Trolling Josh Hawley in any way is worthy of honor, and so it is that Missouri Senate candidate Lucas Kunce earns this Dazzler of the Day. He expertly rakes Hawley across the coals for the way Hawley ran like a chicken during the January 6 insurrection (which he had earlier helped hype up with an infamous hand-pump). Kunce is easily a better choice for Senate than Hawley, so check out his website here for how to help, especially if you’re in Missouri.
Summer is personified by the morning glory – echoes of sky and sunsets may be found in the shading of its blooms, open mostly in the morning and giving name to its fleeting magnificence. Those blooms have been hybridized to encompass all sorts of shades, though my heart will always below to the big, basic sky blue of the common variety. These smaller versions pack a more powerful color-punch, however, so they get much of the glory these days.
I don’t plant them anymore as they tend to be weedy and prolific re-seeders, but I’ll usually let a few get by so we can see what the flowers look like. They also come into bloom when the rest of the garden is beginning its first exhale from the charge of summer, and will see it through to the fall.
One of the coolest tricks of the garden is the way it can sometimes create a mood or feeling through its use of colors and shades. Case in point is the way warm colors and cool colors work to set the place on fire or douse it in metaphorical water. The little annual blooms seen here do the latter, calmly lowering the temperature we think we are experiencing with the cooler end of the color spectrum.
Gardens of white and silver do similar magic, their calmer hues lending a cooling aspect to the day and night.
At the other end are the bright oranges and reds and yellows that light a place up, setting ablaze the day with matching fire and pyrotechnics. The cup plant right now is accomplishing that, with its fireworks that burst forth as high as the garden goes. Some scarlet petunias are lighting up its base too, and together with the orange butterfly weed, they make their own heat and fire.
The garden is wonderful in all ways.
A dark, dreary and rainy Monday started the week in drab fashion, and when I opened the laptop to begin the workweek the screen was brighter than my surroundings – a situation that hadn’t happened since the earliest days of spring. We must make other sources of light, I thought, and promptly found these pics on my phone.
This little orb of imitation sunshine is brought to you by Rudbeckia – a small stand of which has made its way into our front garden. It’s echoed in the backyard by great stands of the cup plant, which also provided some false sunshine as the rain fell and Monday slowly trudged through her gray trajectory.
I shouldn’t complain too much – we need the rain badly, and I was getting tired of watering the ferns every morning. So much of July is given over to watering and weeding, it’s difficult to get a handle on anything else.
Much has happened in the previous week or so, and this blog is playing catch-up while real life bounds ahead, rushing and speeding along through a summer that has proved sunnier and happier than man in recent memory. If daily concerns and happenings have been keeping me more occupied in living than documenting it, I’m not apologizing for that. Still, it’s good to pause on what may be a stormy Monday to look back and honor what has come before. In that spirit, here’s our weekly recap to start another cycle of summer fun.
It began with the persistence of the petunias, because summer demands its star performers be stalwart and resilient.
Twenty-two years ago Andy and I met the old-fashioned way – at a gay bar.
It’s been 1000 days since my last alcoholic drink.
A new Provincetown adventure began, this time on the dunes.
Time by the sea is always soul-nourishing.
When that time is shared with loved ones new and old, it’s even more magnificent.
The magical balm of the home at the edge of the world.
Dazzlers of the Day included Linda Eder, Beau Mirchoff, Stallion Fabio and Florence Welch.
Right before sunset, a few friends from the neighboring shacks stopped by for an import cocktail hour, spent by the shore and looking out over the ocean waiting for the whales to breach. We watched their spouts blow plumes of water spray into the air, then saw their tales curve up before disappearing below. If you watched the same space you would see them breach – rising into the air and splashing down with majestic abandon. Here, at the edge of the world, it felt like a bridge to a better place. Maybe that was God. Maybe it was grace.
As the gathering dispersed, JoAnn, Tyler and Kevin and I made our way to the canopied area looking over the shore to watch the sun go down. This was such a special gift, and we thanked JoAnn for bringing us all this way to make it happened. Later we would do our best to thank Dave and Francois, but words and little gifts can in no way match the gratitude we felt for being brought into this wondrous circle.
JoAnn had predicted this visit would change our souls, touching us in a way that only a brush with the sublime could do. After almost twenty-five solid years of friendship, to discover such a place of peace together will be one of the blessings and highlights when we look back at our lives together.
We lead very different lives than we did all those years ago, and finding ourselves at this perfect place was a fitting moment of serenity after all the torture and tumult of getting through our 20’s and 30’s. In some ways, all our restless searching and substitutes for love were destined to bring us here. And boy was it worth it.
We joined Dave and Francois in the main shack for a delicious dinner by candlelight. Breaking bread with new friends and old is surely one of the happiest ways of sharing an evening. Backed by a rising moon, and the sounds and scents of the sea, our time in such serenity was coming all-too-quickly to its close.
We returned to our little house, retiring to bed happily spent and satiated by all the beauty we had feasted upon in a single day. Leaving the windows open, a light breeze carried the sea air through the room, while the sound of the waves lulled us into a slumber.
“The sea-shore is a sort of neutral ground, a most advantageous point from which to contemplate this world.” ~
The next morning I woke before dawn, drawn by the sea to where the sun would rise. Another day would begin. Another set of eyes would survey this scene. Another group of seals would swim along the shore.
A pocketful of sea stones would be my only amulets to return to this enchanted place.
At the top of one of the dunes, they had set up a canopied space for four loungers looking over the ocean, and what felt like the world. The sea pulled us with a mesmerizing call, so we made our way down the dunes to the shore. Unbothered by people (thanks to the plovers and their blocked-off nesting space) we had the entire beach to ourselves – a previously unknown anomaly in all my years of visiting Cape Cod – and a treasure of tranquility. JoAnn, Tyler and Kevin walked slowly along the ocean, watching for the heads of seals to pop up and say hello, while empty exoskeletons of sea life littered the way. We paused to pick up a few select stones, and sat down to listen to the water roll in.
There is a calm and grounding feeling that can only be elicited by a peaceful day at the ocean. It connects one to the universe in a way nothing else can approach. Perhaps it’s due to the waves, and the way the moon tugs at our waters, uniting and bonding celestial bodies as two parts in a much-grander scheme. Or maybe it’s the way that standing at the ocean’s edge literally grounds one, sinking our feet deeper into the sand, rooting us to a body of water that stretches to other continents.
Whenever I found myself in emotional trouble when I was younger and lived alone in Boston, I’d make my way to the harbor. There wasn’t a Seaport back then but it was enough just being near the dirty water and seeing the moon dance on the waves. Even in winter when the wind would whip the wires against their flagpoles, and the lonely clanging was all we could hear, it managed to be a calming influence.
How far away such a cold scene felt from this sunny day at the shore. Stones and shells and seaweed glistened in the salty sea wash, sparkling in the sun and demanding closer inspection. We stayed there for a while, feeling like kids again, then made our way bak through the dunes to sunset and dinner…
In the happy confluence of destiny that life occasionally deigns to throw our way, this past winter what was supposed to be a quiet getaway for our friend JoAnn turned into a threesome when Andy’s cousin Tyler and his boyfriend Kevin asked if they could stop by on the same weekend. Tyler and Kevin were planning on going to a family party further north, and JoAnn was already cozily ensconced in the attic loft. Our upstate New York winter made other plans for the boys, as a snowstorm barreled down on the entire area, canceling their party plans and stranding us all indoors for the wintry weekend. It was there, amid the falling snow and winter doldrums that JoAnn proposed the idea of a summer getaway at the end of the world. She described a scene of idyllic charm and natural beauty, accentuated by a pair of friends – David and Francois – who sounded as enchanting as the pair of houses that stood in rarefied stead in the dunes of Provincetown. Entranced by her stories, we were instantly on board, and she vowed to work her magic to see if she might bring us along someday.
And so it was that we found ourselves snaking through the early Saturday morning traffic along Route 6 on a sunny summer day, a far cry from the winter scenario that birthed the trip, and as we passed the row houses that marked the entrance to Provincetown, I felt the familiar thrill of returning to a place that had first captured my heart and imagination over a quarter of a century ago. This visit was decidedly different, as we took a turn toward the dunes and away from the town, where only a few ever get to go…
A curving tree-lined path led us to the entrance to the seashore, where JoAnn’s friend graciously arrived in a truck to bring us to the pair of shacks he inhabited for the summer. Getting to the dunes is no easy feat. Dave told us tales of hapless visitors who neglected to let enough air out of their tires to traverse the sandy, and often steep, landscape. One could easily get stuck or stranded if they ignored the requisite rules of these roads. Dave expertly guided us through the rolling hills of sand. The world we had known disappeared behind these dunes and a new one opened up before us. I wondered if others would define their lives before and after the dunes. What lessons would such beauty gift to us?
Arriving at the main shack, we were greeted by the friendly wave of Francois, already at work inside, while Dave brought us to the little house where we’d be staying. A pair of sumptuous beds was made up, and a bank of windows looked directly out to the ocean. The unobstructed view stilled my step, and a wave of gratitude overcame me as I realized we’d be sleeping right on the shore. It would be the first of many moments when I’d pause to be fully present.
After settling in, we joined Dave and Francois for a lunch of burgers and various salads. As is most often the case, food simply tasted better by the shore, and when mixed with good company it made things even more delicious. Listening to the story of how Dave and Francois came to be friends, I was grateful for JoAnn for bringing us into this enchanted world, and grateful to Dave and Francois for being so graciously welcoming. To feel such kindness in the world was an antidote to all the awfulness the last few years have brought.
We let down our guards, and allowed the sun and the sea to cast their spells…
Dew dripped from the tips of the seagrass as I quietly made my way along the dunes. Only the birds and a few ships were out at this early hour. The wind, which could be wild and relentless, had softened to a slight breeze, allowing the grass to wave and dance in gentle rhythm. Here, where we had only a few hours ago watched the sunset over one end of the ocean I found myself alone, waiting for the sun to rise over the other end.
Only on the magical peninsula of Provincetown can you find such a view of both sunrise and sunset. Here, where the first spark of the day shown suddenly red over the sea, and the sun rose and set in a matter of seconds – the line between dusk and dawn so miraculously demarcated – I sat on the dunes trying to take it all in. Here, at the edge of a world that no longer knew how to breathe in such beauty, I paused to inhale.
Seeking out solitude, I made my way from our little house on the dunes along the path to the main house, then meandered along to the roped-off entrance to the beach. Blessedly blocked off to the public for the plovers, the entire expanse of this bit of Cape Cod shore was empty. Seagulls soared silently through the sky, and the only sound was the hypnotic rolling of the ocean – the ocean that never quite slept the way that we did, that had no need of sleep, and that stayed implacably unbothered by all our encroachments.
On this day of departure, after an all-too-brief brush with a sublime beauty so gorgeously accentuated by new and old friends, I sat in the dunes waiting for the sun to rise, and recollecting what felt like a full and fortunate life in a single day…
Can it be called sobriety if one was never quite an alcoholic in the first place?
That’s a big question, bigger than the scope of a single blog post like this.
Personally, I’m calling it such, as this marks the 1000th day in which I haven’t had an alcoholic drink, and 1000 days of sobriety sounds more thrilling than 1000 days of not drinking.
I’m also open to the fact that while I may not have been a raging alcoholic, it was one of the off-shoots of the path I was headed down a number of years ago, a path I once glamorized and embraced and perhaps exaggerated in the way that we want our artists and creators to be dramatically suffering. When the real world creeps in and shows you what true suffering and loss is, one doesn’t feel the need to pretend as much.
While I may have had my last drink on October 26, 2019, the trajectory I had been on in the year or two prior to that was one of slowing and cutting back drastically on the thing that once felt like a normal part of life. In the years leading up to my quitting, I’d found that alcohol no longer brought the same thrill and enjoyment it once did – mornings spent quietly hung over felt regretful, while the actual moments of drinking felt more robotic and a force of habit, as I slowly came to the realization that I was merely trying to attain some semblance of comfort in an ill-fitting world. It was partly a way of dealing with events where social anxiety ran high (and for me that was almost all the time) and also of dealing with a world where we all have to go it alone. Elaine Stritch once explained that she would take a drink before going onstage because it was scary going out there alone. I felt the same way about life. No matter how many friends or supporters you may have, no matter how married or partnered up you might be, and no matter how many people genuinely and unconditionally love you, we still go out into the world alone. All of us. And that’s daunting. If I once needed a drink to feel ok about that, I can forgive myself for it.
When I figured some of that out, however, the need for alcohol instantly left my body. It wasn’t difficult to stop cold turkey, and though it felt somewhat foreign and strange 1000 days ago, today it feels easy and unremarkable. The ease with which I was able to do that without withdrawal was a lucky thing. Maybe it meant I wasn’t truly an alcoholic. Maybe I was an alcoholic who found the right combination of tools to stop. Everyone wants to label everyone else, myself included, but that rarely helps. I’m humble and smart enough to acknowledge that alcohol wasn’t helping, and it was healthier to simply stop.
Overall, the last 1000 days have been calmer and happier than many other 1000-day stretches in my life. Considering the insanity of the world at this time, I’ll chalk it up as a great success, and one that I’d like to continue.
For the first ten years of our relationship, it wasn’t legal for Andy and I to be married in New York State, so we celebrated our anniversary using the day we met. For the most part, we’d been together since that fateful night, so it made sense, and July 23, 2000 has always felt like an auspicious date.
Cut to twenty two years later, wherein we celebrate another year together, and offer gratitude to not have to go through the last two-plus decades entirely on our own. We’re still very independent people, we’re still as different as we often appear to be, but in many ways we’re still as happily compatible and in love as we were on that day so many years ago. And Andy is still the one…
During our first months of dating, this trite Shania Twain song was finishing its epic run on the charts. I came to many songs late, taking my time to wrap my head around them and appreciating their melodies, so while the world had long since stopped listening to this one, I was just getting into it. I played it many times in the early days of dating Andy, wondering if one day I’d be able to play it and look back over the shared history of a life together. I almost didn’t dare to wish for it, but the heart knows what it wants.
These days there’s a security and warmth to our marriage, a reassuring camaraderie that has happily replaced the rollercoaster of passionate, obsessive love that was once a trademark of our romantic entanglements. We had those crazy days, and they served their purpose and provided many memories (perhaps a bit too much excitement!), and now we’re evolving into something deeper and quieter and better. As we ride into the latter half of our lives, we appreciate that a lot more.
Happy Anniversary, Andy. I love you.
Bewitching chanteuse Florence Welch, of Florence and the Machine, easily earns her first Dazzler of the Day crowning, thanks to her incandescent performances and whimsical style. The world needs more of such magic these days. She was also part of the ‘Here Lies Love’ concept album that would go on to become a sensational musical. Recently she’s been talking about being sober for seven years, further proof that some artists are much more than their art.
One of the most charming gifts the garden can bestow is the occasional moment of reblooming. Many plants have one showy season where they bloom their heads off, then promptly settle in for foliage-only for the rest of the season. Once in a while, a spring bloomer will re-bloom later on in the summer. Often this happens when the nights return to cooler form, perhaps promoting the conditions of spring rather than the heat of high summer. Sometimes, they simply get a second wind, as was the case of this Korean lilac, which is putting forth a few stems of new buds right now, when we need it the most.
Its fragrance is one I associate with the freshest and brightest days of spring, when it typically comes into bloom on the heels of the native lilac. I like that it extends the lilac season, and its leaves remain fresh and unmarred by mildew through to the fall. (Our other lilacs and peonies are already graying with the heat and humidity we’ve had of late).
The perfume is the jolt of freshness the gardens needs at this time, casting a reinvigorating spell over those who happen upon its sweetness.
With a name like Stallion Fabio, he was pre-destined to be a Dazzler of the Day. Add in the fact that he’s a winner of something called a Grabby Award, and that cements the honor. Gay porn stars don’t get a lot of credit in the world, but this is a safe space to honor and respect any profession where a person works their ass off to make a living. Respect to Stallion Fabio, and congrats to him on this not-so-Grabby Award.
Stultifyingly-hot temperatures, soaring humidity, and the sweaty mess that results – this is when summer turns to high, and after several summers that never quite got off the ground, we are embracing this one. A bit of discomfort is a small price to pay for such glorious summer weather, and whenever I find myself about to complain about the heat, the desolate memory of an expanse of snow and ice blanketing the pool comes to mind, and I inhale the happy heat and carry on with the day.
Smoky and hazy days lead to sultry nights, and the slow-burn of a jazzy torch song breaks the midnight silence. For the day, something equally languid and spell-binding, such as this tune by REM – ‘Summer Turns to High’ from their ‘Reveal’ album – the ideal embodiment of the heady and hot days we’ve been having of late.
someone put a pox on me
I’ll spit in their eye
summer turns to high
Lounging about the pool, in between dips, slowly reading the same page of a book over and over again because the brain is too hot and fuzzy to make sense of it – this is summer gladness and summer madness. Plans crumble in such heat, outfit-plotting becomes about survival and comfort rather than fashion or fit. A towel in most instances will do, and nobody bothers with shoes anymore.
If those hopes are overshadowed,
cotton candy, caramel apple.
summer turns to high
summer turns to high
summer turns to high,
summer high
An attitude of ‘fuck-it-all’ pervades in the giddiest and most polite manner possible. A tricky thing to navigate, unless it’s summer, then anything goes and no one seems to mind. A carelessness pervades the messy days, all imperfection and sweat, and dousing oneself in the water of a hose while watering the gardens… it’s all here, and it’s all right.
I won’t pine for what could have been-
I’m preoccupied
