Most of the people I know who suffer from FOMO on a regular basis are mostly miserable. Rather than face it and address it head-on, they’ll do anything and everything to distract and pretend it’s all good. I get tired just watching them.
An Olympic superstar, Michael Phelps helps continue the fanfare for this summer’s Olympic Games in Paris, France. Phelps is no stranger to the five rings, holding the record of the most decorated Olympian in history (28 medals). More recently he’s been speaking out on mental health, something that may prove just as compelling and important for those in need of support. He earns his first Dazzler of the Day for his legacy and his efforts to keep making a difference. (And his previous penchant for going naked doesn’t hurt.)
The scent of carved wood seeps out when the air reaches the right temperature and level of humidity in the Victorian entryway of the house where we spent my childhood Fourth of July celebrations. In a large vase, a sumptuously-full bouquet of garden flowers taken at the height of their glory sprawled out from their perch. The majesty was mostly made up of a gorgeous collection of delphinium blooms – the kind that Lee Bailey once decried as too finicky and difficult to grow in his Bridgehampton gardens.
It was one of the first times I’d see their legendary blue blossoms up close, and I wasn’t supposed to dwell very long in that deserted entry way. The party was outside, in the massive side yard where we had to play softball, and along the driveway, where enormous tires of ice held all sorts of Adirondack sodas. Typical Fourth of July trappings in upstate New York, filled with beer-swigging adults, rowdy kids, and the sort of crowd I wanted mostly to simply avoid. And so I took my time in the ruse of seeking a bathroom, and here is where I found that bouquet, and the magnificence of the delphinium.
Back outside, in the heat and sun of the day, I followed the driveway deeper into the yard, and away from the crowd. I reached its end and continued on into the lawn, extending down to the back of the property, where voices grew dim and muffled, and the quiet that I always craved came back in temporary relief. A secluded row of gardens revealed itself behind a wall of hedge, and I found the source of the flower vase filled with delphiniums. There were only a few secondary blooms left behind, but they were just as beautiful, perhaps more-so with the imperfect zigging and zagging of the awkwardly-angled stems that didn’t make the show.
Too few flowers give us the blue of the sky. Maybe the sky is enough for all the varieties of blue it wears. Maybe the flowers wanted to fill different voids, shine in different ways. In this secluded, secret garden, I waited out a bit of the party, happier in the quiet company of the unchosen delphiniums.
And when you go away I still see you The sunlight on your face in my rearview This always happens to me this way Recurring visions of such sweet days
Hurled into the clouds, they suddenly dissipate. There is only light there, and color, a feeling more than anything else.
And when you go away I still see you The sunlight on your face in my rearview When you go away I still see you The sunlight on your face in my rearview
Summer ambivalence, coming so early in the season, sets a dramatic sky into motion. The obfuscation of a blog post to cover my emotional tracks. Ghosts of last summer linger and tap my shoulder. The hurt still haunts. I shall endeavor to escape into the sky.
A ferocious weekend with a full moon and threats of tornados finished up last night – capping a week that ushered in the summer season amid soaring temps in the 90’s, a colonoscopy, and a tumultuous storm system that wreaked havoc no matter where I went. And with that run-on sentence, let’s streak unabashedly into summer with the weekly recap.
Queasy summer shower, steam off the pavement, evening coming on too quickly no matter how late the light lasts. A preponderance of pink in the night, a song by Mitski to accompany the mood, a fan of pink feathers to wave away the heat. Coquette summers are all about the exquisite ache, the untethered longing, the there-but-not-there emptiness of loss. Summer gains darkness as the years go by, so we need a little pink glow to get us through the night.
I glow pink in the night in my room I’ve been blossoming alone over you And I hear my heart breaking tonight I hear my heart breaking tonight Do you hear it too? It’s like a summer shower With every drop of rain singing “I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you”
Sigh of decadent dismissal, smile of weak and shaky form, movements of languid timidity. Sentences broken into pieces of phrase, words cut and shattered, grammar torn. Cruel, abrupt, clipped summer. Evocation and adoration too. Summer carves out its space, removing its heart.
I could stare at your back all day I could stare at your back all day And I know I’ve kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right Can I try again, try again, try again Try again, and again, and again And again, and again, and again
I don’t speak French, but anyone can translate anything on the interwebs, and it appears this song is a summery seaside tale of looking back on summer days by the sea gone by. It’s a bit early for that sort of melancholy take on the season, but such is the space of a coquette summer. And one can’t go very wrong with a song by Brigitte Bardot playing by the pool.
Sur la plage abandonnée Coquillages et crustacés Qui l’eût cru! Déplorent la perte de l’été Qui depuis s’en est allé On a rangé les vacances Dans des valises en carton Et c’est triste quand on pense à la saison Du soleil et des chansons
Pourtant je sais bien l’année prochaine Tout refleurira, nous reviendrons Mais en attendant je suis en peine De quitter la mer et ma maison
Le mistral va s’habituer À courir sans les voiliers Et c’est dans ma chevelure ébouriffée Qu’il va le plus me manquer Le soleil mon grand copain Ne me brûlera que de loin Croyant que nous sommes ensemble un peu fâchés D’être tous deux séparés
The mesmerizing spell of summer transcends the boundaries of language. It works its magic through melody and sound, atmosphere and environment, sun and water. A bit of escapism is welcome here. Slowly, I’m finding my way back into the pool after largely avoiding it last year. I sink underwater and listen to that quiet again. A bit of a French bop, some coquettish decadence, and the indulgence of a pool day conspire to captivate the senses. Somehow, in their distracting magic, they remind me to inhabit the moment, to enjoy what is at hand rather than worrying about the past or the future. Only and all of which we can be certain is now – this moment.
Le train m’emmènera vers l’automne Retrouver la ville sous la pluie Mon chagrin ne sera pour personne Je le garderai comme un ami
Mais aux premiers jours d’été Tous les ennuis oubliés Nous reviendrons faire la fête aux crustacés De la plage ensoleillée De la plage ensoleillée De la plage ensoleillée
We are also due for a new Madonna Timeline, which I’ve been doing for well over a decade; somehow we’re still not through her entire song catalog, which is further evidence of her musical history. Let’s highlight a few classics:
The forecast calls for a mixed-bag of weekend weather – rain has a decent chance of falling – and a summer weekend of rain makes for a very sad weekend indeed. Another coquette summer song then – ‘The Conflict of the Mind’ – to give atmosphere to this conflicted moment. It’s part of an upcoming Coquette Summer Playlist – the second installment, on the way in a little over a week.
It’s a complicated story That we never talk about But I see it in the mirrors In the curtains of our house I don’t want you to be worried That we’re running out of time It doesn’t matter where we’re going We can leave it all behind
Only when I see you cry I feel conflicted in my mind It fills my heart up and it breaks me at the very same time When you open up the gates for me And leave the world behind We find proof of love is hidden In the conflict of the mind
I remember how I’d find you Fingers tearing through the ground Were you digging something up Or did you bury something down? In your soul, I found a thirst With only salt inside your cup In your eyes, I saw a longing While I longed to lift you up
Whoa – the lyrics went a little deeper than I realized when I first put this song on the playlist. At first it was all about the gentle mood of the music, the atmosphere it conjured – but reading through these words make it all cut a little deeper. I suppose that’s the real province of summer: crux and conflict – the crossed and the conflicted. The search for summer solace.
Only when I see you cry I feel conflicted in my mind It fills my heart up and it breaks me at the very same time When you open up the gates for me And leave the world behind We find proof of love is hidden In the conflict of the mind
Let us seek out that solace in beauty and grace, in mindfulness and meditation. Let us find it in the garden, in a book, in a lazy day by the pool – all simple pleasures, all at hand sooner or later in the season of summer. Even in the rain there is joy to be found – maybe it’s in the break and pause the rainfall provides, when it’s impossible to work outside or go for a swim. Little joys. Little bits of balm. Little pieces of solace.
Don’t let your spirit die This is just a conflict of the mind (conflict of the mind) Is your heart alive? (Is your heart alive?) You’ll overcome a conflict of the mind (conflict of the mind) Don’t let your spirit die (love is, let your spirit die) This is just a conflict of the mind (love is, conflict of the mind) Is your heart alive? (Love, is your heart alive?) You’ll overcome a conflict of the mind (conflict of the mind) Don’t let your spirit die (love is, let your spirit die) This is just a conflict of the mind (love is you, conflict of the mind) Is your heart alive? (Love, is your heart alive?) You’ll overcome a conflict of the mind (love is you)
Love is you Love is you Love is, love, love Love is you Love
Five decades of any career is impressive – five decades of a career in show business is the stuff of legend, and such is the stuff of Holland Taylor, who is crowned Dazzler of the Day. Many, many years ago, I was at a party thrown for Lee Bailey that Holland was attending, but I was much too shy to say anything to her. Maybe it was her indelible scene-stealing turn in ‘Legally Blonde‘ that lent her such an wonderfully-intimidating slant, or the weight of her sparkling career glowing around her like a legacy. Whatever the reason, I’ve always been a fan, and today she is our Dazzler.
It may be summer, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t storms, or darkness. Sometimes the darkness in summer is deeper than it is in winter. All the tree leaves lend shadows upon shadows, darkness piled on more darkness. In winter the branches are bare, the moonlight can sift through, and the snow and ice reflects any light that might remain. Summer plunges all of that into blackness.
I kinda hate you Kinda love you Kinda wish I was you Wanna kiss you Can’t resist you
That underlying melancholy runs through this outwardly pink and perfect little song by Alex Sloane. The lyrics and images start off innocuously enough – all whimsical, airy fluff, all romantic overtures and posturing – and then it veers a bit darker, the way summer sometimes suddenly turns on a storm.
I hate my body I want yours I hate my skin I hate my flaws I hate my body I want yours I hate my brain I hate these thoughts
I kinda hate you Kinda love you Kinda wish I was you Wanna kiss you Can’t resist you (I think I’m loving it!)
The summer storm often feels more punishing because it seems at odds with the notion of the sunny season. It stings a bit more coming in the midst of all that was supposed to be lovely. Like the fall of these little petunias – so bright and cheery and seemingly invincible, yet how quickly they shrivel and go to pieces under the briefest of thunderstorms, their blooms limp and lifeless, never to return to what they once were. How strange and sad, all these little deaths, replaced immediately by other blooms where forgotten ones once shone.
Summer angst, summer melancholy, and a little bit of summer madness. All part of the glorious package that makes up a coquette summer. It’s only the second day in… who can say what the rest of the summer will bring? The push and pull of this song personifies the moment – a moment that feels torn… fraught. Like the rain…
I hate my body I want yours I hate my skin I hate my flaws I hate my body I want yours I hate my brain I hate this song
I kinda hate you Kinda love you Kinda wish I was you Wanna kiss you Can’t resist you (I think I’m loving it!)
Heavenly. And that puts us in the mind-frame of a song – a song that fits snugly into our coquette theme with its dreamy stylings and lush melody.
“Coquettes are, but too rare. It is a career that requires great abilities, infinite pains, a gay and airy spirit. ‘Tis the coquette who provides all the amusements – suggests the riding-party, plans the picnic, gives and guesses charades, acts them. She is the stirring element amid the heavy congeries of social atoms – the soul of the house, the salt of the banquet.” – Benjamin Disraeli
Wanting your love to come into me Feeling it slow, over this dream Touch me with a kiss, touch me with a kiss
Now you’re above feeling it still Tell me it’s love, tell me it’s real Touch me with a kiss, feel me on your lips
Because this is where I want to be Where it’s so sweet and heavenly
I’m giving you all my, giving you all my Giving you all my love Giving you all my, giving you all my Giving you all my love All my love
Summer so sweet, summer so heavenly. Summer so rife with memories… of Montana, of what must have been love, of getting pantsed and showing off my rear, of pride and guilt, of picking the beans, and of reading the rainbow. Summer is adept at seering certain moments into the memory. They remain embedded more powerfully than what happened yesterday, part of my make-up in a way that other memories can only echo. Summer makes for forever.
Needing you now to come into me Feeling it slow, over this dream Touch me with a kiss, feel me on your lips
When you’re above feeling it still Tell me it’s love, tell me it’s real Touch me with a kiss, touch me with a kiss
Because this is where I want to be Where it’s so sweet and heavenly
I’m giving you all my, giving you all my Giving you all my love Giving you all my, giving you all my Giving you all my love All my love
And when you’re far away, I still feel it all And when you’re far away, I still feel it all the same
And when you’re far away, far away
Summer brings us back to childhood in the best possible way, burning away sadness and angst with a rose-tinted flame that gives light to all that was dark. For that reason alone, let us have summer, and let it burn brilliantly into our memory banks – with fire, with heat, with love…
I’m giving you all my, giving you all my Giving you all my love Giving you all my, giving you all my Giving you all my love
A sigh, now, at the onset of summer, and perhaps a little PTSD from the last sad summer we had. This one begins in the midst of a mini-heatwave, a proper start to the proceedings, and a reminder of sultry summer days past. Extreme heat does something different to the soul. It suspends things, slowing the world in stultifying fashion, as if it were the only way to survive. It’s summer’s way of warning us not to move too quickly through her beauty. Savoring the days, no matter what they may bring.
Catch him on the run, they Punish those who love young Never right on time
Summer is a collection of myriad moments and moods, some disparate and disconcerting, some wholly fitting and embracingly comforting. It’s a song playing on the rickety old CD player by the pool, it’s a sudden rainstorm that sends the birds scattering, it’s a slumber in the attic for the kids because there is no more school to be had. It’s a road trip on pavement so hot that only the car’s AC will save you, a stand of water irises whose yellow blooms reflect upon still water like the flames of a multitude of candles, a rabbit munching on a patch of grass – a rabbit that you don’t bother to shoo away because you’d rather not be bothered with mowing the lawn.
Watch each other fallin’ Always catch the call and Whistle while we’re walkin’ Something inside me dies
Summer is a party, whatever constitutes a party these days. Gatherings of friends, whose hunger is always fueled by swimming – because nothing seems to fuel hunger more than swimming – are satiated by Andy’s expertise with our new grill, as piles of burgers and hot dogs and grilled vegetables mount on platters and plates carried in by willing children.
You and I Why? Oh, why? And I miss summertime
Summer is flowers and gardens and trees and grass. It winds its way around the heart like a vine that sleeps and creeps and leaps like most vines do. Summer is beautiful and insidious, a poisonous nectar that goes down much too sweetly, without any warning of tartness to hint at its sinister aspects. And it’s all so pretty no one seems to mind or question it.
Keep on rockin’, baby Keep on risin’ on the tide (Somewhere along the rise)
This summer is designed to be dreamy and romantic and coquettish in the most modern manner, giving in to the sumptuous opulence that frilly pink frivolity occasionally aims to achieve. Summer is meant to be silly.
And carefree.
Son of a gun and maybe We’ll be riding all night (Something inside me dies)
Welcome to summer, and welcome to you, my dear friend, for whom I write this and share these photos. Summer is about friendship too, and sharing the days, whether they are sunny or rainy, still or stifling. High school may be over, but we’re still all in this together.
