It’s difficult to pick a favorite flower, but it’s quite likely that the peony is it for me. From the happy childhood memories it has informed, to the stalwart and powerful presence it retains in the garden for decades, the peony is a popular perennial for a number of reasons, perhaps most notably for its floral fragrance and form. It’s hard to imagine a more perfect bloom.
“It always seemed to me that the herbaceous peony is the very epitome of June. Larger than any rose, it has something of the cabbage rose’s voluminous quality; and when it finally drops from the vase, it sheds its petticoats with a bump on the table, all in an intact heap, much as a rose will suddenly fall, making us look up from our book or conversation, to notice for one moment the death of what had still appeared to be a living beauty.” – Vita Sackville-West
And now I’m making a rare request and asking that you forget the words for a bit. Focus instead on the photos – and the form of the peony at hand. It is worth pausing to examine the petals at hand.
Is there a more charming common name for a flower than ‘forget-me-not’? And is there not a more perfect pairing to the name than these adorable blue blossoms? I’ve never had any specific memory or person that bound themselves to these little flowers. The only person responsible for planting forget-me-nots in the woodland garden of my childhood was me. In some sense, the forget-me-not reminds me of the child I once was – the little boy who sprinkled a packet of seeds along a stone-laden path, then waited and watched as their tiny, slightly furry leaves expanded and sent buds into a penumbra above their miniature forest.
The flowers – so dainty and seemingly delicate – were like little explosions of blue bliss with hearts of golden stars, white points of light emanating from the center. No matter how strong the winds, and there are always strong winds every few days at this time of the year, these little flowers stay true – unshakable until the very last moment before they let their petals fall.
On our recent visit to Ogunquit, we came upon an entrancing patch of these flowers as we walked from the opening of the Marginal Way to dinner. We passed the hotel where my parents used to stay, and a thought of Dad tied itself to these flowers. Maybe the forget-me-not is for anyone who deserves not to be forgotten.
At the hair salon the other night, a Filipino woman cut my hair. She’d done so once before, and I thought her accent was familiar. She asked about my last name this time, and I confirmed that I was Filipino too – Dad’s side. She talked about her kids visiting the Philippines, and the foods she made – pancit and adobo and lumpia – and I told her I made those, as well as ensaymada, which impressed her. She said her husband hadn’t taught her kids Tagalog, and I told her the scant few phrases I knew. She asked if I lived nearby and if I had a family. I said I lived with my husband, and my Mom and brother and niece and nephews were in Amsterdam. This sort of small-talk, so insignificant and so meaningful, if only to me, to this moment in my life, brought my Dad back in such an easy and everyday kind of way, even as I put him in the past tense. It was important for me to say that to this hairdresser, to let her know he left us last summer.
And then to feel him still with me – in an accent, in a recipe, in a story from halfway around the world.
Upon finishing up a vacation in Maine, the most I can muster is an almost-smile – and the one you see here was actually taken while I was still basking in vacation glory (hence the tank top) after a day at the beach. That feels far away now, even if the vacation posts just got posted here, thus delaying the weekly recap until right now. It was worth it. Remembering a happy vacation is always worth it. Back to the week in repose of the past…
We saved one of our favorite jaunts in Ogunquit for our last full day. Walking the Marginal Way was the first thing we did on our very first trip here all those years ago, and it was an introduction that made the most marvelous impression on me. It never loses its majesty, and it’s never quite the same journey twice. That seems impossible for those of us who have been walking it for almost a quarter of a century, but it’s absolutely true. The ocean, the sand, the shore, the wind, the air – they are in constant undulation and motion, never appearing in exactly the same way from moment to moment. There’s magic in that, as in the way the first beach roses of the season unfurl and spark their fiery focal points of visual interest.
Along with the aforementioned changeability of the scene, the bluets seen below (Houstonia caerulea) have switched their position as well – this year they staked out a daring perch amid the rocks closest to the sea. Usually they hide further inland, within some protected nook shaded by juniper boughs and bittersweet vines. This year they were right there in plain sight – exposed for all to see – and they looked all the more jubilant for their exposure.
Returning to the house, we continued a relatively new tradition – because finding new traditions twenty-four years into visiting this Beautiful Place By the Sea is one of the best reasons to keep coming back here. Afternoons when the weather is fine, and it’s too glorious to nap it all away, Andy and I would take a cup of tea or coffee onto the front porch and watch as the beachgoers returned to their lodgings, while others walked back into town. Life walked by in all its stunning variety, as ours stilled for a moment of sacred, shared togetherness.
I ran into the front yard to grab a picture of Andy, who promptly made a funny face.
Thus our last full day of this trip came to an amusing close.
At one point or another on every trip or vacation we take, I will often find myself alone, as is my wont (and a secret as to how Andy and I have gotten along for these twenty-four years). On this weekend, it consisted of a walk through town, and an excursion to a little woodland stretch off the beaten path where I usually miss the Trillium in bloom. This year they were holding onto their flowers, which felt like another gift after the lilacs and peonies in our room.
A bleeding heart dangled its precious pink cargo at the other end of the path – a true harbinger of summer – and I paused there to take in the day, and to accept a little bit of gratitude. No matter how rough the times in-between our trips to Ogunquit may occasionally be, in this space I have always found a place of peace.
While the lilacs of Maine were in full bloom as we arrived, we were missing the first flush of peonies back at home. Refusing to completely be absent from that most magnificent moment of the garden, I picked a bouquet of blooms to keep in our guest room. After setting up on the table by the window, they provided an unexpectedly-potent source of beauty and perfume, and a new memory that mingled the perfume of a peony with the happiness of a vacation with Andy. Memories are bound most powerfully by scent and new settings, especially in spring or summer.
Beach days are never a guarantee in Maine, particularly this early in the season, but this year we lucked out. Spending a day at the beach is a favorite escapade of Andy so we made our way to one of the best beaches in the country and set up our towels in the sand and sun. The ocean cast its typical spell, its waves gently beating a seductive rhythm of tranquility, enough to lull the most jaded or stressed among us into a state of peace and comfort.
Returning to our home-away-from-home, Andy took a nap while I padded out to the front porch to take in more of the afternoon light and do my daily meditation. A bright yellow azalea bloomed beside the granite posts of the Bed & Breakfast sign – prettiness and sturdiness at once – and another beautiful coupling that adds to the enchantment of Ogunquit.
Our very first trip to Ogunquit, Maine occurred in the late summer days of 2000 – almost twenty-four years ago. It was our first vacation anywhere together, and neither Andy nor myself knew or had an idea of how it might play out. Just three months into dating, it could have gone any number of ways, but the weather was behind us – glorious sunny days of early September – and our mutual desire for one another kept us consistently entertained in our knotty pine room. Most people can get along in those early days of dating; it’s how they fare twenty-plus years into things that is the true test of love and time.
We made our Memorial Day weekend pilgrimage to Maine on a sunny day that soon threatened a storm, but we had some time before that quick bit of rain, and in one of those happy strokes of floral timing, the lilacs were in full bloom (a couple of weeks after ours in upstate NY had finished their show). Usually the most magical perfume is when the beach roses mingle with the sea-spray along the Marginal Way – on this trip, it was lilacs and sea salt – and it beat all the cologne bottles I brought along for the journey.
In the quickly-closing window of time before an anticipated spell of rain, Andy and I made a short walk to have a snack and take in the sea. The instant its blue-green shade comes into view, and its intoxicating marine perfume delightfully tickles the nose, a calm invariably comes over our countenance. It’s immediate and visceral, and something that is most powerfully effected by our approximation to the sea.
After our first trip here in September, we started returning in May – and for about a decade every single Memorial Day weekend ended up being cold and gray and rainy – and still we fell in love with Ogunquit. So on our first afternoon here this year, a little spell of rain didn’t dampen our spirits, even as we had to rush back to our bed and breakfast to stay dry.
It was a quick spell, and would be the only bout of bad weather until our day of departure, so our meteorological fortune had finally turned. The clouds moved off for the remainder of the weekend, and after dinner at the Crooked Pine, we made another walk to the shore.
Fresh from the bonus track of this coquette playlist, ‘A Night to Remember’ plays slinkily on this almost-summer Saturday night. In the attic loft window, and air conditioner hums and sputters, trying to keep the building heat at bay. Below, the Japanese garden gently waves its fronds of fountain bamboo in the slightest breeze, a host of hostas and their beautiful blue-grey leaves blend into the evening shadows, while a Japanese spikenard glows chartreuse behind a row of Japanese painted ferns. The night calls for music to remember…
Swore I’d seen you before Watched you walk through the door Something in your eye Reminded me of somebody I used to know…
The pink associated with the coquette aesthetic is a light and soft powdery pink – nothing too hot, nothing too electric, nothing too reddish, nothing too purplish, nothing too anythingish but the purest and simplest pink. It’s a whisper, it’s a brush, it’s an evocation. It doesn’t shout or demand or do much of anything other than exist in its own realm and plane, ephemeral and fleeting as the breeze. It’s a shrug and a sigh, and a collapse onto a rose-quilted antique bed.
It will be a bouquet of old-fashioned spray roses as soon as I get around to the market to find some. In the meantime, it’s a song – this song – played as the lights go dim, and the air cools down, and we whisper invitational incantations to summer…
The coquette vibe, according to those in-the-know, is a dreamy state of ultra-romantic yearning, innocently filled with unfulfilled desires and hints of romantic entanglements that may or may not work out. Emi and Cameron lended their ears and recommendations for most of these cuts, and I sequenced them in a way that sounded right to my virgin coquette ears. This is only the beginning – there are two more to come…
Bonus Track: A Night to Remember – Laufey and beabadoobee
Give a few of these a spin, ideally in this sequence to give you the closest approximation to what our home will sound like over the next few weeks. Rather than a single big coquette party, we shall be hosting several smaller coquette events. IYKYK, and if you don’t you probably won’t get the invite. Turns out a coquette isn’t all softness and bend…
Wrapped me in your arms Leaned in and whispered “Keep me in your heart” I’m so bewildered What’s this new desire called? I didn’t know that much at all ’bout love before But now, I think I’m learning…
The modern-day use of coquette indicates an aesthetic based on a “2020’s fashion trend that combines sweet, romantic, and playful elements to create a prim, hyper-feminine look. It features lace, pearls, bows, pastel colors, ballet flats, corsets, puff sleeves, and gold jewelry.” Once I read that, I knew this was speaking to me on one of those planes of kismet and destiny, where something that has been inside of me all along suddenly finds expression and fruition in some parallel movement of pop culture and fashion trends. It feels good to belong to something again. And it feels good to welcome a new summer.
My niece Emi and my friend Missy’s son Cameron helped me finalize the concept for our summer theme, and here, as best as my old eyes and brain can figure, is how we are defining ‘coquette’ for the moment, and for the whole of this summer:
Coquette is pink gingham, not red and white plaid or purple damask.
Coquette is a pair of freshly-plucked cherries, perhaps with a withered leaf still attached, not those obnoxious day-glo maraschino monstrosities you find on sundaes.
Coquette is blush or bashful pink, not hot pink or magenta.
Coquette is refined ease and elegance, not forced formality or fortitude.
Coquette is effortless, not plodding.
Coquette is late spring and early summer, not fall or winter.
Finally, coquette is now, not later.
For our musical inspiration, the coquette theme is all Lana Del Rey and Laufey, with a few others sprinkled in to lend whimsy and a dreamlike quality to the rest of the sunny season. (Playlist to come in the next post.) Here, then, is Laufey with the lovely ‘Bewitched’ – a song which perfectly encapsulates the innocent longing that personifies the heart of today’s coquette.
You bewitched me From the first time that you kissed me Waited all night Then we ran down the street in the late London light The world froze around us, you kissed me good night
You bewitch me Every damn second you’re with me I try to think straight But I’m falling so badly, I’m coming apart You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart And bewitched me Bewitched me
You’re not even gone I already miss you What’s going on? I’ve never been through This all-consuming fire fuming Cursing at the moon and losing all control and crying ‘Cause I think I’m falling
Perhaps above all else, coquette is escapism and fantasy and a whimsical refusal of the rotten things this life can throw at us. That may be why it’s speaking to me so profoundly at this particular time, for this particular summer. After last year, I feel a little emotionally shell-shocked with the advance of the summer season, and I’ve noticed a little apprehension, which is to be expected. As such, I’m wading slowly and gently into the warmer waters, testing things out and allowing myself to continue grieving as the sadness comes. An underlying sentiment of melancholy informs much of our coquette music as well – proof that romance doesn’t heal all wounds, that love can be as eternal as it is painful – and what heartbreaking beauty comes from the pain of love. This summer, let us have our coquette moments, and let them transport us to a place of stilled prettiness, suspended softness, and delicate wistfulness.
You bewitch me Every damn second you’re with me I try to think straight But I’m falling so badly, I’m coming apart You wrote me a note, cast a spell on my heart And bewitched me Bewitched
His recent commencement speech at Brandeis University was so powerful it needs to be seen and heard around the country – especially if we are to keep democracy alive in this country. This is Ken Burns – keeper of a storytelling tradition that helps us better understand ourselves, grounded with a compassion and acceptance of difference that encompasses the very best way of looking at the world. He earns his first Dazzler of the Day for a career of life-affirming work. Check out his website here for more upcoming brilliance.
Were it not for the bank of peachy-pink clouds hanging below it, the moon in these photos might have been lost in its translucent beauty here. But the clouds showed me the way, drawing my eyes upward to find the moon, which at the time these pictures were taken was very near its fullest stage, very much evidenced by the wackiness of last week.
It was a magical view, fitting for this final day of May – the month of magic and enchantment, perhaps more than any other. Wistfully, I watch it move into the past tense, as June knocks at the front door. This is when I wish the days would slow. Instead, they bound headlong into the summer ahead, not wanting to slow or pause, not wanting to wait.
Come along for the ride into a new summer season, as we reveal a new summer theme tomorrow…
The self-proclaimed “friendly queer Jew with very long nails”, Matt Bernstein has amassed a formidable social media presence and popularity that shows no signs of diminishing. Earning this virgin Dazzler of the Day, Bernstein has become a champion for marginalized communities, while never lacking in style and pizzazz – all of which is the perfect recipe to dazzle. Check out their Insta here and their YouTube channel here.
