Haters are gonna hate, but I’ve been #TeamMeghan from day one. Anything Prince Harry chooses to do is fine with me, and I love how Meghan Markle has deftly and adroitly insisted on living her own life in spite of the historical albatross that is the “Royal” family. With verve and nerve and unswerving determination, she is taking her own path while bound to history, and that can’t be easy. Today she earns the Dazzler of the Day, because I just heard her podcast handily beat out Joe Rogan’s nonsense – so maybe there is hope in this word after all. For those who don’t like her, and those who never have, I wonder why that is…
While the heat of summer returned with a vengeance yesterday, the morning glories tell me it is almost time to look toward fall, as the gardens continue their gradual decline and quiet preparation for their winter nap. I will feed the potted pots we have until the first frost – our cherry tomatoes are going non-stop, the cucumbers have already provided food for salad, snack, and more, while the figs have finally started to ripen after appearing way back in June. The wait was worth it, but more on that in a post to come. As for the gardens, they had their last feeding this past weekend, as I don’t want to encourage a bunch of new growth just as they are supposed to be hunkering down for the season.
For now, let’s simply enjoy the deep wondrous purples of these morning glories, which always come into their own as the world gears up for school again, when there’s a tension in the air, broken only by the cool nights and chilly mornings. This is the sort of weather the morning glories seem to love, and they are on a mad quest to bloom their heads off and scatter seeds for next year. Survival, and desperation, can be beautiful things.
He was just about the only part of the MTV Video Music Awards that I could stomach for a few moments last night (I aged out of enjoyable engagement with MTV at least a decade ago), and his outfit of oodles of red layered sheer fabric was a feast for the eyes, as much as his melodies and voice were a feast for the ears. This is Conan Gray, who was by far the most fabulous part of last night’s MTV festivities. Check out his website here for more of his work, and further evidence of why he is the Dazzler of the Day.
During the sleepy month of August, a month devoid of any major holidays, I mark the time around my birthday, hence this post-birthday recap following this pre-birthday recap. It’s like Christmas but in the summer, and, contrary to unpopular opinion, I’m not Jesus. With that disclaimer in mind, let’s recap the week…
On one of my weekly pilgrimages to Faddegon’s (it’s my happy, peaceful place at all times of the year, and is the only space I can visit some beloved Australian tree ferns, as I cannot for the life of me keep them alive in my home) I came upon these little coneflowers, bursting forth with cheery blooms and mirroring a sun-filled sky. They are still going strong even at this late summer date, and if I had any more room in the garden, I’d be planting them, but that sort of space-planning will have to take place next year. We are getting ready to put the gardens to sleep for another winter, and save for a few spring bulbs, our planting cycle is pretty much complete.
Hybridizers have been working wonders with the Echinacea species, and these varieties are a pretty example of that. There are some that even come with a sweet fragrance – something I never thought I’d sniff when all we had was the fragrance-free ‘Magnus’ variety of my youth. The world has come a long way, and once in a while it’s for the better.
Making one’s way in Hollywood can not be an easy road to take, yet Josh Sabarra has done just that, surviving and thriving in the land of broken dreams and defeated aspirations. He’s got the bruises and weariness to show for such a non-stop lifestyle, and he’s got two hilarious novels that have turned even his most difficult passages into biting prose, gleaming like Oscar gold. ‘Porn Again’ is his surprisingly-poignant memoir, while ‘Enemies Closer’ takes aim at the heart of the entertainment world – both crackle with wit and verve. Those qualities find physical fruition in his collection of t-shirts and other merchandise, and if you check out his online offerings here, you’l find a saying for just about every situation in which you might find yourself. Sometimes a quick quip is the singular saving grace that keeps us from going over the edge. In that spirit, Josh Sabarra is our Dazzler of the Day.
My sweet-spot for napping is ten to fifteen minutes – anything beyond that and I am groggy and unpleasant and disoriented for the remainder of the day. Yesterday I laid down for a second and woke up two hours later, completely unsure of the day, time, or year. It wrecked me for hours, and rather than feeling renewed or refreshed, I felt completely devoid of energy or ambition, and any plans I had had for the rest of the day went by the wayside, replaced by some aimless wandering, unnecessary eating, and general discontentment. It reminded me why I don’t usually nap during the day – there’s always the risk of going too long. The disco naps of my youth, usually fitful exercises in forced futility, should have been enough of a lesson. Now when there is no disco to be had, there is even less of a reason for a nap.
There is something about the resulting haze, however, that sparks creative rumination. Could we perhaps capture this space between sleep and wakefulness, and use it for some story or pictorial narrative? It feels like a dreamworld, nothing quite real or sure, with room for fanciful imaginings or outright illusions. That tricky in-between space is what has always intrigued me: the borders, the doorways, the corridors that lead from one realm to another. The pocket of time and space that bridges the conscious waking world and the unconscious sleeping world is not unlike the midnight hour – a crux of good and evil, light and dark, life and death.
All of this from a nap that went on a little too long.
A little darkness, and a bit of shadow. Dark like the iron shavings we would watch assemble in wondrous form atop a magnet in grade school. Dark like the nights near the end of summer, when the canopy of full tree leaves stretches wide and far to obliterate the most noble efforts of the moon. Dark like the secrets we keep in the name of protection and solace. Dark like the secrets we keep in the name of shame.
Ruminating upon this piece of music, I am challenged to do something – anything – to keep going. Creation beckons. Inspiration whispers. A shift is signaled by a change in atmosphere. The music keeps time. The world shudders and lets go of the dark.
Hailed as the first gay romantic comedy from a major studio, ‘BROS’ is set to make history as its star Billy Eichner crests into the Hollywood stratosphere. From ‘Billy on the Street’ to ‘BROS’ Eichner makes a full career trajectory while pushing a gay rom-com into the land of the masses. It’s been a bit of a climb, but Eichner’s exuberant charm and roguish edge finally seem to have found they rightful way into mainstream pop culture, and there’s a giddy glee in realizing that for all of us who have been enamored from the beginning. Here he is as Dazzler of the Day for the first, and likely not the last, time.
Walking outside after a rage-filled thunderstorm, I felt the air shift. Swaths of heat and humidity alternated with bands of cooling and comfortable air, the temperature changing in tumultuous five-degree increments. It was unsettling weather, but good for rainbows and spectacular cloud formations. I was reminded that we are a few weeks away from the big seasonal upheaval from summer to fall, and I took a deep breath to bring the mind into a more thoughtful space. It reminded me of the end of 2019, when I first started meditating. It all felt so foreign and rocky then, and my first few spurts of meditation – only a few minutes at a time – felt awkward and stunted, like I might not be on the right path, like I was doing it all wrong. Yet instead of giving up, I pushed through, leaning into the discomfort, opening up to the pain.
Construction on the interior had begun in those final months of 2019, in the lead-up to the winter of a year we had no idea would turn so darkly treacherous. The renovation within would come just in time, as if the universe knew I’d never make it through without some sense of peace and calm, some inner sanctuary when the rest of the world, even in my own home, fell to pieces and crashed around me. When winter exploded in ice and wind, snow and darkness, I would take up the lotus position in the middle of a room lit only by a candle, swirled by a stick of palo santo incense, and filled only with the distant hum of a heater or the muffled rush of wind outside the window.
As far from the sunny season of summer as I was from a place of safety and security, I found the inner-sanctum of serenity just in time, and I clung to it desperately. Grasping that lifeline like the savior it would prove to be, I stumbled minute by minute into the way to peace. At first I took it in five minute increments. It was all I could manage. It was also, gratefully, enough. Pushing through the first few weeks of this, I gradually increased the minute by the week – six minutes a day, then seven minutes a day, then eight. The weeks passed, the worst of winter went by, and when spring finally arrived again, I was up to twenty minutes a day.
Sometimes it went by quickly: I’d lower myself into the lotus position, start breathing and counting, and soon the time was up. Other times moved slowly by, each second elongating into something greater, in ways both good and trying. Not every day did I find tranquility and peace in the meditation, but every day I tried.
My days of wishing for perfection had been replaced by a wish for whatever was good-enough. The perfect was perennially elusive, unattainable, impossible. A lovely wish, a lovely goal, a lovely vision to which we might strive, but best kept out of the realm of the expected or even simply the realm of the possible.
Ease of mind, ease of breath – there it is again, the reminder to breathe, not just to breathe in, but to breathe out. It’s possibly the most important part of breathing, and the one we neglect the most, so eager are we for new breath, new air, new life. We forget the necessity of releasing the breath that has come before, releasing the past – the immediate and long-distant past. When I tune into that, everything becomes a little easier, a little lighter, and I feel the renovating power of meditation again.
It’s no secret that my favorite people – the ones who impress and inspire me the most – are often artists. They live out a fantasy life that I could only hint at and half-heartedly attempt, and the most talented among them do so because it’s in their heart to do so. My talents rarely coalesced into anything concrete or bankable, and certainly nothing worthy of a career track, so when I see someone like Thomasa Dwyer Nielsen turn her lifestyle into a work of art, it makes my heart feel a little fuller. Thomasa is both artist and teacher, two undervalued and underappreciated roles that still manage to be just as important as any other job, particularly in the eyes of children. Her work as a painter is what first captured my eye, and she was gracious enough to immortalize my own image in this wonderful piece that now takes pride of place in our dining room. Currently, she’s been posting her artwork on social media, turning that cesspool of awfulness into a place of hope and inspiration, lending color and enchantment to a landscape in dire need of both. Today I am happy to name her as Dazzler of the Day for all the beauty she has shared with the world, and all the joy she brings to my life whenever I gaze upon her work.
True, there is less than a month left of the sunny season, but summer will not be done until she is ready to be done. There is more sun to be had, more fun to be had, and certainly more summer to be had. In that spirit, get out there and enjoy it, and I’ll do the same. Happy Friday!
Out of more than 107,900 tweets, I’ve only left out a word in one of them, so of course that was the one that Luke Skywalker himself noticed and replied to. Begging for a birthday tweet from Cher, I added a sarcastic quip about Mark Hamill, who I hoped would be as cool as he appears to be on Twitter, and indeed he was. Hamill has been a hero to me ever since going sleeveless in ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ and awakening an entire generation of gay boys to their true calling. In recent years, I’ve hung on his every tweet, as his account makes wry political commentary as much as it provides entertaining and uplifting ideas.
Behind it all, the man himself seemed especially good-natured and noble, and if anyone has gained the insight and wisdom to be at such peace, it’s the guy who has portrayed one of pop culture’s most enduring and endearing heroes. While the whole world knows him as Skywalker, the keen and coolest among us know that Hamill has steadily worked and created other indelible characters, much of them through some amazing voice work. In the most recent Star Wars movies, he has been introduced to a new generation of fans, and rekindled the love of all of us who first fell all those many decades ago. Today it is my honor and privilege to give him the small gift I have to give, and name him as the Dazzler of the Day. Check out his Twitter feed here for more majestic evidence of his brilliance.
The day began all hot and humid. Cloud cover was predicted, but August 24th usually offers some sunny breaks, and on this day the clouds were gorgeously ornamental, no more. Clouds can be beautiful at any time, but the ones in late August, backed by an almost-autumn sky, are especially pretty. I begin the morning by taking a walk about the yard, taking in the rain-soaked earth from the night before. Dewy drops still cling to the leaves and flowers, capturing light and blooming all over again.
A song, all pomp and circumstance with darker undertones, plays in the brain, the way certain songs signal an eventful day, or just a day that should have some sort of deeper meaning, even if it doesn’t, even if you don’t. It’s a song for an entrance, or a promenade. It’s a song for a day that could go a multitude of ways.
Rather than indulge in the might and majesty that certain birthdays require, I decide to keep this day quiet and small, wishing to hold it in the palm of my hand. It starts with a breakfast of shortbread cookies, made by my friend Marline. Every birthday should start with sugar and butter and deliciousness.
Andy offers to make an omelet for lunch – a caprese omelet with fresh tomatoes from the garden, fresh basil, and a creamy hunk of mozzarella cheese. It is summer and birthday love on a plate, and I eat it out on the backyard patio.
By early afternoon, the day has grown even hotter, and somehow more humid, even though it felt like all the water had been wrung from the sky last night. I wade slowly into the pool as the sun beat down, indulging in the gentle joy of water against skin, and taking in the quiet around me. Only the low drone of summer insects breaks the silence, along with the occasional splash of a foot or hand disturbing the surface.
After drying off, I sit in the living room and light the end of a stick of Palo Santo incense, then begin my daily meditation. It is a moment of respite, in the cool shade of our home, while Andy showers and prepares for dinner.
We drive into Lenox, Massachusetts for some shopping, followed by a dinner at the Red Lion Inn. My choice – simple and unassuming – tucked away in the Berkshires and away from the madness that the end of summer sometimes brings. An unremarkable birthday, made remarkable because of that. What a grand new lesson to learn at the start of my 47th year on earth. When the pressure is off, when it’s just me and my husband, and when there is no fanfare or hype, the essence of pleasure opens up completely.
A lesson learned upon one’s birthday is a lesson learned forever more.
Some music is too moody to be heard during the day. It goes too deep with its words, or turns too sinisterly in its bassline. This is one of those songs, appropriately entitled ‘The Night’, and perfectly suited for a spell of nightswimming. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been trying to get into the pool at least once a day. Not every summer has been as lovely and warm as this one, and I don’t want regrets haunting me in the winter to come.
There is no swimming on a winter’s night.
Summer tells a different tale, allowing for outside loveliness beyond the midnight hour. Summer carries Korean lilacs on its breeze, just as it begins. Summer dapples moonlight on little crests of water – in the pools, the streams, the ponds and lakes, and especially the sea. Summer intoxicates in a way nothing ever could or would.
Summer keeps its secrets in the night, insidiously burying them during the bright sunlight of day. Like slugs and bats, they come back out when the cloak of darkness has safely pulled itself around the edges of the evening, feeding on the good and the bad. Summer is selective sometimes, teasing with clouds and wet air, delivering with lightning and stormy destruction.
Floating in this water, bathed in this light while the night encroaches with deliberate obliteration, I am suspended in a way that feels like what I imagine flying might feel like. There is a weightlessness to swimming that I’ve always loved, a relief and obfuscation from the pull of gravity. An escape from the physical laws of earth is not a typical flight most of us get to take, but swimming allows everyone to experience a few moments of freedom. Indulging in that, I move to the deepest part of the pool and gently paddle, just enough to stay afloat.
A birthday tucked into the tail-end of August, in the last full month of summer, floats by and disappears into the night. No nightingale sings ‘Happy Birthday’, and I wouldn’t understand the nightingale’s song anyway. Another piece of moody music to close the night.
