A song for a blue night, when the moon winks at you from behind a bank of clouds. In this glorious spring section when the danger of frost has mostly passed, when we can finally relax a little when it comes to the lingering question of whether winter might reach back and clobber us once more. I think we can let that guard down for another year. Let us find resolution in this lovely little song.

Spring nights can make for the most magical nights, when the wind is right and the moon is light. All promise rests on the hope of a warm breeze – it is the promise of summer, peeking around these clouds like the moon…

There is safety and protection in the way I’ve designed this blog to work. Pre-populated and scheduled posts allow me to do a week’s worth of blog posts in a few hours, then simply hit-and-run on my social media outlets when they go live. It gives the appearance of constant and consistent self-promotion, of an ongoing presence, even when I’m not here. More importantly, it lends distance to my posts, and distance lends enchantment…

Distance also gives a rosier outlook when I don’t feel like writing, when I don’t feel like doing anything. That gives this place a slightly skewed slant, try as might to be brutally honest, a skewed view that gleams and sparkles when my soul doesn’t feel like shining. So you won’t always know when I’m actually hurting, or when I’m actually bothered, or when I’m actually feeling anything. It’s safer for the soul that way, and that’s why I make it look easy. 

That’s also why I respect those of you who do it all without complaint, why I honor your work, and your willingness to take it all on in silent and stoic fashion. 

Think of the swan, gliding so gracefully upon the water, and then think of all the movement that goes on beneath the surface. Swans must be ferocious and fierce to feign such fabulousness. 

More hints of a quiet summer to come, this is a color that looks to feature prominently, and I’ve already given away too much so that will be all I can say on it other than listen to Lana, listen to Laufey, eat your macarons, and watch ‘Marie Antoinette‘. It’s not that deep, it’s not that serious, and that’s the way summer should be. 

The latest trailer is out for the first of the ‘Wicked’ movies, and it further establishes the potential of what this could be. This one brings out a bit more of Galinda’s performance, and while I’m not the biggest Ariana Grande fan, she seems to be impressively slipping into the pink witch’s magic. 

“The real thing about evil,” said the Witch at the doorway, “isn’t any of what you said. You figure out one side of it – the human side, say – and the eternal side goes into shadow. Or vice versa. It’s like the old saw: What does a dragon in its shell look like? Well no one can ever tell, for as soon as you break the shell to see, the dragon is no longer in its shell. The real disaster of this inquiry is that it is the nature of evil to be secret.” ~ Gregory Maguire

Following my own foolish pontification is not something I usually do. It’s fine to fill this space with empty words when I’m looking for filler, and my friends who know my voice know when my heart’s not in it. Just kidding – my friends don’t even visit this place, and if they do they certainly don’t admit it. There would be too much guilt associated with such displeasure. I’m digressing… which happens more often the older I get. A concern upon many concerns. 

Back to the pool, which Andy had heated as an early treat, to capture one of those elusive sunny days that dared to climb into the 70’s and flirt with the 80’s. Every day counts when summer can be so fleeting. Andy had already been in once, and after a few days of him encouraging me to take the first dip of the season, I gave in – because when you have a chance to swim beneath a blooming cherry tree, you should always do it – especially if the day is beautiful. 

So in I went, after a day of work and worry, wading into the water for the first time this season, in quiet and unheralded fashion, the way the months have passed since last summer, the way they will pass through this summer. Some years are quiet like that.

PS – The featured GIF is not the product of any filter or special effects – it’s the magical reflection of the sun bouncing off the pool water and lending its traveling, mottled light to the cherry blossoms. 

The post title here may be slightly misleading, as it’s not so much about boffo-content than it is about it falling the day after Mother’s Day. So let the let-down ensue – it’s what we do best! On the bright side, there is this featured pic of fun at Proctor’s with Mom, Suzie and Andy – on the night we saw ‘Six’ (a must-see). And now, on with the weekly recap, as getting this past rollercoaster of a week over is probably the best for all involved.

Jim Verraros released a follow-up to his international smash ‘Take My Bow’, tantalizingly entitled ‘Pyramid’. 

The Met Gala had a very promising and inspirational theme, but the participants and their outfits fell slightly flat (and maybe I’m just bitter for never having been invited). 

We celebrated an unremarkably remarkable 14th wedding anniversary a little early in Boston. Fourteen years into married life, and almost twenty-four together, there is still joy and surprises to be found. 

Remember me when the lilacs bloom.

A cherry blooming evening.

When a non-weeping cherry tree weeps.

A pool of pink petals.

Evolving into the Carnal Flower. 

Happy Mother’s Day.

Ladies & Gentlemen & All Those Who Have Yet to Make Up Their Mind: Presenting Lilacs. 

Another hint of pink.

Dazzlers of the Day included Gleb Savchenko and Grace Jones.

“They evoke our interests and affections, and keep the life of the spirit dawdling around them. Then they withdraw. When physical passion is involved, there is a definite name for such behavior – flirting – and if carried far enough, it is punishable by law. But no law – not public opinion, even – punishes those who coquette with friendship, though the dull ache that they inflict, the sense of misdirected effort and exhaustion, may be as intolerable. Was she one of these?“
– E.M. Forster