The burning of wishes upon every seasonal solstice is a tradition that Andy taught me when we first met, and one which we have faithfully performed with each passing season. No matter where I find myself, I find the time and place to burn the little list of wishes that we send into the universe for safekeeping, hopefully to be made manifest through our own exertions or the happy happenstance of what may come. (One of the more difficult moments was when I was in Boston for the turn into fall, and I had to lean out the bathroom window and burn my list on the fire escape. It worked out. The universe accepts our wishes no matter how they are delivered.)
This year was slightly different as well, as I was up before first light to greet the first day of fall. With my work schedule, I’ve rediscovered my early morning window, and as the sun reluctantly began to light up the sky, I brought a flame to the corner of my wishes and watched them burn in a clay catch-pot. The smoke hung in the humid air, the smell of fall and coziness and cold days to come mingling with the sweet remnants of summer from the already-faded blooms of the angel’s trumpet. Sky brightening, the morning woke to the agitated chirping of a chipmunk. Not everything was still asleep.
We lucked out this year as far as the pool goes. We had lots of sunny and warm days in which to make ample use of its calming properties. In fact, we kept things going right up until the very end of September. Most everyone else we knew had shut down their pools before the last few days of 80 degree weather hit. Sometimes it pays to procrastinate. (Not usually, but this Virgo will take it once in a while.)
As for the last days of a warm pool in the cool season, they can be remarkably dramatic, as the water release its heat in steamy fashion, rising into the atmosphere like the beginning of some science fiction nightmare. On one such afternoon, I captured the effect as the sun was setting behind our banana and dogwood trees.
As of this writing, Andy has won the last swim of the season, bravely jumping in after mowing the lawn. The water was warm, he said, but getting out was a chilly endeavor. He rushed by me just as I was writing this post.
If you look closely enough, you might see the flared nostrils of the Tyrannosaurus rex just poking through the foliage, and the voice of Richard Attenborough invoking that legendary greeting, ‘Welcome… to Jurassic Park.’ Cue John Williams and indulge me as the imagination runs wild. (Play the video below and I dare you not to laugh.)
After this double-whammy of a recap, it feels like a bit of a cop-out to put up another linky post, but fuck it, a cop-out it shall be. It’s the end of September as I write this, and the sun is shining and the breeze is on the warm side, and I will be damned if I stay inside a moment longer typing on this lap-top. Seize the day! Seize the sun! Seize the links of some of the Octobers that came before!
This post will be doing multiple-duties since we didn’t have a recap last week – summarizing the final days of summer, the arrival of fall, and everything else that’s happened in the last two weeks. Let’s get right to it so you can check out what you may have missed in the maelstrom:
As soon as summer ended, we went immediately into our fall season, starting off with a seven part series on my state career thus far. That’s never been something I’ve written about much in these parts, but I was feeling nostalgic, and with all the back-to-school stuff it felt like a fitting time for those of us in the workforce, especially other government workers. Check out all the stories below:
A pile of leaves burns and releases its smoke into the fall air. Crisp bite of mid-morning, sharp sliver of sunlight, and whispers of witches ride on the night wind. Cast a spell of autumnal enchantment…
At approximately 4:36 AM, September 25, 2019, I entered old age.
Because at that time, I woke up without an alarm, tossed and turned for a few minutes, then got up because I could not get back to sleep. I am officially old.
It took a while to process. In my head, I’ve been an old man since I was ten, so I’m not really bothered by it. I also think our ageist society has to stop using terms like ‘old man’ in a derogatory way. My celebration of shifting into the second half of my life begins now, and I intend to make it just as crazy and fun as the first – if not more-so. (Second acts are supposed to be better, according to some.) And if it means I’m going to be up with a few hours to populate, you may be getting more posts with more content (witness the heft of that ‘Confessions of a State Worker‘ series – not saying it was supremely exciting, but it was well-documented!)
As for this particular morning, the world is cloistered in darkness. A bouquet of Northern sea oats sits upright, intentionally drying and arching its elegant stems. Another bouquet of roses sits wilted, unintentionally drying because I’ve been too lazy to throw it out. Two small vases, each filled with a faded fern, are further evidence of neglect. These are things I never would have revealed during the light of day. It’s easy to be confessional at this early hour. Maybe that is the path this blog will begin to take. It’s not all fun and games. It’s not all prettiness and perfection, I can more than vouch for a multitude of mistakes. Too often I try to paint things as pretty when the reality is a little less lovely.
Fall carries its mysteries like smoke on the wind. As predictable as where the oak leaf falls on an especially blustery day, it proves eternally elusive and impossible to pin down. The forest of fall holds these enchantments in a tantalizingly veiled fashion. Shrouded in fog, brittle of path, it winds its way like the haphazard pattern of ancient gnarled roots – turning here and twisting there in dizzying, chaotic form. You do not want to get lost in the forest.
These were the thoughts that swirled around in the over-active imagination of my younger self. On a sunny fall afternoon, I was lying on the dark green carpet of the living room and idly deciding what to do next. An hour in the life of a child is endless; to bend time so successfully is one of the few spells all children can master.
The living room of my childhood home was lined with built-in bookshelves. They stretched from floor to ceiling, and some of the books had been left by the family who lived there before my father bought the house. A few were signed (by the owner, not the writers) and dated from the 1920’s. The older books were the most fascinating to me, the way they creaked open, their smell of dust and deteriorating paper; it was the scent of sepia- my first lesson in how colors could have scents simply by association.
There were other books, added by my family – Bibles for children and adults, ‘The Adventures of Olga da Polga’ (a guinea pig), the colorful Childcraft series, and a gloriously-gilt-bound set of encyclopedias. I was entranced by the latter’s gold-edged leaves, and the way they only shone such prettiness when packed tightly together. There were stranger book titles that meant nothing to me at such a young age – ‘The Bastard’ for instance – which my brother and I would occasionally call each other because we knew it was bad. There was another book, whose title escapes me because I’m sure some forgetful curse was cast so I wouldn’t and couldn’t repeat what I learned there, and it was the most enchanting of them all. It was a book of witch spells and enchantments, artfully rendered with some fantastical old-world font, with pages that had ripened to weathered shades of beige and brown. I don’t even remember what the spells were for, nor the ingredients required, I just recall the feeling of possibility it stirred – the blossoming of an imagination that would help me survive the terrifying realities of being a child.
I wanted to work in such magic, to possess powers that made me special, that made me into something more. Inhabiting the realm of imagination, I went into the kitchen and concocted my own magic potion – rosemary, parsley, pepper, paprika – anything that looked interesting. I couldn’t put into words what I wanted to happen. Transformation of some sort, I suppose. Into a bowl I added water to the spice mixture, and then a bit of soap. I expected it to start smoking at every new addition, and of course that never happened. Even when I did get a reaction, such as when I finally learned about mixing vinegar and baking soda, the thrill of it all was fleeting, momentary. It didn’t deliver on the promised magic in my head.
What would these spells grant me? What spells might I cast if I learned these secret ways? Opening the door to my imagination, I entered a world where all was safety and beauty and brilliance and magic. Charms of protections hung on every door, before and after entrance, and a wave of burning stick of sage drove off dangerous spirits.
In the kitchen sink, beneath the fluorescent light of dim reality, my sad potion sat, giving off a depressing odor of spices run amok in the dishwasher. I swirled it around with a wooden spoon then washed it down the drain. There was no magic here. I turned my attention to the world beyond the windows.
Outside, the day was warm and the land was dry. Leaves of oak and maple had started to fall and wide swaths of acorns thrown haphazardly by mischievous squirrels spread out from where the lawn met the uncultivated part of our backyard. Back then I was more comfortable in the forest than possibly anywhere else. I knew by heart the paths, worn mostly by me, that led down the bank behind our house – which one would take me to the large rock that jutted out from the incline and acted like a little cliff and which one would take me down to the murky little valley that held high stands of Japanese knotweed and daylilies. I knew that the best way to blend in was not to be outfitted in camouflage and netting, but to simply be still and quiet. Creatures of the forest detect sound and movement more than color or form. If you sit still long enough the chipmunks and squirrels will walk right by you, as if you were a cemetery statue, patience and stillness being its own invisibility charm.
Spending the after-school afternoon hours in the forest was the best antidote for anything bad that may have happened during the day. There was a calm like no other as I made my way from the sunny exposed expanse of our lawn into the filtered light of the woods. This was a different sort of home, furnished with carpets of moss and beds of leaves, stools fit for toads and canopies of silk for spiders. The enchantment I so wanted to conjure from a book of spells was suddenly all around me, and as brightly-colored leaves fell from the sky like so many canaries and goldfinches, I felt the magic of fall descend in one fiery, breathtaking motion.
This song plays mournfully, then feverishly, in the background.
I bought the CD based on its cover – a colorful, abstract night-time scene of a starry sky, hung with a moon, and up close a black cat. Slightly surreal, slightly serene, it is a lonely slice of whimsy. That appeals to me, despite the fact that I know better. Not unlike a book, a CD’s cover art should never be the basis for purchase. I took a chance, and in one slow and simple chord progression it all sounded worth it.
Since that time, this song has embodied the fall for me, starting out in such peaceful and sublime style, then dotted with bits of storm and flux, unstable systems and restless time signatures before reverting and resolving in relief and exhaustion, an echo of its opening beauty.
Fall whispers its sinister secrets into an unhearing ear.
I laugh because I don’t know what else to do.
Laughter and a smile the ultimate mask – a layer of protection against those spirits that sense sadness and take up residence there. September was coming soon and now it’s almost gone. All that we have left is the moon. And a vision of a starry night.
For those who need a break from the long-winded tale of my state career, I offer this post before we continue on that dull journey. This is my new friend. I’m not sure it’s who I think it is, but the story is happier that way, and means a little more, so if we have to pretend and make-believe a bit, I’m all for it. A stretch of the imagination keeps it sharp.
A couple of days before summer ended, we had a nice stretch of sunny days and warmer weather. Our doors were opening and closing all the time, and one of us must have let a dragonfly into the house, because as Andy was pulling out of the driveway to get groceries, one of these magnificent creatures swooped into the kitchen where I was working and scared the shit out of me. It wasn’t because I was scared of dragonflies – quit the contrary: I admire them and feel rather warmly toward them, the way I do with bumblebees and butterflies. Still, having one in your house is a different matter entirely, and as it flew around the kitchen lights, I wondered how on earth I was going to capture and release it. They are notoriously quick, racing around the pool with lightning-fast turns and stunning aerial maneuvers. Andy wouldn’t be back for a while, so I kept my eye on the fluttering creature and surreptitiously grabbed a clear plastic pitcher.
I was just testing to see how high I could reach, lifting the pitcher up toward the ceiling, and as I did so it must have caught the light, as the dragonfly fluttered right into it, settling on the bottom. I hadn’t even had time to grab something to cover it, but it stayed there on the bottom, gently flapping its wings but not going anywhere. Grabbing a plate, I quickly managed to cover it, peering at its magnificent form and gently reassuring it that I was about to set it free. Hey, who knows what our insects can hear – certain more than us I’m sure. It was smaller than most of the dragonflies one sees, and dull of color compared to the peacock-like rainbow others exhibit. I brought it into the backyard, took off the plate, and poured it into the night sky where it promptly took flight. I didn’t think much of it until the last day of summer.
Swimming for what was likely the last time this year, I watched as bees and butterflies floated above the last of the seven sons flowers. At the end of the cup plant’s stems, long gone to seed, a chipmunk rustled and swayed on its precarious perch. Such daring! Such cheek! Such an easy target for a hawk!
And then, as I made my way from the deep end to the shallow, a dragonfly darted by, then returned, as if playing in some anthropomorphic way. I thought back to the one I had brought out from the house. This one alighted first on the weeping larch. At first I just stood in the shallow end, taking in the moment of beauty and watching the creature as it sunned itself in the heat. It didn’t move so I pull myself out of the water and found my phone to snap a photo. It moved, but not far – landing on the nearby fig tree, where it posed for these pictures, as if thanking me for something, or simply acknowledging my peaceful presence, knowing I would not hurt it.
I’m too cynical to believe it was the same dragonfly I had rescued a few days before, but it did look similar – dull in color, smaller than most of the dragonflies one sees in the summer – and I want to believe it is.
I’m in the sky where I oughta be at, I’ve been watching you Rocket ship takin’ off in that, now I’m onto you Mouth closed, I don’t want your opinion, who you talkin’ to? Stand out, no, I don’t wanna blend in, why you want me to?
For our final summer recap entry, the soundtrack falls fittingly to Madonna, who informed the entire season with her magnificent ‘Madame X’ opus, and this lovingly sets the stage for her new tour and a fall full of giddy excitement. I am ready to put the garden, and the season of summer, to slumber. We’ll do it again next year. Until then, one last glimpse at all the summer that this September could contain…
I’ve been disrobing on this site since 2003, and it finally got a little tiresome for me. But after much clamoring by all of two or three people, I took the Speedo off for one more cheeky peek. (And made it interesting for myself by including quotes from a favorite read.)
They say be all I can be
And all I want is peace, peace, peace, peace, peace, peace
See the world, haven’t seen it all
I wanna see it, see it, see it, see it, see its dreams
I can’t react how you thought I’d react, I would never for you
Front line, I won’t stand in the back, ’cause you want me to
Mouth closed, I don’t want your opinion, who you talkin’ to?
Stand out, no, I don’t wanna blend in, why you want me to?
And now, the arrival of fall has been set, its tapestry of autumnal hues has been woven – all that’s left to do is greet it with a warm embrace. We will see each other through the wilderness.
Come alive, come alive
Come alive, come alive
Dream’s real, it’s alive
Come alive, come on
Come alive, come alive
Come alive, come alive…
“New York is strange in the summer. Life goes on as usual but it’s not, it’s like everyone is just pretending, as if everyone has been cast as the star in a movie about their life, so they’re one step removed from it. And then in September it all gets normal again.” ~ Peter Cameron
“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.” – Sylvia Plath
ONCE UPON A TIME
ONCE WHEN YOU WERE MINE
I REMEMBER SKIES
REFLECTED IN YOUR EYES
I WONDER WHERE YOU ARE
I WONDER IF YOU THINK ABOUT ME
ONCE UPON A TIME
IN YOUR WILDEST DREAMS…
ONCE THE WORLD WAS NEW
OUR BODIES FELT THE MORNING DEW
THAT GREETS THE BRAND NEW DAY
WE COULDN’T TEAR OURSELVES AWAY
I WONDER IF YOU CARE
I WONDER IF YOU STILL REMEMBER
ONCE UPON A TIME
IN YOUR WILDEST DREAMS
ONCE BENEATH THE STARS
THE UNIVERSE WAS OURS
LOVE WAS ALL WE KNEW
AND ALL I KNEW WAS YOU
I WONDER IF YOU KNOW
I WONDER IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT
ONCE UPON A TIME
IN YOUR WILDEST DREAMS
“Every year, the bright Scandinavian summer nights fade without anyone’s noticing. One evening in August you have an errand outdoors, and all of a sudden it’s pitch-black. It is still summer, but the summer is no longer alive.” ~ Tove Jansson
“All in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer – one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going – one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.” ~ L.M. Montgomery
Though it happened in June, the story of this summer’s return to Connecticut takes place on the blog in July, with this post, and this post.
Summer is not so much a set frame of time as it is a mood and a mode of existence.
If we can keep that in mind, if we can keep that in heart, then this summer need not end.
That said, this is technically the last weekend of Summer Proper, and so we begin our look back at the summer that was 2019. For the purposes of these posts, summer will constitute everything from early June through today, because there are some late spring days that are just too good not to reference and remember. It was a good summer, for the most part, and that can’t always be said. For this first entry in our adventures, a pair of songs in which Swae Lee plays the common denominator to set the musical scene: ‘Sunflower’ and ‘Crave’ – both of which evoke the occasionally-ambivalent mood of the beautiful lazy season.
Oh gorgeous June, with all your peonies and roses and perfumed blossoms, in so many ways you are the best bit of summer: the very beginning. All hope and promise and an entire season laid out beautifully before us. This one began in glorious form with a couple of trips to Boston, starting with this sunny jaunt with Kira. Resplendent in that yellow dress, she and I tore up the town and started the season off on a bright note.
The Mac-Haydn Theater provided a musical refuge for the hotter days and nights to come, with performances of ‘Curtains’ and ‘Sunset Boulevard‘ to whet the appetite for a full season.
The last weekly recap of the summer (not to worry, an extra-linky four-part summer recap will finish off the season in proper form come next weekend) this one gets kicked off by a fine group of finely shirtless male celebrities.
“When summer gathers up her robes of glory, and, like a dream, glides away.” ~ Sarah Helen Whitman
Our end-of-summer recap posts will go up next weekend, but for now a little sneak preview cloaked in shadow and distorted by glass and reflection. Like the watery haze of a chlorinated pool, or a sun so bright it adds an impossible sheen to everything beneath its glory, summer is a heady mix of the seen and the unseen. The world grows bigger and brighter and greener before our eyes, the pace seems simultaneously quick and languid, and the air feels heavy and light all at once.
The bulk of September, lest anyone forget, is still summer. I always lost sight of that when returning to Brandeis at the end of August. I would prepare for sweater weather and cold nights, and always regret that I didn’t bring more short-sleeved shirts for un-air-conditioned dorm rooms and stuffy T rides. We are so quick to let summer go.
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.” ~ John Lubbock
This year I’m making the most of it until the very end, holding onto every last ray of sunlight, basking in every day we inch back up toward the 80’s. Summer has been kind to us. It isn’t always, so I offer gratitude and thankfulness as we near its end.
“I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.” ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay
