Being without fragrance (and when it comes to the blooming of the bamboo that is a very good thing) means that a perfume like ‘Bamboo Harmony’ takes great creative license in the way it conjures the peace and calm and serenity of its namesake. This Fargesia nitida – one of the clump-forming bamboo varieties – was planted last year, and it was one of four specimens from a nearby bamboo farm. It’s doing the best of the bunch (two are in shadier nooks, and I’ve found that sun in these upstate New York parts serves them better than shade) as it gets morning light reflected off a corner of the house, where warmth is also captured and thrown off by this brick chimney.
Happily, this one is also in the most prominent position, anchoring a Japanese-inspired portion of the side-yard garden, where it is joined by ferns and hosta for a calming and foliage-focused area. All of these bamboo plants were almost decimated by rabbits at the end of this past winter. I thought they’d made it through the toughest days, when all of them disappeared in a few March weeks, when food was apparently difficult to come by for the bunnies. This fall I’ll keep that in mind and protect them with a few little fences. Good fences make good neighbors, and that goes for the animal kingdom as well.
Hurdles. Life sometimes seems to only be about the hurdles. We have enough of them on our personal journeys, so I’ve never felt the need to put unnecessary ones in my way. Earning the gold medal in the Women’s 100 meter hurdle event, Jasmine Camacho-Quinn adds some gold to Puerto Rico’s medal map, and gets this Dazzler of the Day honor in the process.
Given the excessive rain of this summer season, I’ve had ample time to spend indoors and not feel guilty about it. That dovetails nicely with the cleaning up of our attic loft space, which has already hosted a favorite friend. It’s also been the perfect place for office video conferences – removed from the main floor so I don’t annoy Andy, and quiet enough for no interruptions from the endless parade of Amazon deliveries.
It’s also become a favored place to write these blog posts. Some of Grieg’s Lyric pieces have formed the aural backdrop to these sessions, creating a sacred space of calm and serenity, while also inspiring with their beauty and musical journey.
So much of my life has been a search for sanctuary. In all of the homes I’ve had over my lifetime, there are those moments when one doesn’t feel safe or secure – and for that reason I’ve always striven to find a sense of sanctuary within. Meditation has led me closer to this, but it never hurts to have an actual physical space in which to sit still and simply exist. This little attic loft has provided such a haven, and for the first time in forever I’m not absolutely dreading the arrival of winter now that such a cozy nook exists.
Currently it’s decked out, not decked out as the case may be, in a crisp and minimal wardrobe of white and cream, and come fall I’ll add an ample supply of blankets and additional pillows to add to the coziness, while bringing in more candles and comforts in an effort to conjure the wondrous spirit of hygge.
We’ve got almost two more months of summer left, however, and the universe owes us some sunny and sultry weeks to make up for the relatively disastrous spell of weather we’ve had. I’ve reconciled myself to accepting if this doesn’t happen, and having this attic space has played a big part in that. Beauty remains a balm, serenity remains a refuge, and I can still muster a smile in such surroundings.
This rainbow-painted fire hydrant resides near my childhood home in Amsterdam, NY. I’d bet a great many things that this was not done for any sort of LGBTQIA+ Pride, but regardless of the reason, it’s a lovely sight.
If I was still crowning Hunks of the Day, Karsten Warholm would likely be a top contender. For now, he and his Track & Field prowess will have to make do with the Dazzler of the Day, as he speeds over hurdles in search of a gold medal for his home country of Norway.
Born in America, Lamont Marcell Jacobs moved to Italy at a young age, and so it is that red, white and green country that gets the distinction of earning a gold medal in the men’s 100 meter dash. The only dashing I’m seriously considering at this point in my life is that Door Dash thing. Congrats to Jacobs on this dream come true.
The Summer Olympics in Tokyo are in full bloom, as evidenced by the plethora of Olympic posts here, and the Speedo shots of some favorite Olympians. The links alone are enough for this Monday morning recap, so go on and indulge. (Special kudos to Tom Daley and Matty Lee on their gold medal, and for sprucing up this post with their Speedo poses.) See more below…
Like fried clams and grape taffy, the majesty of ‘The Mighty Quinn’ soundtrack was introduced to me by Suzie, who at one point in our lives taught me whatever bit of cool I once had, and the collection of songs from a movie I have yet to see became the soundtrack to our trip to the then-Soviet Union in the summer of 1990, even more than Madonna’s ‘I’m Breathless’. How a Russian adventure came to be backed by reggae was a typical Suzie Ko mash-up of unlikely cultural combinations. Having neglected to bring a Walkman along for the endless hours in flight, I begged and pleaded for Suzie to share her music with me. I didn’t care what it was, I just couldn’t listen to the two mid-westerners between whom I was sandwiched, away from my friends for the longest flight of the trip, for one more minute, and Suzie – gracious and generous and selfless as ever – was good enough to oblige. And so it was that I found myself hurtling sky-high toward a continent I had never visited, listening to Sheryl Lee Ralph revisit Bob Marley’s ‘I’m Hurting Inside’, and my fourteen-year-old self wanted to cry from loneliness while being surrounded by a sea of people on all sides.
When I was just a little child
Happiness was there awhile
Then from me it slipped away
Happiness come back I say
And if you don’t come
I’m gonna go looking
For happiness
And if you don’t come
I’m gonna go looking
For happiness
What pain could I have possibly felt at the tender age of fourteen, and on a trip around the world with some friends, and Suzie’s own father watching over us? I couldn’t place it, couldn’t define or understand what my burgeoning and tamped-down awakening as a gay kid even meant, or even if it was a possibility, and so it manifested itself in various wicked ways, such as winning everyone over to share their most intimate secrets and stories. When a person simply listens, and prompts the next part of someone else’s story, people feel special and impelled to share more than they would under usual circumstances. And so I became the keeper of secrets – secrets which I would later dole out when it suited me. No one swore me to secrecy so I wasn’t violating anything, and it was easier to deflect by letting everyone else’s story take center stage while mine hadn’t even begun.
I didn’t see any of that then, I just felt trusted and liked enough to be the repository for those sacred tales. I also sensed the power of listening and gaining access to a person’s confidence. Curating and keeping such secrets could, when we were adults and those skills could result in information that might actually be valuable, be incredibly useful. For our teenaged group of friends, it was merely practice.
While knowing everyone’s private thoughts and feelings carried its own particular power, it also came with a certain weight, and the concern of knowing things that others didn’t, and maybe shouldn’t. Rather than make me feel more included, it more often left me feeling alone and oddly isolated. Without sharing secrets of my own, I was the dead-end of what was also, impossibly, a one-way street.
I’ve done you no wrong, I’ve done you no wrong
Reveal yourself to me
I say, I say
I’m hurting inside
I’m hurting inside
What I’ve only just begun to see of that time in my life is that by accepting the confidences of others, and offering none of my own, I couldn’t share any genuine sense of intimacy or even friendship – it all rang hollow, and it left me empty and unfulfilled, and always longing for more. The hole in my heart would never be filled that way, no matter how close I thought I was getting to people, no matter how much they seemed to like me. Hiding my own vulnerability was a protection device, but as would so often be the case it worked against me. I did not see that then, and I didn’t see it for many years afterward.
We’ve been together like school children
But then the hurt, the hurt was in vain
Oh, Lord, I’m your weary child
Oh, happiness come back again
And if you don’t come
I’m gonna go looking
For happiness
And if you don’t come
I’m gonna go looking
For happiness
Keeping secrets became a way of life – not only the secrets of others, but my own – and only when I was alone did I ever really feel safe and comfortable being myself. Decades of that wear away at the soul like almost nothing else does. Even direct pain and loss and heartache were easier to handle somehow. During my first brush with those secrets, part of me understood that loneliness, and a sense of separation and removal from every situation, would inform the person I was becoming. It was creating a chasm between me and everyone else, a divide that would only grow over the ensuing years. My heart sensed that, and it leaned into that exquisite sadness and tantalizing hurt.
I’ve done you no wrong, I’ve done you no wrong
Reveal yourself to me
I say, I say
I’m hurting inside
I’m hurting inside
When I was just a little child
Happiness was there awhile
Then from me it slipped away
Happiness come back I say…
Widely billed as the world’s fastest man, Trayvon Bromell is, as of this writing, set to burn his way across the tracks of the Olympic Games in Tokyo. He specializes in the sprint, so keep an eye on him, if your eyes are that fast. For this post he gets crowned Dazzler of the Day, which is the very least I can give to anyone – but also the very most.
Having to unexpectedly step up into an Olympic competition must come with a crazy kind of pressure, but the US Women’s Gymnastic team has managed to do so upon the withdrawal of their anchor Simone Biles. We’ve already seen the great Sunisa Lee earn a medal, and now the stage is set for MyKayla Skinner to do similar work. Best of luck to this amazing team.
The Duchess Ivanna mentioned she was listening to Dinah Washington last week, and so Ms. Washington has been on the playlist for these crazy, hazy summer days. Of particular adoration is this classic – ‘A Sunday Kind of Love’ – which speaks to the kind of love that lasts beyond the initial infatuation and Saturday night fun. Perfect sentiment as we cross into the mid-section of summer.
I want a Sunday kind of love
A love to last, past Saturday night
I’d like to know, it’s more than love at first sight
I want a Sunday kind of love
I want a love that’s on the square
Can’t seem to find somebody to care
I’m on a lonely road that leads to nowhere
I need a Sunday kind of love
Summer songs are a dime a dozen in these parts, and music somehow hits more intensely in these hot months. That bodes well for memory-making and memory-maintaining, when scent and sound become our primal methods of rekindling moments from the past. What memories will remain after the summer of 2021? There are a few, but it’s too soon to look back, and there are more to be made. For now, a lazy Sunday mood finds expression and contemplation in the exquisite vocal stylings of Dinah Washington.
I do all my Sunday dreaming and all my Sunday scheming
Every minute, every hour, every day
I’m hoping to discover a certain kind of lover
Who will show me the way
My arms need someone to enfold
To keep me warm when Mondays are cold
A love for all my life to have and to hold
I want a Sunday kind of love
Enjoying an increasingly-rare walk during my lunch half-hour, I passed this little plant growing on Pearl Street right in Downtown Albany, and was struck by how familiar it looked. After sending it around to friends of mine who know about such matters, it was confirmed that this was a pot plant, growing in broad daylight right on one of the busier stretches of sidewalk, and I thought of how far we have come as a society.
Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em.
Light it up.
Take a toke.
It’s all good. (And legal!)
(Oh, I was also informed that this one is not quite ready to harvest, so let’s just leave it be. Apparently we are looking for the buds. In all my years of gardening, there is still much to be learned.)
Trailing right up until the last leg of his race, Bobby Finke made a spectacular comeback from behind to win one of the gold medals in swimming for the American team. Everyone loves a good comeback.
Officially the world’s fastest woman at the moment, Elaine Thompson-Herah is taking the Olympics by storm, bolting to a medal-winning start and setting the track on fire. Representing Jamaica, she has also broken the previous Olympic record in the 100-meter dash. I can’t imagine running 100 meters at a snail’s pace, so this is obviously impressive to me, and should be to everyone. Congrats to Thompson-Herah on adding to her collection of Olympic medals and glory, as well as being crowned Dazzler of the Day.
The relatively cool and wet summer we’ve had this year (courtesy, no doubt, of our new pool liner and the way the universe will always screw you no matter what you want) has a few silver linings (or lilac linings as the case may be) and that comes to light with this Wolf’s Eye Kousa dogwood, still enjoying some creamy bracts that look like flowers this late in the season. In most years, this show would have ended by early July, burned away and forgotten by the heat of the sun and the dryness that summer most often produces. This time around the ‘blooms’ have persisted to this moment, and don’t look to dissipate anytime soon.
