lorie – they came with a couple of chocolate bridge mixes that I devoured immediately, but these got saved for last and poured into a bright bowl for looks more than anything. We don’t decorate for Easter so it was a welcome visage.

They lasted all of a day, as Andy and I ended up eating them in quick fashion once I popped a few in my mouth and remembered how good jelly beans could be when you find a fine batch. These were from Krause’s Homemade Candy, which has always supplied insanely delectable sweet treats. Lorie lives near their store and we are lucky to get a gift from there when we have her over for dinner or join her for lunch. 

I have thus far had the will power to avoid the place, because I know if I go there once that will be it for my already-problematic waistline. (I cannot afford to lose 100 pairs of pants to go up another inch – I will not do it!) But I also won’t say no to a delicious thoughtful gift.

‘Tis the season of the jelly bean… let us rejoice and be glad in it.