Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

They came back.

Part of me had hoped that they would.

But that also meant they were serious.

Like a shopper who returns to a certain pricey coat. You know they mean business.

Unfortunately, we weren’t selling the land by our unopened pool, even if it looked run-down and abandoned. So when the ducks returned to nest I knew we had to dissuade them from setting up permanent camp here. Andy warned that there would be a big problem if they nested by the pool. Aside from the nastiness of having our pool used as a bathroom and feeding ground for waterfowl, there was the more frightening notion of having to navigate a backyard where eggs might be guarded by a pair of protective wild animals.

Andy advised looking to see if they had started building a nest, and when I made a quick examination of the area, sure enough, there was the small carved-out beginning of a nest dug in the ground beneath the safe prickles of a juniper. It was a cozy little nook right beside the pool and an old bench, and if it had been any further along in its assembly, neither Andy nor myself would have had the heart to put a stop to it. At this early stage, however, I had time to more humanely convince them to move elsewhere. This wasn’t available real estate.

My mind raced back to the birds that always seemed to make a nest in my Mom’™s hanging plants. Without fail, a robin would set up a nursery in one of those geraniums, and then we’d be battling a territorial red-breasted beast and watching from a distance as the plants wilted. When learning about birds and their nesting habits as a kid, I distinctly remember being told that if people touched a nest or its eggs, the bird would abandon the enterprise entirely and the eggs wouldn’t hatch. Following through with that train of thought, I figured maybe these ducks would be averse to sticking around if they felt threatened by the presence of a human. I did what this particular human would do when marking his territory.

Opening the door to the backyard, I startled the ducks out of the pool and they flew over the fence with agitated quacks. I walked toward the juniper where the nest was still mostly unfinished – it was really only an indentation in the ground. How exactly did I go about marking my territory? Well, let’s think about this. How do most animals mark their space? I reached into my pants and took out what I needed to do what I had to do.

One pocket held a bottle of Viktor & Rolf’s Spicebomb cologne, while the other contained Madonna’s Naked: Truth or Dare fragrance. I sprayed a bit of both on and around the nesting area. How on earth do you think I would leave a mark?

My hope is that they prefer Tom Ford’s Private Blends and won’t want to put up with more mainstream scents. I’ll keep you posted on whether it works…

Looking out into the backyard, I spotted the two intruders immediately. Trampling a stand of fountain grass that I was about to remove that very day, a pair of ducks waddled in the direction of the pool. I quickly called out to Andy, as we had never experienced such visitors. “They’re going into the pool!” I heard Andy cry from the bedroom. The pair smoothly made the transition from land to water, gliding into our dirty pool, ravaged from the winter with leaves and detritus and even a floating flower pot. The ducks didn’t seem to mind, playfully diving beneath the water and ruffling their feathers in seeming delight.

I grabbed my phone and rushed from the dining room to the family room, where I could get a better look at them. Pulling the drapes open, I watched as the female floated in place and locked her eyes with mine, sensing my movement and gaze. The male swirled about, still splashing in the water and opening and closing his beak in rapid movements. In her eyes, the female appeared contemplative and doleful, keeping a watch on me. She relaxed when I didn’t move, joining her mate in some splashing and underwater foraging for food.

I stayed there a bit longer, amused by these springtime visitors – the first of their kind that I’d ever seen stop by our pool. Mostly we get cardinals and blue jays and yellow finches, along with the dreaded grackles and robins. Ducks were an unexpected treat. They reminded me of the waterfowl at the Boston Public Garden. It was a welcome reminder.

Going back to interior concerns, I left the ducks to their own devices and when I checked back a few minutes later they had already departed. I felt an unwarranted tinge of loss. Maybe we were hungry for any sort of interaction in these isolated times. I went about the day, and an hour or so later I looked out and they were back in the pool. A quick flash of happy relief was soon replaced by a nagging fear that they might make a nesting spot in our backyard which would not have been good. I didn’t have to worry for long – they soon departed for good a few minutes later. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the flash of them flying over our fence, and then the last ripples in the empty pool of where they had just been.

One of the star performers of any perennial bed or border is Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ which keeps its succulent wintergreen foliage fresh throughout the summer and begins a long season of bloom with a dusty pink start in August that goes all the way through October. The dried flower-heads retain their architectural form through the winter, which makes for a charming visage when capped with snow. It’s one of the few plants with year-round visual interest, which has made them popular to the point of ubiquitous overuse. That doesn’t mar my feelings on them, however, so when I saw them poking these tender shoots out and testing the spring air, it made my heart leap. Another spring can now begin.

This past weekend I finally got outside and cleaned up the bulk of our winter debris. Filled the typical forty lawn bags of all the dead leaves and branches and various junk that litters the landscape while the garden slumbered. It’s awake now, but it’s still early. Groggy and shaking off sleep, the earth yawns and yearns to sleep a bit more. I get the same feeling on Wednesday mornings. Or whatever day this is. I seem to be losing track.

Here is a pair of before and after shots, and while the photo doesn’t do the scope and work justice, please note that the main stand of fountain grass in the first picture is 12 feet tall. That’s over twice as tall as me. This was no cake-walk, and there was definitely no cake at the end of the ordeal either. But it’s all part of the process, all part of the plan. I’m happy as a clam knowing that spring has arrived, and time in the garden is a valuable kind of therapy of its own. Cutting down each stalk was a ritual of cleansing and rebirth. Out with the old and in with the new. The earth, when left to her own devices, takes care of herself.

As a gift for my efforts, the first jonquils of the season deigned to bloom as I brought the bags to the curb. Pausing to crouch down and inhale their fragrance – that glorious scent of spring that has yet to be successfully replicated in any perfume or cologne – I remembered springs that have come before, and I allowed myself a bittersweet smile.

This is a time for serving Out-of-Office Realness, and I am here to serve you. For anyone who’s ever done a video conference from home, I know you have been in this situation. Thankfully I have not, as of yet, had to do a video conference – I’d be a nervous wreck. And I certainly wouldn’t do it in my underwear. No way. The camera would pan down, I would inadvertently stand up, or some other impossible scenario would play out just in the exact fashion that would reveal my Tom Ford leopard print boxer briefs.

I prefer to do the revealing on my own terms, and in the best possible lighting.

This fun shoot was done on-the-fly, in the basement office, at the end of a long day. In fact, I’ve been putting on fancy silk and sequin ensembles to work from home during office hours – ask Andy and my co-workers. It’s my own way of keeping sane and inspired. Also, if I stayed in my regular pajamas and robe, I’d feel sick and/or lazy – two states not conducive to doing good work. Visuals and atmosphere are important to me. A look can do more to change my mood than an emotional pane. Maybe that makes me more superficial than the average bear, and I’m cool with that. I’ve learned how to turn it to my advantage over the years.

This is also a form of play, and in these dark days of oppressive news and housebound tension, we need more play. Try on your hidden hats. Pull out your fanciest gown. Brush off that formal wedding suit. Dress it up. For no reason whatsoever. As kids we used to do this all the time. We played. We dressed up. We got silly. And we had fun. Way more fun than we have as adults.

Hang on to your hats – the lessons keep on coming.

The skunky-scented fritillaria seen here – more commonly called the Crown Imperial thanks to its impressive floral display – poked through the ground in our backyard, setting off the beginnings of the spring season here in upstate New York. it came just in time, as our isolation was just starting to wear on me. I got out and managed to fill twenty five big lawn bags of the detritus and debris of an entire winter season. While my middle-aged body recuperates (is there any Vic’s vaporub in this place?) we shall recap and provide some links to all that you may have missed. Mentholated vapors take me away…

It began with a very happy anniversary: the 10th birthday of my niece and nephew. 

The battle between the sacred and the profane, the spiritual and the material, and the sarcastically-blissful life of straddling two extremes. 

A pair of kissing cardinals visited our front yard.

We finally went full-frontal here, for really real. 

Spring can really hang you up the most. 

The erotically-inclined artwork of Michael Broderick. 

A Filipino desert recipe from my Mom: babinka.

The time to be neighborly is now. Right now. 

This is how solitude should smell. 

How ever did we get here? And where did my shirt go?

A damn fine cup of coffee, home-brewed.

Have you ever felt like nobody was there?

Lathering up in memories sparked by the Beekman Boys and ‘Aloe & Iris.’ 

Awakening to awareness: the first part. Our journey begins.

Hunks of the Day included Son HeChan, Max Parker, Chris Cuomo, Tristan Gatto, Collin Baja, and Austin Theory.

The last time I truly listened to this song was at the beginning or end of summer – how strange that I can’t quite remember which it was. [Editor’s note: it was smack dab in the middle of summer, right before my first summer blog break.] Though to be fair the start or finish of summer is pretty much equally sunny especially when compared to the harsh start of spring or brutal end of winter. We have tickets for the touring production of ‘Dear Evan Hansen‘ scheduled for June, but no one is confident that will happen. These are frightening times, and all we can focus on is today, and perhaps tomorrow. Going beyond that is a fool’s errand. Best we take it by the moment. Be present. Be here. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bSAMJIS-HOo

Let’s not get into how emotional this simple video got me – most people know how teary-eyed I get when people sing to me. And sometimes it’s good to cry – especially when all you’ve wanted to do for the last month is cry out in rage and sorrow and the forlorn ache of fear. Let those cries melt into the soaring sounds of voices raised in unison and harmony to make the world a little less lonely.

Perhaps one of the greatest gifts during this extended period of isolation is the gift of new knowledge.

In place of my Starbucks stops, Andy taught me how to make coffee.

I feel like such an adult!

Relax, it’s only decaf.

The last thing this world needs is me on caffeine.

Especially in isolation.

Our house would fall down.

Or explode.

Or both.