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Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Carrying An Ax, Unfelled and Feared

“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.” – Henry David Thoreau

My love of the forest goes back to my childhood, when I would lose myself there without care or concern of getting lost or being found. Instinctually, I knew my way, and could sense wherever I was, no matter how deep I went. Of course, the woods near my childhood home were anything but vast. Bordered by streets and houses, it was easy to keep one’s place. Even when I explored unfamiliar forests near baseball fields and parks, I still managed to keep my bearings, and sometimes I spun around in circles, daring my senses to lose sight of where I was. Always, I found my way. 

“And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” – John Muir 

When one embarks on a woodland walk, there are dangers inherent to the expedition. Will your ax be wielded in protection or destruction? Perhaps you wish for a little of both. The blade is rusty in physical and metaphorical terms, and the pose is silly and histrionic, because all poses are. Poses have no place in the forest – not even on the edge.

“No one who loves the woods stays on the path.” – Millie Florence 

A useful tool for certain acts of destruction, this little ax fits perfectly in hand, lending a false sense of safety for the one who carries it. In truth, such a trifling object is no match for the might of the woods, even when the day is warm and glorious and just like mid-summer. 

“We must not always talk in the market-place of what happens to us in the forest.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne 

A chopping block of secrets, where whispers are splintered like aged wood – not always as easy as it seems, not so simple as it looks – this is where tales are wound like that unchecked bittersweet vine at the end of summer. Such thin and wiry stems of green all too quickly thicken and harden into chokers of wood – a poisonous piece of deadly jewelry that will strangle its trusting host. 

Hence the ax. For taming the invasive beast. 

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Dazzler of the Day: Maura Healey

One of the happy results of last night’s election news was Maura Healey winning her run for Governor of Massachusetts. That state will always have a place in my heart (for many matrimonial reasons) and it’s always reassuring to see how blue it can be. Healey is actually the state’s first woman governor, and the nation’s first openly lesbian governor. She earns her first Dazzler of the Day for this honor. History is still being made, and hope still remains. Congratulations to Healey on the governorship, and the dazzlership. 

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A Maxfield Parrish Sky

Waves of wind sounding like ocean roll through the trees in the distance. A spattering of crow calls is incongruously answered by a barking dog. Somewhere a hanging set of chimes tangles and untangles itself, tinkling with the arrival of said wind. In the sky, clouds move swiftly, indicating they are anything but trapped in a Maxfield Parrish painting. But the light speaks other words, telling of colors and art and beauty that the wind refuses to hear. 

Streams and rivers mirror this strange light, and the fish must wonder at the water’s queasy hue. Water rippling slightly from the brush of the wind, sky putting on a late afternoon show, and forest deciding whether to slumber now or when the darkness has fully unfurled. We are incontrovertibly, and inconsolably, into November

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Almost-Full Moon Over Amsterdam

While visiting family this past Sunday, we were treated to this view of the then-almost-full moon. Tonight it fulfills its fullness, amid the mayhem of whatever else today brings. In years past, I went about largely unaware of the lunar cycle, only to question whether it was a full moon when things started blowing up in my face. These days, I eye it cautiously, warily, but with a different sort of energy. Prepared for the unexpected setbacks and mishaps, I choose to harness the good energy as it comes, and accept the glitches and snafus as a reminder of the imperfect nature of life. Be flexible, and be open. 

The rest is out of our hands, which makes it much easier to enjoy the moon rather than obsess over what trouble it may cause. As a wise woman once sang, “Go with the flow! You know you can do it.”

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Dazzler of the Day: Chris Evans

How fitting that on this wild and crazy full-moon Election Day, Captain America should be named the Dazzler of the Day, and so it is with great pleasure and pride that we crown Chris Evans as such. Coming hot on the heels of his selection as Sexiest Man Alive by People magazine, Evans personifies the very best of what it means to be a contributing citizen today, and he does it in the guise of all that is handsome and sultry. He’s been featured here in less clothing before, and showing off one of his best assets, but these photos for People Magazine by Michael Schwartz capture an equally-alluring side of him. 

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Starting Tuesday with a Sweet Treat

Beginning this full Blood Moon Election Day, not knowing whether this country will do the right thing or just continue its mad descent into chaos and autocracy, I’m hesitant to do anything but peer out timidly from the bedroom, and seek out a little plate of chocolates. What’s on the line if you don’t #VoteBlue this time around? Social Security, Medicare, a woman’s autonomy over her body, marriage equality, transgender rights… and the very essence of American democracy. That we are at such a point is disappointing – once upon a time I truly believed we were better than this. Alas, we are not. And we are all to blame. 

Now, it’s up to us to fix it, if it’s not already too late. Part of me fears it is, and we have already given ourselves over to lies and misinformation. When you lose the baseline of truth and facts, and when you act like there are two valid sides to every story, the moral arc of justice can’t help but suffer. So today I am going to vote a straight blue ticket, to right the lopsided world that acts as though homophobia, racism, and autocracy are viable sides and choices. 

Then I’m going to see what the rest of our country does, and I will likely need these chocolates for that. 

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Monday Night Fright ~ Gray Hair, Don’t Care

In the immortal words of Kelly LeBrock, “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. This is my hair in the morning.”

Actually, this is my hair in the morning, noon and night. 

And I’m cool with it. 

While dying my hair used to be a fun and quirky way of staving off boredom (I’ve been platinum blonde, copper, purple, turquoise, blue, magenta, red, and black, to name but a few) I haven’t dyed it to appear darker because I was getting gray. After my last stint with color (bright flaming red) I dyed it black to go back to my natural hue. By then it was coming in with lots of gray, so after realizing I could either keep dying it darker for the rest of my life, or go with the flow, I buzzed it all off and let it come in as nature intended. That was well before COVID. Haven’t looked back since.

I see friends who are trapped in the dye-cycle, and I just can’t be bothered. For someone so supposedly vain, I’m actually easy-upkeep when it comes to my hair, happy with the quickest Supercuts job I can get, and some leave-in conditioner to keep it from flying this way and that. 

And so, here’s my unofficial coming out. Happy Gray Pride, y’all. 

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A Pool-Closing Recap

If you look quickly and not too closely, it almost looks like the pool is still open, with this new blue cover that Andy selected. Sadly, that is not the case, though yesterday would have actually made for a decent pool day. Instead, the pool is closed until next spring… on with the recap of the previous week, complete with extra hour and all!

It began with this cheeky spin on my new favorite song ‘Made You Look’ by Meghan Trainor. (Warning for the prudish – there is a return to gratuitous nudity in this one. Click accordingly.)

A moonlit November entry.

This should be your new Thanksgiving dessert if you like pumpkin but are tired of pumpkin pie.

Season of the slurp.

Violet revitalized.

The magical light of autumn.

The room for meditation.

From maroon to scarlet.

Friday night lights in the attic.

Summering echoes.

Flightless song lost in mid-air memories.

Crinkled figures.

Cozy November night.

Dazzlers of the Day included Dylan Mulvaney, Jonathon SoroffHarvey Guillén, and Paul Richmond.

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A Cozy November Night

All day the temperatures had hovered in the mid-70’s, and the night brought them just a smidge lower. The air outside was somehow cozier than the air indoors, and that gives title to this post. It may be a quieter post, as that suits these gentle days. I’m glad for the reprieve – November can be so cruel and cutting when it lets loose the lower temperatures. 

In the evening, the chirping of crickets is still to be heard, and I leave the attic window open as I type out these words. We will accept this weather with grateful and appreciative hearts. A bow to the universe, then, and a song for this sepia Sunday.

Such soft light for a Sunday night. Strangely out of tune with the Novembers that I remember. Maybe I’m no longer remembering well, or maybe I just want to remember November as something harsh and cutting, to make the brief respite of the holidays feel a little warmer. These are the dangers of the tricks we play on ourselves. Misremembered moments. Forgotten pockets of relief. The way the nights come quicker, but the days feel brighter in the immediate absence of the tree leaves. We will each remember this differently. Trying to find something that resonates with anyone else suddenly feels like a fool’s errand. The mind turns on itself while making the attempt. 

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Crinkled Figures

Most people have written off the garden until next spring, but that’s a sad and premature move when there is so much more beauty to be found from now through winter. If one allows their eyes to adjust to detect the finer and more subtle gradations of texture and color, there are wonders and revelations for the more discerning eye. Case in point is this withered stand of cup plants

While they pale in comparison to their deep green leaves and bright yellow flowers during the summer, the leaves and stalks now take on sculptural interest, rising like hooded figures, some curving and flaring like an elephant’s head and ears. The only limit to what they might be is the imagination, and I’ve always kept mine sharply and keenly active, especially when the outside world is mostly asleep. 

These stalks will stand strong throughout the winter, bravely defying wind and rain and sleet and snow. The leaves will gradually be torn from them, slowly disintegrating by the time the last days of winter limp away, until it’s just the spindly spires splintering apart as spring makes her grand return. 

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The Flightless Song, Lost in Mid-Air

Somewhere in memory I am swaying to this song, not quite in a solitary dance, and something more than a sorrowful trance. Alone in Boston, treading barefoot on the dim, not-quite-lit amber floorboards of my home-away-from-home, a memory within a memory forms as I recall the early days of living there by myself in the sparse unfurnished space, back before there was even a chair on which to sit. A single lamp glows warmly near the door, while the windows let in the peeping streetlights. 

I was a quick wet boyDiving too deep for coinsAll of your street light eyesWide on my plastic toys
Then when the cops closed the fairI cut my long baby hairStole me a dog eared mapAnd called for you everywhere

Somewhere, lost in the realm of that hazy land where deleted blog posts go, there is another piece written for this song, something I wrote many years ago while searching and seeking and never finding some other flightless bird. The warm hues of that Boston night fade and dissolve into gray, growing colder and distant, as my gentle swaying slows, so much that the rising and falling of my chest is the only movement in the place. This song plays on the little stereo, filling the air with its melancholy melody. 

Have I found you?Flightless bird, jealous, weepingOr lost you?American mouthBig bill looming

It is November again, like it was November before, like the memory of this song carries from one November into another, and then repeating, another year, another song, and still the same melody, sad and strange and sweet, and the same swaying, dance-like trance, still held by the spell, still held under the water. Wet as a boy in the rain, uncaring and laughing through his tears. 

Now I’m a fat house catCursing my sore blunt tongueWatching the warm poison ratsCurl through the wide fence cracks
Pissing on magazine photosThose fishing lures thrown in the cold and cleanBlood of Christ mountain stream

I remember a night not far from November, when I had just started living at the condo, when it got dark so early and no one was quite used to it, in those dismal first afternoons after we turned the clocks back. There were dry, brown leaves beneath my feet as I neared Braddock Park – they made the only sound on such a still windless night, and there was just the one pair of feet shuffling along. As I approached the row of brownstones, I looked up at the windows that belonged to me. Dark and empty, they kept their eyes sadly closed, not bothering to blink or wink a greeting from some beloved or loving person within, and suddenly I froze mid-step. For one terrifying moment, I couldn’t face walking into the place alone, and that little survival mechanism that has always kicked in during the free-fall into despair signaled to me to back away from there, somehow knowing that if I entered at that particular time of vulnerability I might not survive. And so I listened, turning around and heading back to Copley Square, back to people and light and warmth. Even if they were strangers, it would be better than being completely alone. And after an hour or so, the impossibility of it – the impossibility of being lonely – faded and fell away, and I returned, unbothered by the darkness and emptiness, once again ok with all of it. 

Have I found you?Flightless bird, brown hair bleedingOr lost you?American mouthBig bill, stuck going down
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Dazzler of the Day: Paul Richmond

Far too often, our greatest living artists are under-appreciated and under-celebrated before their work is assessed by the judgment of time, and it’s one of the saddest things we can do to anyone. Giddily bucking that trend is the celebrated and admired work of Paul Richmond, whose commitment to his art is matched only by his commitment to making the world a better and more inclusive and welcoming place. Way back in a time when you could actually make out my abs, Paul once created this witty and whimsical take on a famous tanning ad and was good enough to make me one of his Cheesecake Boys. Since then (and long before to be honest) I’ve been a die-hard fan of his work – and of his relentless quest to turn around all the negativity of the word into something positive. 

Today he is named Dazzler of the Day because he is one of our greatest artists at the height of his talent and career, still making his way in a world that doesn’t always appreciate art and social justice – but for those of us who do, Paul is a gift and an inspiration that keeps us going in the dark times. Check out his website for all his upcoming endeavors (and join in some of his drawing workshops – perhaps the best thing about Paul and his work is his willingness to bring everyone along for the ride, encouraging all artists of all abilities to simply enjoy and try out all art forms). 

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Summering Echoes

The forecast calls for temperatures in the mid-70’s today, which feels strange but not at all pleasant for November. The longer we can stave off the colder weather, the shorter our winter may seem. At least, I’ll hold the thought. And enjoy the leaves, and the sky, and the colors.

The maples and oaks have put on a wonderful show this year, and it’s been one that has lingered. Unlike some years when rain and wind rip it all away before it can even be seen against an elusive blue sky, this season we’ve had day after beautiful day. I’ve done my best to soak it all in before the inevitable brown and gray deluge. 

Such warm temperatures echo summer days, and when I’m home during the day I will always step out at some point in the afternoon, just for a moment, to breathe in the air and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. Inhabiting the beauty of a day, especially when it’s least expected, is a key component of mindfulness – and happiness. 

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Friday Night Lights in the Attic

Friday nights ring differently when you’re 47 years old. Gone are the days of excitement over television shows, or staying up past 9 PM. Today I want for no television, and going to bed at 9 pm would be a luxury I’m rarely afforded. Instead, I sit at the desk in the attic, light a few candles, and write out these words while seeking out music that will calm and quell the worrisome heart. This song starts out with promise, but it builds into something more powerful and driving, and I’m not sure it’s what I want or need. Still, a peaceful beginning counts for something, and on a day like this maybe it’s the only peace we’ll get. 

There is serenity in the attic, and now that the outside has slowly but decidedly turned slightly more inhospitable than it was in the summer months, focus returns to this calming space of our home. Here it will remain light and bright no matter how dark the winter may get

It’s barely past 6 pm as I write this and already it’s dark out. This will only come earlier after the clocks go back. An extra hour is always appreciated, but the return to so much darkness is not as welcome. That’s when the brightness of the attic becomes integral to mental health and emotional uplift. Last winter was made bearable, if not enjoyable, by embracing and cultivating the notion of hygge in this very space, and we will light candles and hunker down in coziness to bring comfort and warmth again. 

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From Maroon to Scarlet

The stunning color of this Japanese maple tree is one of fall’s best finales. This glorious tree starts off as a deep maroon, and a somewhat dull maroon at that, though it provides a lovely foil to all the light green and chartreuse of early summer. (I prefer the brighter work of the Coral bark maple for early season color.) And while the latter goes up in bright canary flame, this one burns up in flaming scarlet; both are striking against a blue sky.

This fall has been especially beneficent as far as lovely skies and sunny weather goes – perfect for showing off the happy endings at work among the trees right now. Too often, fall weather is filled with rain and wind – both of which spell and early and quick demise to these scenes of beauty. This year it’s already November, and it still feels like late summer. 

Gratitude. Appreciation. Love. 

And may it see us similarly through winter…

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