Category Archives: General

Hello Fall, old nemesis and arch enemy of school-despising children. How have you been? It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it? About 9 months – the time it takes to bring a child into the world. What’s new? You always have something new. So many people think Fall is the beginning of putting things to bed. They’re only right about the beginning.

I’m not sure why we never got along.

Wait, that’s not true.

We both know exactly why we never got along, starting with the school thing. How I dreaded what you signaled, how I loathed the turn of weather, how I hated you for accompanying it all with such flare and bright foliage. You couldn’t help but show off as you were instilling so much fear and worry. And I knew our schoolyard battles weren’t the end of it. You were far too tricky.

You always started out so pretty, with your gently-nodding goldenrod and cornstalk sunsets. You cajoled and cradled, but your heart was hidden, and no one has ever told whether something is there. You seduced with your coziness, with the promise of a fire, the scent of burning leaves… the hope of the hearth, but how insidiously you turn.

You know exactly what you did.

And you did it over and over again.

You made me fall in love.

Looking back, it was just the idea of love that I loved so well, but you made it an obsession. Maybe it was the cruel licks of the first few frosts, the way they made my lungs seize up when I rushed out unaccustomed to the cold. Maybe I just wanted someone to make me warm until I could do it myself. Maybe I wasn’t quite as grown up as I pretended to be. Whatever the reason, I lived for love, and you did your best to keep it ever elusive, ever out of my reach. You let it come close a few times, and you insisted that I did my part. You just never let it be returned.

As September ticked into October, and the days were increasingly marred with storms, you kept the hope dangling before me. Those golden days, when the sun still sparked joy, when you could believe that some shred of summer might linger a little longer than before, were always the cruelest, in retrospect. Or maybe they weren’t. The last full month of your season may hold that distinction.

Even the name ‘November’, with its vicious ‘V’ and the way it begins irrefutably with a declarative ‘No’ – so harsh, so unyielding, so absent of joy… we should know then that it won’t end well.

Oh Fall, ruthless masked marauder, taker and breaker of hearts, why should you be so wicked? Why leave such a trail of wreckage in your wake? Why make me make such a mess? Your indiscriminate nature does nothing to appease the pain. More devastation shall surely follow. We haven’t even begun to approach December, when the holidays might, if they’re being gracious, afford a bit of relief. We hang our hopes on that and plan accordingly.

In the meantime, we hope to find some balm of beauty to ease the sadness of seeing those rotting apples left for dead beneath their trees, the ghoulish melting and eventual molding of a pumpkin massacred for its jack-o-lantern purpose. The crunch of desiccated brown leaves on the sidewalk coupled with the desolate branches of the hands that once carried and cared for them – this is the callous nature of what you are. This is the sorrow that you have reaped.

Origin of andante: 1735- < Italian: literally, walking, present participle of andare to walk, go; etymology disputed, but often alleged: < Vulgar Latin *ambitare, derivative of Latin ambituscircular motion, roundabout journey; perhaps, alternatively, early Latin borrowing < Gaulish *and, akin to Latin pandere to spread (hence, stride); compare passus step, pace (actionnoun *pand-tu-), equivalent to Old Irish footprint, track

TAKE IT EASY WITH ME PLEASE

TOUCH ME GENTLY, LIKE A SUMMER EVENING BREEZE

TAKE YOUR TIME, MAKE IT SLOW

ANDANTE ANDANTE, AND JUST LET THE FEELING GROW…

Andante, Andante indeed. August sped along quicker than I’d like, so I made a determined effort to slow things down. Summer is usually the time when I’ll delve into a literary classic. I still remember the seasons I trudged through ‘David Copperfield’ and ‘Treasure Island’ and ‘Moby Dick’, and after finishing ‘The Summer that Melted Everything‘ and ‘Less’, I started ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’.

Suzie and I made a semi-annual summer pilgrimage to Chatham for a performance of ‘The Wedding Singer’ at the Mac-Haydn Theatre, and Andy and I went back for their production of ‘Annie’. Following the curving roads rife with full green foliage and waving fields of corn always eases the mind.

One of my favorite summer traditions, our annual BroSox Adventure, typically held in early June when the blush is newly on the rose, got scheduled much later in the season, when the rose is all but off the stem and only the prickly reminders remain. Skip and I made another set of riotous memories, from tracking down a possibly-non-existent serial killer, rummaging through garbage, to eating chicken wings and drinking way too much whiskey and gin. That was just the first day and a half. Right before the game started, the sky opened up and demolished a day of high heat and unbearable humidity with a quick downpour. We’d actually cut a couple of walks short because it was so sticky and oppressive, and we sat at Hojoku nursing a Suntory whiskey cocktail while ‘The Wizard of Oz’ played on a screen behind us (last year it was ‘The Karate Kid’).

As if on cue, the rain stopped right before the game began, and as we took our seats a cool breeze blew into Fenway Park. It whispered thrillingly of fall and closed out the evening in a zone of comfort. An excess of fun, accented with moments of contemplation made for a banner Red Sox weekend, and we continued our run as good luck charms, as they handily beat the Rays 5-2.

On the event of turning 43, I have one thing to say: two tears in a bucket, motherfuck it. Andy and I took a day trip to Manchester, Vermont ~ a favorite childhood haunt, where we enjoyed some shopping and a fine dinner (even if the flies refused to let us eat in peace).

By the end of the month, I’d returned to finishing my current project, slated for a late fall release. I’d taken much of the summer off, but when the nights started cooling down, and I figured out that kerosene was a much better way to burn things up than charcoal lighter fluid, I was back on track. Stay tuned for that explosive release in a couple of months…

MAKE YOUR FINGERS SOFT AND LIGHT

LET YOUR BODY BE THE VELVET OF THE NIGHT

TOUCH MY SOUL, YOU KNOW HOW

ANDANTE ANDANTE, GO SLOWLY WITH ME NOW.

We tend to forget how a flaming September is still mostly summer, throwing away all the post-Labor Day moments when we really should be celebrating the season as long as possible. Our Ogunquit trip was an example of this, as we changed things up by waiting until September to go, which is how it went down that very first visit almost twenty years ago.

Mostly though, with Andy’s health issues and my own advancing age (hello 43!) we kept it relatively quiet this summer, and that was ok. When the world goes to shit, and chaos is the order of the day, the best thing to do is enjoy a quiet summer with the people who mean the most to you.

I’M YOUR MUSIC, I’M YOUR SONG

PLAY ME TIME AND TIME AGAIN, MAKE ME STRONG

MAKE ME SING, MAKE ME SOUND

ANDANTE ANDANTE, TREAD LIGHTLY ON MY GROUND

ANDANTE ANDANTE, OH PLEASE DON’T LET ME DOWN.

On the news, oppression fueled by racism and hatred made daily marks on our lives. Surrounded by non-stop reports of such chaos and cruelty, where children and babies were being locked in cages without human contact, it was difficult to enjoy the sunny season. I thought back to other troubling times in our world’s history when dark forces stole power and fooled great swaths of people, and I remembered the little pockets of light and goodness and humanity that managed to survive, secret and safe and biding their time until the world got better. I want this space to be a refuge of sorts for anyone who needs to escape. I want this to be one of those pockets of warmth and reassurance when the outside world is crumbling and crashing around us. Most of all, I want us to unite here, in the land of frivolity and fun, to escape the troubles and pressures of life, and to find a moment of peace. If the summer was any indication, those moments are becoming fewer and further apart. If we are to make it through the fall and winter, we need a home base ~ a place of love and safety and acceptance. I can’t do it all alone, but I can do my best to make this place pretty and welcoming and witty enough to entertain the most jaded among us. Every once in a while I’ll rely on someone else to add to the party (thank you Skip and Suzie for the future posts you may not even know you are going to write here) and together we’ll make it through the wilderness. Somehow, we’ll make it through.

THERE’S A SHIMMER IN YOUR EYES,

LIKE THE FEELING OF A THOUSAND BUTTERFLIES

PLEASE DON’T TALK, GO ON PLAY

ANDANTE ANDANTE, AND WATCH ME FLOAT AWAY

As for the finals days of a summer that started out with such hope, I was left with a melancholy feeling, haunted by stories of a mother bear hunted down by two men and slaughtered while her bear cubs shrieked in terror, or the orca who kept pushing her dead calf to the surface for days, lost in mourning and drowning in her sorrow, and I wondered at the sadness of life.

A sour note to end the summer and start the fall, perhaps, but it’s a note of truth, and one that will hopefully inspire you to be the best person you can be. God knows I will try. Thanks for coming back to see how it all plays out.

I’M YOUR MUSIC, I’M YOUR SONG

PLAY ME TIME AND TIME AGAIN, MAKE ME STRONG

MAKE ME SING, MAKE ME SOUND

ANDANTE ANDANTE, TREAD LIGHTLY ON MY GROUND

ANDANTE ANDANTE, OH PLEASE DON’T LET ME DOWN.

August arrived almost unbeknownst to me. Without this blog, I lost track of dates and times and schedules, which is fine for some of the summer and some of my days, but I’m a staunch Virgo and I adore a schedule. Part of getting older, however, is in learning to let go of such restrictions, and both last summer and this one have helped in that regard. Sometimes you have to just go with the flow.

Sometimes I lay
Under the moon
And thank God I’m breathing
Then I pray
Don’t take me soon
‘Cause I am here for a reason

Sometimes in my tears I drown
But I never let it get me down
So when negativity surrounds
I know some day it’ll all turn around because…

All my life I’ve been waiting for
I’ve been praying for
For the people to say
That we don’t wanna fight no more
There will be no more wars
And our children will play

Our summer party got a fresh spin, and a much-needed revamp in the form of simpler weekends and smaller gatherings for friends whom we hadn’t seen in years. Such intimate get-togethers make for more quality time with the people we love best. Looking back, much of these past few months was about re-connecting with people from the past – Missy and Joe, Anu, Tommy and Janet – these weren’t just friends, they were the friends who had become family to us over the years.

Sitting there around the table, I was instantly transported back two decades, when we’d be sitting around a smaller and dingier table, but no less happy or joyous because of it. Back then, we had all the fun of each other’s company coupled with the hope of whatever futures we would make for ourselves. In the last few years, life has battered us all, and we were in very different places than we were when I used to visit College Avenue in Ithaca. So much had changed, but so much of who we were remained. It was bittersweet – a comfort coupled with a reminder of the relentlessness of time. More than anything else, it reminded me of what was good in this world. I miss that, just being around the people who have always brought such joy into our lives. After the flurry of weddings and births, I worry that only the sorrowful stuff remains. But there are kids to carry on the next cycle, and as they splashed in the pool and ran through the house I realized that I was lucky enough to know some of the brightest hopes for the future. Now that the children are getting older and more self-sufficient, their parents, perhaps, are feeling a first sigh of relief in a long time. A little bit of breathing room. Also, a glimpse of a time when they’re no longer counted on to be there for every single moment, which I imagine is as daunting as it is thrilling. Entering our forties, we all felt a little more weighed down by the world, yet it was impossible to experience anything but elation when we came together. I held onto that for the weekend, and for the summer. There will be dreary fall and winter days when things seem dark and even doomed, but I will keep this summer memory safe within my heart for precisely such days.

One day this all will change
Treat people the same
Stop with the violence
Down with the hate

One day we’ll all be free
And proud to be
Under the same sun
Singing songs of freedom like
One day

All my life I’ve been waiting for
I’ve been praying for
For the people to say
That we don’t wanna fight no more
There will be no more wars
And our children will play

{To be continued…}

IF YOU EVER FIND YOURSELF STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SEA

I’LL SAIL THE WORLD TO FIND YOU

IF YOU EVER FIND YOURSELF LOST IN THE DARK AND YOU CAN’T SEE

I’LL BE THE LIGHT TO GUIDE YOU

FIND OUT WHAT WE’RE MADE OF WHEN WE ARE CALLED TO HELP OUR FRIENDS IN NEED…

What did you do over summer vacation?

The question was always asked and answered on the first day back to school. A bittersweet query, really, one that I kind of dreaded because it meant that summer was truly over, relegated to the dim corridor of Memory, perhaps resigned to the long trudge of Forgotten. Neither was particularly appealing for a kid suddenly strapped to the confines of school again. Even as an adult, I feel the dreaded sting of back-to-school specials and the parade of school supplies on sale at this time of the year. Still, the question begs to be answered: what did you do over summer vacation? Here, in a nutshell (or blog post or three), is how mine unfolded.

It began in fitting form on Cape Cod, with a graduation party at JoAnn’s. Tressie was celebrating her successful completion of her degree, and family and friends gathered at the Mermaid on Shore Road cottage. Seeing the future of our planet in such capable hands gave me momentary hope in a world otherwise-gone-mad. I returned home just in time to make it to my niece Emi’s dance recital. We arrived precisely on time for the start, then sat through the 57 songs that came before her performance. At least I got out of the Cape early enough to avoid all summer traffic. (Hint: there’s none at 5:30 AM.)

YOU CAN COUNT ON ME LIKE ONE TWO THREE, I’LL BE THERE

AND I KNOW WHEN I NEED IT I CAN COUNT ON YOU LIKE FOUR THREE TWO

YOU’LL BE THERE, ‘CAUSE THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO, OH YEAH

More wee ones were in our summer plans, as Andy and I headed to Missy and Joe’s new house; their sons Julian and Cameron were waiting for us as we arrived on a hot sunny day. We hadn’t seen them for a few years – the longest stretch of not seeing such close friends – but they are finally settling into a fabulous new home and hosted us for a lovely visit in late June. The heat was high, the pool was open, and an idyllic weekend was at hand. Doug and Julio joined us for dinner, the Paloma coolers were flowing, and everything came together perfectly the way it does only a few times a year. Cameron and Julian were the highlight of our visit – two young boys growing up and giving me more hope for the future. Julian gave us the best parting gift there is: a song. I’ve selected our Fall Return theme song based on his version of ‘Count on Me’ by Bruno Mars.

IF YOU’RE TOSSING AND YOU’RE TURNING AND YOU JUST CAN’T FALL ASLEEP

I’LL SING A SONG BESIDE YOU

AND IF YOU EVER FORGET HOW MUCH YOU REALLY MEAN TO ME

EVERYDAY I WILL REMIND YOU

FIND OUT WHAT WE’RE MADE OF WHEN WE ARE CALLED TO HELP OUR FRIENDS IN NEED

YOU CAN COUNT ON ME LIKE ONE TWO THREE, I’LL BE THERE

AND I KNOW WHEN I NEED IT I CAN COUNT ON YOU LIKE FOUR THREE TWO

YOU’LL BE THERE, ‘CAUSE THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO, OH YEAH

In July, near our 18^thanniversary, Andy and I made a weekend trip to Boston, where we saw the hot mess that was/is ‘Moulin Rouge’. It was a blast, though there was still much tinkering going on when we saw it. We sat close to the director, who was taking copious notes, so maybe they’ve made it hotter and less messy than when we saw it. It’s a spectacle, to be sure, and worth a look-see, but only if you’ve reconciled yourself to flash and fluff. That’s the mainstay of my life, so I may have to see it again.

JoAnn visited us for a weekend, and she brought another wonderful denizen of the Cape with her. Cheryl taught us how to make lumpia, and we had such a fun time we are already eyeing her next trip up for a lesson on the secrets of mahjong. The circle of friendship widens; the ripples of love cross and rebound. We are always better for it.

YOU’LL ALWAYS HAVE MY SHOULDER WHEN YOU CRY

I’LL NEVER LET GO, NEVER SAY GOODBYE

YOU KNOW YOU CAN COUNT ON ME LIKE ONE TWO THREE, I’LL BE THERE

AND I KNOW WHEN I NEED IT I CAN COUNT ON YOU LIKE FOUR THREE TWO

YOU’LL BE THERE, ‘CAUSE THAT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE SUPPOSED TO DO, OH YEAH

Near the end of July, a series of storms ripped through the area – one of which had hail the size of quarters falling dangerously from the sky. One ripped a small hole in our backyard canopy -“ countless others ruined the up-until-then-pristine foliage of the garden plants. It tattered everything for the rest of the season. Plants are surprisingly resilient, but they don’t mend torn or hole-filled leaves. I took a video of the ice splashing into the pool, battering our unicorn float in dramatic fashion. Summer came with its own thrills and dangers, and it wasn’t nearly done yet…

{To be continued}

NIGHTSWIMMING… DESERVES A QUIET NIGHT.

The older I get, the more difficult I find it to let go of certain nights. Maybe the day was an exceptionally good one, where everything clicked at work, you felt at the top of your game, and there were more accolades and happy co-workers than complaints and aggravations. Maybe the night was one of those vacation nights where, after a day spent fully and luxuriously at the beach, you ate your fill of fresh seafood and were sauntering back to the hotel when your husband asked if you wanted to stop for an ice cream cone. Maybe the sky was simply the truest blue, the sun shone in all its splendor, and the gardens tipped from the height of June into the glory of July. Maybe it was none of these things, but an old friend came to visit and you remembered what it was like to be young, in the summer between high school and college, when all was hope and fear and love and danger, and the moon was low and September whispered it was on the way. Maybe it was just the end of summer.

THE PHOTOGRAPH ON THE DASHBOARD, TAKEN YEARS AGO
TURNED AROUND BACKWARDS SO THE WINDSHIELD SHOWS
EVERY STREETLIGHT REVEALS THE PICTURE IN REVERSE
STILL, IT’S SO MUCH CLEARER
I FORGOT MY SHIRT AT THE WATER’S EDGE
THE MOON IS LOW TONIGHT

At the end of one of these days, when all our friends have left and the moon remains,  the music has faded to memory and the scent of the angel’s trumpet tree fills our backyard. I slip into the darkened water of the pool and sink gratefully to the bottom. The warm tug of the day’s heat, caught in liquid form, embraces my skin, and part of me is reluctant to surface. 

I struggle with the passing of time, doing what I can to slow it and still it in its tracks, all to no avail. It will have its way with us; we are powerless against it. Still, beneath the water things seem to move a little slower. I pause in the languid sweetness, gently kicking off the cares of the day, paddling away from the worries of tomorrow. 

We do not want the summer to leave just yet. 

NIGHTSWIMMING DESERVES A QUIET NIGHT
I’M NOT SURE ALL THESE PEOPLE UNDERSTAND
IT’S NOT LIKE YEARS AGO
THE FEAR OF GETTING CAUGHT
OF RECKLESSNESS AND WATER
THEY CANNOT SEE ME NAKED
THESE THINGS, THEY GO AWAY
REPLACED BY EVERYDAY

Water lapping at my neck and ears… the distant hum of an air conditioner kicking on… the faint bark of a dog’s warning… and I swim down again, lost in the muffled, giddy gurgles. Upon surfacing, I see the houselights bounce and reflect off the little waves I’ve made. I tilt my head back and see the sky and its infinite sadness. Clouds encroaching and covering the moon, a disappearing sea of stars, an oncoming storm. 

Wind on the rise like invisible ocean, all power and might and terrifying beauty. A maelstrom of darkness choking out the heat of this summer day. Who knows when it will be this hot again… maybe not until next summer. There is melancholy dwelling there. A bit of relief too. 

NIGHTSWIMMING, REMEMBERING THAT NIGHT
SEPTEMBER’S COMING SOON
I’M PINING FOR THE MOON
AND WHAT IF THERE WERE TWO
SIDE BY SIDE IN ORBIT
AROUND THE FAIREST SUN?
THAT BRIGHT, TIGHT FOREVER DRUM
COULD NOT DESCRIBE NIGHTSWIMMING

The night before I went away to college, my girlfriend dropped me off at the top of the street where I grew up. It was only a single block to walk, but I wanted to make the memory, and I wanted to make it last. We kissed each other goodbye, and without realizing it kissed our carefree childhoods goodbye too. We held on as long as we could, maybe a little longer than we should have, but it was harder to leave back then, back when it was new, back when we didn’t know we might still return, even if it was emptier and colder and different, even if we no longer belonged. Maybe we never did. 

YOU, I THOUGHT I KNEW YOU
YOU I CANNOT JUDGE
YOU, I THOUGHT YOU KNEW ME
THIS ONE LAUGHING QUIETLY UNDERNEATH MY BREATH
NIGHTSWIMMING

And so, on this late August night, baptized anew by the water of life and seared by the pain of the passage of time, I float on the deep darkness of what has gone. All that we have already lost, all that we have yet to loose. There is so much tenderness in this world, and we live in such a tenuous time… 

I don’t want it to end. 

THE PHOTOGRAPH REFLECTS, EVERY STREETLIGHT A REMINDER
NIGHTSWIMMING DESERVES A QUIET NIGHT, DESERVES A QUIET NIGHT.

Tomorrow marks the last day of new posts on ALANILAGAN.com for a while – at least until September (or possibly until Madonna drops a new single and I’m excited enough to write about it). As such, this is going to be one of those lengthy, linky entries with lots of avenues to summer posts from the past. Like it does with songs and scents, summer seems to make memories more indelible. Here are some of my favorites, for your leisurely perusal when the site goes dark. Bookmark accordingly.

Summer memories, doubling back again.

A simple salad.

Summer gun morning.

Tan lines by Tom Ford.

Limoncello cocktail.

Asclepias in the sky, I can go twice as high.

Lavender dreams.

Ooh la la!

Torn and tattered and beautiful.

Naked in the moonlight.

The great relief.

Boston summer flowers.

Amber summer fragrance by Tom Ford.

A queen’s birthday.

Summer visit.

Virgin poaching.

Summer Speedo.

Bedtime fragrance.

A summer recap.

Summer skin one…

… to summer skin two.

Swaying in the summer breeze.

Soft kisses on a summer day.

Summer shirtlessness.

Naked summer Olympics.

The sky in summer.

A perfect summer day.

This is almost it – our second annual summer hiatus is practically at hand and I cannot wait! The last day of new blog posts for the season will be this Saturday, June 30, 2018. Then we will go dark until September. Those four remaining posts will hopefully see you through the summer days, and there are more than enough links in each of them to keep you well-occupied should you miss this place.

Personally, I won’t miss it much. While I love writing and creating content, the promotion of these posts is done mostly through social media, which of late is a nasty place to visit. Taking a break from here will enable me to take a break from there. FaceBook and Twitter are both being taken over by dark forces, and though I fight back as much as possible, I’ve been finding more joy in the simple pleasures of pictures on Instagram. That’s where I may be spending most of my online time this summer, so watch that space and follow!

As for this site, I recently spent some time outlining a rough long-range trajectory for the rest of its time here. All things, good and bad, must eventually come to an end. Nothing lasts forever. The temporal nature of life, especially online life, has been on my mind. Someday this blog will end, at least my part in it. In the past, I’ve sort of skirted and avoided the topic because ending something is often a sad affair, and the thought of being forced to stop doing something I love is not pleasurable. But this labor of love is indeed laborious, and after last summer’s break I realized there was a lot to accomplish when I didn’t need to worry about writing thousands of words a week. I’ll always find a creative outlet as that is my way of surviving such a mundane world, but it need not be here. Merely keeping a diary is enough. That said, there is something to sharing things with those who want to listen and who might relate to something I’ve said. For now, I’m not quite ready to give that up. I do, however, see that this endeavor has an end date, and for perhaps one of the first times I am facing that and stating it now. There is an exhilaration in such a declaration, and I hope it gives this blog, when it returns in the fall, a renewed jolt of inspiration and urgency.

I’ve been doing this since 2003. This website is over fifteen years old. It’s a dinosaur among dinosaurs. If we liken the lifespan of the blog to the seasonal cycle, I’d gauge us at somewhere within the fall portion of the year. We’ve had our spring and summer, and we are beyond the half-way point of its existence as far as I can see. The good thing is that fall and winter carry their own charms and enticements, some of which are richer than anything spring or summer can conjure. Good things are yet to come.

We’re leaving together,
But still it’s farewell
And maybe we’ll come back
To earth, who can tell?
I guess there is no one to blame
We’re leaving ground (leaving ground)
Will things ever be the same again?

This is the last week that ALANILAGAN.com will be up until our return in the fall. I have a couple of kick-ass posts before then, however, provided I can overcome all these 500 Internal Errors that keep happening. In the meantime, a look back over the last week for anyone who missed it.

Summer came upon us in glorious fashion.

Fuck Trump.

Cologne chaos with Chris.

The Madonna Timeline returned with one of Madonna’s most introspective songs.

Family time at the Amsterdam castle.

A charming visit to Manhattan with Andy, in multiple part glory: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 and Part 8.

Adam Rippon got naked for the ESPN Body Issue.

A Boston/Cape Cod whirlwind: Part One and Part Two.

Hunks of the Day included Phillip Picardi and Dominic Cooper.

Dominic Cooper first came to my attention with his charismatic turn in ‘The History Boys’, a film adapted from the 2006 Tony-winning play. It’s no easy feat to steal a film from such accomplished actors as Richard Griffiths and Frances de la Tour, not to mention upstarts like James Corden, Russell Tovey and future Broadway Harry Potter lead Jamie Parker, but Mr. Cooper managed to do just that. Tonight, he returns in the third season of the inflammatory ‘Preacher’ – which added the ever-compelling Betty Buckley to its roster of indelible characters. In honor of all that, this is his first Hunk of the Day crowning. 

This day of departure was mirrored in the morning weather of midtown – cloudy, misty, and bordering on rain. Yet there was fullness in our hearts, thanks to a wonderful weekend and a magnificent Betty Buckley performance. One can’t be sorry too long with such happy memories stored neatly away in such fresh wrapping. We packed our bags and headed to Grand Central Station.

It’s so much nicer there than Penn Station – we should probably consider saving money and driving down to the station that usually goes into this one for the future. Though there is no seating in the waiting area, it is so much prettier and more spacious that it’s worth a bit of standing. It was much easier to board too, without all the subterranean escalators and cramped lines and lunatics that seem to overrun Penn Station.

Our time in Manhattan had come to a close. I wish we could have stayed a little longer, but there were comforts only home could provide – a pool, a conversation couch, a fluffy bed – and we would return to New York in the fall anyway to see ‘Come From Away’ with my parents. (The first thing any sensible person does upon ending a vacation is to plan the next one.)

Another comforting thought was that the one constant throughout this weekend of fun was Andy, and since he was coming along with me we could have our own adventures closer to home. Even with his limited mobility, he soldiered through, and thanks to some help from Uber we got everywhere we needed to go. The city had opened up secret glimpses of beauty, lifting the veil from its hidden treasures so that we could see the magic of a perfect rose or hear the gorgeousness of a song of hope.

Until we return…

It was my first day of preschool and something wasn’t quite right. After we walked into the classroom, they had the mothers sit in the front of the class while the kids were sent into the rest of the room to play. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I could only half-heartedly play with the toys and other kids. Most of the time my eyes were watching my Mom, making sure she was still there, too scared to face the unfathomable idea that she was going to leave me there. When it came time for the parents to go, I was inconsolable.

For two days I hid under a table with another child named Jeff, who would become a friend and eventually kill himself when we in high school. On those first days, separated from our mothers for the first time, he shared a tissue with me because we were both crying under that table. We were lucky though. Our Moms were right there, waiting for us at the end of the half-day.

In our country right now, there are kids who no longer have that. Kids who have been ripped from their parents, sometimes literally, in Donald Trump’s horrid zero-tolerance border policy that separates parents from their children even in legitimate cases of seeking asylum. I never thought this country would sink so low, and while I rarely delve into politics on this blog (I usually save such ire for Twitter) this time is too much.

Last night, news broke that it wasn’t just kids – the government had opened three ‘tender age’ shelters for babies and toddlers who had been separated from their parents. In these cages, border guards are reportedly instructed not to touch or hold these children, and if there’s one thing I know from studying and reading and simply existing as a child once myself, that is horrific. It goes against the very essence of humanity. It is cruel, malicious, evil, destructive, and will cause irreparable damage to those children.

On my first day of kindergarten, I felt the same fear as I felt in preschool. When it was time for the parents to leave, I climbed into the teacher’s lap, just to be held. I still remember the tiny bit of comfort it afforded me. I remember her green dress, silky and soft, and how my quiet tears stained it in spots.

Four decades later I still remember those first days of school, how traumatic and upsetting they were, and I cry at the idea of what might be happening to those children whose mother or father won’t be waiting for them a few hours later.

I think of those children in cages now, and how they aren’t allowed to be touched or held. What is happening to them? What terrors have been unleashed upon their childhoods? What immeasurable damage is being wrought? No one is there to hold or comfort them. They are alone in a foreign country. Innocent and unable sometimes to even communicate. And now we are being told that thanks to this policy and the unpreparedness of our government to deal with so many, there’s a good chance some won’t ever be reunited with their parents. What does that do to a person? What does that do to a child?

America, under the ruinous govern of Donald Trump, has done this – is doing this, right now as you read these words. It is not a law, it is a policy enforced by Trump and this cruel administration, enabled by the GOP that controls all branches of government. If Trump wanted to do so, he could go back to what we did before he entered office, which was simply not to separate families. He could end it with a single phone call. But he is not doing that because he is a heartless and horrible person who doesn’t understand empathy or human compassion. He sees these children as political bargaining chips, and too bad if they have to rip a baby out of its mother’s arms to make a point and appeal to his deplorable base.

This needs to be everybody’s breaking point.

One day some of those children will tell their story. They will explain in eloquence and pain what they went through, and what each complicit individual did to get them there. We will, all of us, have to answer for what we did when it started happening. I don’t have the power to do much, but I can write. I can post this. I can call anyone in power who will listen. I can speak out and resist every single thing this administration tries to do from this day forward and do my best to kill every item on their hateful agenda. I will not give the benefit of the doubt, I will not normalize these atrocities, and I will not allow a lie to be placed on the same level as the truth simply because someone else believes in it. I will support everyone who fights against this administration, in whatever way they choose to do so, no matter how crude or rude or debasing it may seem. Fuck Trump. Fuck Pence. Fuck Ivanka. Fuck the GOP.

Every single thing they do must be stopped because the alternative is too frightening to imagine. 

{You can call the Department of Homeland Security at 202-282-8000 and let your stance on the family separation policy be known. You can also find your own representative in Congress to speak out against Trump’s policy by calling this toll-free number: 844-872-0234. In my case, it was Kirsten Gillibrand, who has been faithfully fighting Trump every step of the way. I simply left the following message: “As one of your constituents, I just want to register my discontent with Donald Trump’s family separation policy, and hope you will continue to do everything in your power to stop every item on Trump’s agenda.” If I had a different representative, I might have worded it a little differently, but every call counts. We can no longer rely on our government to stop the inhumanity, we have to collectively speak out against it. America was never about one person, it was about all of us, and that’s what it’s going to take to stop this.}

PS – The latest news has it that Trump is signing something that says we will no longer separate families. That is not enough. Thousands of families have already been separated. Some will never find their way back to each other. The damage has been done. Damage that was directly inflicted and kept going by Trump himself. He didn’t need a grand signing ceremony to stop his own policy. You can’t start a fire and then get credit for putting it out. This changes nothing. He must be stopped at every turn and on every front. 

We are almost at the point where we bid adieu for the summer months, not to be seen nor heard from until September. Well, perhaps I’ll pop back for a post or two depending on what this summer brings. And I’ll still be on Facebook and Twitter and Instagram, albeit on a much more limited basis. This is vacation time, and I love the idea of not being bound by blog posts when I’d rather be outside working in the garden or swimming in the pool or simply lounging with a book. Still, there is some time left before we go, time for a lot of good posts, so don’t depart just yet.

Fancy summer cellar. 

The week of the dogwoods. 

A bittersweet anniversary. 

The quest for peach ice cream. 

Vibrant juxtaposition. 

The time someone pulled my pants down, and I wasn’t wearing any underwear. (Or, it twirled up.)

Shirtless male celebrities (and a naked male celebrity to boot). 

Classic clematis. 

Father’s Day memories. 

Luring a summer visitor. 

An epic Special Guest Blog by someone who’s been here before.

Hunks of the Day included Roger Frampton, Vance Joy and James Yates.