Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

Maybe I’d never noticed it before because I’d never seen a pinecone in just the right light. Or maybe I’ve just never been as observant as I thought I was. Whatever the case, and however the negligence occurred, my sheer delight in finding the painted striations on the inner structure of this pinecone has been unparalleled of late, when outside delights have been few and few between. On this sunny afternoon, when I took a stroll around the yard to see if anything had the courage to peep through the floor (a couple of daffodils on the south-facing wall were all I could find) it was a pinecone dropped from above that caught my eye and interest.

I’ve noticed pinecones before – and appreciated them for their architecture and form, the way nature sets some swirls into works of art that stick out from their surroundings through their radial perfection. And I’ve examined many pinecones up close, but this is the first I recall seeing such patterns within, and it’s one of those neat observations that, at the ripe age of 45, feels fresh and new and filled with wonder – the perfect embodiment of a proper spring start. 

We haven’t even reached Palm Sunday yet and already this Easter cactus is blooming. It may actually be a Thanksgiving cactus, or a Christmas cactus – and some years it’s showed off early and made itself a Halloween cactus. Whatever the case, at lease the sun is moving gin the right direction and duration, with more light, more heat, more joy to be held in each passing day. On with the recap, which includes the last days of this wretched winter.

The week began in somber fashion, as it marked the 30th anniversary of the day we lost Suzie’s Dad. 

Savannah sweetness and spice. 

Blues in my shower.

Witch’s spring finery.

Our new reality turned one (and probably smashed the fucking cake). 

Spring fragrance options are in the air. 

Hatching hope.

The arrival of spring. 

Spring, but slowly.

Naked vulnerability.

Soul spring Sunday.

Dazzlers of the Day includes Tom Bertram, Stacey Abrams, Cyrus McQueen, Marcus Lemonis, Soledad O’Brien,  Brian Sims, and Kevin Bruce.

Once upon a time, not so log ago, I’d intended for this time slot to be the space for a more spiritual and soul-sustaining sort of post. It fell by the wayside because, quite frankly, I forgot about it, and those spiritual posts have been peppered throughout the blog, so I’ve been sustaining it that way. Now I find myself on a Sunday afternoon at the very start of spring, when the sun is warming the earth, and the feeling of hope and of possibility is making me both giddy and contemplative. That’s actually one of my happiest states, so I’m going to take this state and enjoy it for a bit. 

Earlier in the day I did a minuscule amount of cleaning in the attic – and I mean minuscule: I moved two storage bins from the finished portion to the unfinished portion and called it a day. In that little effort however, I discovered that the unfinished part of the attic – which is not insulated and rather open to the outside elements – was retaining and multiplying the heat of the sun, like it does in summer. That definitely contributed to my happy countenance, and put a little spring into my step. So much so that I did a little more work up there (I found a single coat for donation!) 

This is more a physical spring-cleaning post than a spiritual maintenance post, but one begets the other, especially when a Virgo is involved. Only when my surroundings are in order can my mind find any hope of following. Happy Spring Sunday!!

Never one to indulge in vulnerability – even that slip of the word ‘indulge’ gives an indication of my bias against such tendencies – I nonetheless found myself in the very typical mid-life moment of standing in a doctor’s office stripped of all but a one-sided ill-fitting and scratchy caftan, waiting for the next medical person to come in and examine me. Even my socks had to be off for the EKG, so I stood there slightly shivering, feeling both the oldest I’ve ever been and just like a child again. Thus far it had been a mostly comical affair – the very young medical assistant had taken my blood pressure and said it was ok “for my age” before instructing me on the mechanics of the medical gown. Now as I waited for the Nurse Practitioner, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, it wasn’t the nakedness of my body that left me feeling vulnerable, it was the powerlessness we all had against time, and the way that no matter how well I took care of myself, the time my physical being had here was finite and rather small. For perhaps the first time, I felt the futility of life – but it wasn’t something sad or mournful somehow. It also didn’t feel scary like it does for some people, and like it once did for myself. 

It was one of those strange contemplative moments where you feel at once at peace, while a nagging little worry and wonder runs as an undercurrent through it all – nothing to disturb the surface, nothing to disturb the peace – and it’s a lovely little encapsulation of my life journey at this point. Nowhere approaching perfection, not even bothering with such a nonsensical goal, and nowhere near the raw beginning of egotistical idiocy I once attempted to embody, this is a calm if slightly messy space. I found a calm and comfort even in this ridiculous medical gown I awkwardly attempted to hold together behind my back to keep warm. We are such silly, awkward creatures, throwing ourselves into such silly and awkward actions in order to survive, to stay healthy, to prolong life. It is our instinct to endure, even the most self-destructive among us, and as I shared the physical and mental journey of the past few years with the NP, I felt a profound sense of peace and accomplishment, along with the desire and wish to improve. 

By the end of the exam, when I felt entirely at ease and comfortable, the NP took my blood pressure again and it was actually worse than it had been at the beginning. Yup, that sounded just about right for where 2021 had brought me – room for improvement, room for acknowledgment, and room for the laugh I let out as my 45-year-old self suddenly saw himself and his present predicament. 

Whether it feels like it or not, and it’s scheduled to kind of feel like it, spring has arrived officially! I’m throwing my hands up and rejoicing because this has been one long and trying COVID winter. With our vaccinations finally on the horizon, the notion of spring has especially-powerful resonance this year, and I’m looking forward to whatever hope it may offer and instill. 

Andy recently posted his own restlessness and wish to travel again, and that looks like it may be on the horizon as well – possibly as soon as our wedding anniversary in May (and a delayed 10th wedding anniversary celebration). All are happy thoughts, especially on the first day of a new season. We will make our spring wishes and burn them today, fulfilling our seasonal traditions and sending out our spiritual manifestations into the universe. 

Here we have arrived at the last day of winter, and the heart can’t help but leap a little in rejoicing. It certainly felt like a long one, even if we didn’t get an especially large number of snowstorms. The one we had were substantial enough to give decent snow cover for a considerable amount of time – which bodes well for the perennials. That’s not to say that our snow days are quite over for the year – they tend to linger, and are often more fierce coming at the tail-end of the season. Don’t count Mother Nature out ever. 

As for these chocolate Easter eggs, they are an early and limited treat, as a new fitness and better-eating regime is about to be installed in our home. The arrival of spring means summer is not far behind, and this body is not nearly pool-ready. There is much work to be done… 

I would venture that many of us know how this mask feels: broken, beat down, worn, torn and ragged. Roughed up and scuffed up and tossed away like so much discardable waste. After a year of occupying this new reality, a new fatigue has set in, and if spring doesn’t hurry up and unlock us from our winter imprisonment, I’m fearful for what this inmate might perpetrate. Thinking back to one year ago is an exercise in astonishment – both for what actually transpired over this past year, and in the way that we used to live just 365 days ago. 

At the start of last March I was in the office sitting across from Sherri at her desk, almost teasingly floating the impossible idea of things closing, and I distinctly remember saying that there was no way they would cancel the show we were about to see, and if they did I said they would have to close all of Broadway which would never happen. We all know that that’s exactly how it all happened in the following weeks, and it’s now been one full year since the last time our whole office was at work together.

In that time, a new reality and way of life has emerged. It was a rocky path at first. Work-wise I think a lot of us struggled to find our footing in those early days – personally it felt like I was working in the dark, unsure and unaware of where all my usual shortcuts and files were, but eventually, and rather quickly, we found our way again, and in many ways working remotely has improved both the quality and quantity of my work output. More importantly, a new way of life in the way of caring for others and being more careful with people emerged as all of us worked to protect ourselves and our loved ones in the face of a world-wide pandemic. It seems not even that was able to fully impress itself upon the immensity of our population – and some not-so-smart people still don’t seem to get it. This is one of those history-making moments that changes the trajectory of the world. I’m not sure why people can’t see it. To that end, my family and friends have shifted our lives accordingly, and in the end it will be for the better.

Where once I lamented on the loss of a Plaza weekend in New York, or a Mother’s Day weekend with Mom, or our almost-annual BroSox Adventure with Skip, I now mourn for over 536,000 lost American lives (and counting), for an increasingly racist society emboldened by white supremacy that can seemingly go unchecked even when breaking into our very Capitol building, and for so many ill-informed and hate-filled people who readily gobble up blatant and easily refutable lies. While President Biden is doing an amazing job of cleaning up the mess left by the former guy, so much hatred and indivisibility has been unleashed it is an impossible task to fix it all – but I have not quite given up. If anything, I’m becoming more vocal about what will and will not stand. Justice and truth and equality are the tenets upon which America was founded. Now is not the time to give up. And so we go into this second year of our new reality, with a resurgence of inspiration, a jolt of doing what is just and right, and the knowledge that the direction of our country’s moral compass depends on all of us.