Category Archives: General

There are some weeks you don’t really want to remember, weeks that are filled with sadness and strife, loss and suffering, or just thunder and rain. You don’t want to remember those weeks, but you know you must, if only to feel better about other ones. This past week we lost Andy’s Dad, so if postings have been a little slim, you’ll understand why. [Here is the online obituary from the Times Union.]

The peonies stole most of the show, and we were grateful for their beauty.

A sunny coreopsis.

A shady nook.

The bashful and the beautiful.

Black and white.

A voyage.

Father’s Day.

NO VOYAGE

By Mary Oliver

I wake earlier, now that the birds have come
And sing in the unfailing trees.
On a cot by an open window
I lie like land used up, while spring unfolds.

Now of all voyagers I remember, who among them
Did not board ship with grief among their maps?—
Till it seemed men never go somewhere, they only leave
Wherever they are, when the dying begins.

For myself, I find my wanting life
Implores no novelty and no disguise of distance;
Where, in what country, might I put down these thoughts,
Who still am citizen of this fallen city?

On a cot by an open window, I lie and remember
While the birds in the trees sing of the circle of time.
Let the dying go on, and let me, if I can,
Inherit from disaster before I move.

O, I go to see the great ships ride from harbor,
And my wounds leap with impatience; yet I turn back
To sort the weeping ruins of my house:
Here or nowhere I will make peace with the fact.

A butterfly in black and white peruses one of the Chinese dogwoods in our backyard. Its wings flutter slightly, almost in slow-motion. The effect is magical. Calming. It is a much smaller thing than these photos might make it appear. I barely noticed it.

When you stop to look closer at the world, it opens up to receive you.

After the ride home from Boston, a badly-needed dip in the pool was just what was needed. The only problem was that with the removal of a decent-sized cherry tree that once provided a shaded corner, the entire pool is now wide open to the sun (and in just under an hour I had already gained a minor burn on my shoulders for being out for the first time in months).

I improvised with a colorful umbrella, a leftover from last year’s absence of a proper canopy. Now that we have the latter, the extra bit of portable shade could be moved closer to the pool, where I hung myself on the edge, dangled my body into the water, and graciously gave thanks for the smaller charms of a hot afternoon.

A practically-perfect weekend in Boston – with Skip for our third annual Red Sox game – was exactly what was needed and just in the nick of time. More on that in greater detail, for now let’s slide into this steamy Monday in a quiet and simple way – looking back at the week that was…

All about the garden, with one peony and one weigela, a jack-in-the-pulpit, a Baptisia, a begonia, a dogwood and another peony.

James Franco nude.

Kinky pride peek.

The Great Comet of 1812.

A best friend’s birthday.

June hunks included JJ Yosh, Nathan Lee Graham, Bryce Eilenberg, Grant Foreman, Matthias Panitz, Junior Lazarotti, and Karlo Martinez.

Not every dogwood tree is the same. Not only is there a vast difference between the American dogwood and the Chinese dogwood, there are also subtle variations within each variety. This Chinese dogwood has pointier ‘blooms’ than some of its brothers. Though that makes them less showy individually, they make up for it in quantity and number. Peering up through the branches as the sun goes down behind them, one can see an endless canopy of stars – they seem to go on forever.

Underneath the dogwood in bloom is where I want to be.

Though our lawn is loving this rain, the containers that I planted, with the exception of the papyrus, are loathing it. I’m with them. Too much rain makes Jack a sad boy. It also makes for impossible germination in the case of the heat-seeking castor bean plant, which I made the misfortune of trying for the first time in this bad weather beginning. It’s also wreaking havoc with our hanging sweet potato vines, which are drenched in all the runoff from the patio canopy.

Beneath it, however, the begonias – probably the most sensitive to overwatering, are doing splendidly because I haven’t watered them once in their protected section. Here they are, giving the only decent show on the drenched patio right now.

June in its infancy is a magical moment in the calendar year. Everything is fresh and new, and given the rain and cooler temps we’ve had, it’s retained that freshness. The peonies are taking their time to open, and I’m glad. There is a benefit to all this wet stuff (even if I already noticed some mildew starting on their leaves – way too early for that!) On with the Monday morning recap…

Memory of the desert.

Mourning dove in mourning.

Pink silver lining.

Wet but not a mess.

‘Hamilton’ in Chicago.

Easy spritzer.

Turns out I’ve already worn a man-romper.

Doggy-style.

Gus Kenworthy in his underwear.

Smutty Saturday.

The racist jackhole Gideon Yapp, in a post he doesn’t want you to see.

Smutty Sunday.

My upcoming weekend guardian.

His name is Gideon Yapp. Neither he nor his family wants this shared anywhere, which is precisely why I’m doing it. This is a bad week to piss people off, and I’ve had enough. If you’re going to act out like this in public, you don’t deserve forgiveness. Not until you clearly illustrate that you deserve it and have changed and grown. That doesn’t happen in a month or two, so until such time this is the lesson, and here is the video that Gideon Yapp and his family don’t want you to see or share:

Even if you want to think the best of the kid, even if he’s going through something difficult at home, or having a horrible time with some unknown ailment, that still doesn’t forgive this kind of behavior. My best friend lost her father when she was fifteen years old – she came back to school a few days later and never acted like this. Not because she wasn’t upset, not because things didn’t bother her, but because at that age, you know enough about how to behave. Even if you were raised in less-than-ideal circumstances, you still know. And if you genuinely don’t, well, let this be the learning experience and lesson to enlighten you.

Gideon’s father, Robert Yapp, and his soon-to-be-likely-defunct Twitter account, may give further clues as to how this kid was raised and why he’s acting like such a monster. Check out the screen shot I grabbed of his last tweets – they’re lovely:

After the video was posted, Gideon’s brother reportedly sent out requests that it be taken down because it could ruin a young man’s life. Hopefully this does the opposite and saves it. When you see yourself in such a light, when the world reflects an image of yourself from a perspective you clearly don’t always get, that offers the opportunity for change. For improvement. For forgiveness.

Hatred is learned behavior. So is swearing and disrespecting other human beings. So is using the n-word. And anyone who does that is a racist. Sorry Gideon Yapp, if you don’t want people to see you act like a racist, hate-filled asshole, then don’t act like one. You have the power to turn this around – not by pretending it never happened, but by facing the hate within you, examining why you have it, and showing the world that you can change.

Andy told me about them first. As is the case these days, I listened and then shoved it from my mind. There is too much sadness to think about it all right now. After a few minutes, the ploy worked: the story was gone from my head. His harrowing tale, more sad than frightening, was successfully purged, and in short order too. Thinking nothing of it, I hopped in the car and drove away, singing along to ‘Hamilton’ (the King of England’s trio of songs are my jams!)

Just as I rounded the turn, mastering my snooty British accent in song no less, I saw them. One dead, one alive. A pair of mourning doves on the road.

Andy had told me he had seen them. A flattened bird, and its partner, refusing to leave its side. Immediately, I burst into tears, as much for the sad lonely bird as anything else that’s been happening lately, and in my rear view window I watched the forlorn dove walk in a little circle. I cannot fathom the frantic desperation of death. My heart cannot stand it.

I returned home and tried to be kinder to Andy. That is all I know how to do when faced with suffering.

The world turned upside down.

The main news of this past week was the culmination and finale of The Delusional Grandeur Tour: Last Stand of a Rock Star. I had planned to put it to rest in Ogunquit, Maine, one of my favorite places in the world – though plans changed. That’s not all that happened. Let’s go back a bit…

There was perfume in the air.

There was passion, too.

There was the Solomon’s Seal.

There were reflections.

There was fruit salad.

There was sexiness.

There was a boy… before there was a man.

Finally, there were Hunks of the Day, including Parry Glasspool, Lucas Steele, Colt Prattes & Jared North.

It wasn’t until August that we got back on track with my first trip to Rehoboth Beach. It was a wonderful birthday treat, and while I’ve always hated traveling on my birthday, this time it was all right, and may have helped Andy out of a traffic ticket. The beach was spectacular, and I didn’t want our time there to end. Other ports beckoned, however, with returns to DC and Boston. Fall crept into holiday time for the latter, where I hosted a 2^nd annual children’s holiday hour.

The winter of 2017 saw the end of this tour in sight, but not before a lifelong dream was realized: a visit to the desert. I flew to Tucson, AZ and fell under the enchanting spell of the Southwest. The desert exerted a gorgeous force on a destination I’ve had since I was a child. From the wildlife to the vegetation to the beauty on hand at every turn, I was transfixed.

In March, we had the start of several full-circle moments as the tour wound down. First up was this spectacular return to ‘Sunset Boulevard’ and the guy who was never quite mine to get away. Second was my first trip back to Chicago in seventeen years, and a moment that surprised me with its emotional heft.

Fittingly, the final honors of this final tour go to two of my favorite people: my Mom and my husband. She joined me for a wonderful weekend on Broadway in honor of Mother’s Day, and he is joining me for our very last tour stop in Ogunquit, Maine (postponed for the moment, but we shall return!) After that, the next chapter begins…

This weekend, The Delusional Grandeur Tour was set to wind up its almost-two-year run with a very special stop. But before we delve into that, and the changes we had to make, let’s take a look back at all the places we’ve been. It began at home, with the Illuminati Party. I wore lacey underwear, a corset, and antlers. It’s what one does. Summer was high, the pool was open, and the party had just begun.

The first traveling tour stop was Seattle, WA, which I hadn’t visited since 1997. It was just as enchanting as I remembered it, with delicious food, a glimpse at the whales, a garden walk, and the customary magic that comes from revisiting a far-away place.

Mainstays of Boston and New York provided easy get-aways for long weekends, as did our seasonal bookends in Ogunquit, Maine. The Cape Crew, helmed by JoAnn, made for a great stop in Cape Cod.

Madonna was also on tour, and Suzie and I spent a weekend in Boston for that very special ‘Rebel Heart’ concert. Before we knew it, summer was done, and we were closing out the warm and fuzzy season with our annual Ogunquit stop. Chris joined me in New York for a delirious weekend at the Standard, and then the long, cold winter began. Wisely, I avoided traveling very much in the colder months – having been stranded one too many times, and flights canceled and trips ruined due to snowstorms, I tend to lay low during January and February. It worked out well.

By April, I was back on the road, revisiting Washington, DC and then returning to New York for our annual Broadway weekend. It was spring again in Ogunquit, and then an early Red Sox game with Skip. I donned a party hat at the GLSEN Gala in Albany, and summer was off to a rollicking start by the pool, negating the need to travel much. But I wasn’t quite done yet…