Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

It’s almost time for summer barbecues, summer parties, summer gatherings, and summer fun. While I’m always on the lookout for mosquito repellant success stories, I offer this helpful meme for those looking to throw off the other stinging bugs.

It’s all about distraction and false leads. Get them off your scent by offering something sweeter, and chase the kids away in the process. Win-win.

This is probably the second egg I’ve broken in the past few months, which is not a happy thing considering the price of eggs these days. It is, however, a lesson in going with the flow and not letting a broken egg ruin the day that follows. The past perfectionist in me would have thrown a conniption fit over such a thing, railing against the injustice of the world and whining to any and all within earshot (sorry Andy) until I made some small sense of it.

The relatively-new non-perfectionist in me takes it in stride, quickly wipes up the mess with a few paper towels, and carries on with the day. Not the biggest deal in the world, probably not even worth a blog post, but there is magic in making something out of nothing, and accepting the nonsensical side of the world is integral to being at peace in this place.

The last time I smelled lilies was when a large bouquet of them took pride of place on my mother’s dining room table when my Dad died in the summer of 2023. Knowing how powerfully a scent could conjure a memory, I’ve semi-subconsciously avoided them in any bouquets for that reason. The other day, however, I happened upon some lovely lilies in the market. Emi had just been telling me that lilies were her favorite flower, and I was looking for a bouquet for Andy as he has been so supportive over the last few stressful weeks. With a soft pink shading, the lilies matched the roses in the bouquet I was assembling, and I took a chance with whatever memory might be brought back to life.

It took them a day to open up, and then they filled the room with their heavenly perfume. It brought me back to that sorrowful summer, to all those sad days, but it wasn’t sadness I felt, it was comfort. It reminded me that as upsetting as it was, there was also something very beautiful about my Dad’s graceful exit from this world, and in the way we said goodbye to him. There was peace in those days – sadness, yes, but peace too – and there was beauty in those weeks. Beauty in the flowers that appeared from friends, in the flowers that were tumbling out of the gardens in that gorgeous summer, beauty in the white circle of flowers that surrounded his urn in the church, in that moment when the family I had known all my life would be in the same place for the last time. Or so I thought.

It would turn out that we would be together again – in every family dinner where Dad came up in conversation, in every moment I struggled and turned to the idea of him for protection, and in the scent of these lilies that brought it all back.

This is it – the week when summer officially arrives, and it looks to be – wait for it! – filled with RAIN!!! I’ve reached the crazed and exasperated point of ALL-CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!! As Andy will unhappily attest, this is decidedly NOT the time to fuck with me. Let’s get this weekly blog recap over with and dive back into the stormy weather before summer truly begins or I take a hostage…

It began with a hot date in the sun.

The promise of a musical trailer.

Goo be gone.

A Virgo’s evolution.

Let’s get lucky.

It was about this time when the rain really started to get to me.

David Beckham’s bulge in white.

Merry gold already gone.

A gratuitous Luke Evans Speedo post.

A little lesson in alliteration.

Moonlight and starlight echoing through the trees.

Scratch and itch.

Disappointment.

Poised by the pool on the cusp of summer.

Stalled again by the rain, this diva vamps.

Shades of green and tranquility.

A white floral weekend.

A full bouquet from a single branch.

A second Father’s Day without a father.

Our day of white flowers comes to a close, as does our second Father’s Day without Dad. At the bottom of the hill where my father rests, a stand of wild white roses has rambled along the edge of the wood. Wild roses remind me of the rose shrub that stood at the edge of my childhood home. It only bloomed once a year – around this time – when it was covered in single yellow flowers, scented with the softest perfume. The extremely thorny stems made this a maddening rose, not even worth growing in my eyes, but every year it had a week or two of glory, and it signaled the happy arrival of summer, and my youth, where my Dad stood sentinel and guardian of all ills.

Father’s Day almost eluded me – I didn’t really feel much this time, and quite frankly almost forgot all about it until the social media posts started cropping up. I also understand why some people avoid the internet during such holidays after they’ve lost someone. Loss grants a certain humility and patience with other people, something you don’t fully fathom until you go through it yourself.

Dad has actually been subtly on my mind the past few weeks, almost subliminally so. It’s more of a gentle presence, something reassuring when I’ve had some moments of doubt and worry and stress. I found myself walking to the church during a recent lunch hour, the place where I’d go in a panicked state during his final weeks. It’s still a refuge, and I stepped into the hushed space grateful for the shadowy coolness, the possibility of something greater at work in a world that felt so messed up. I spoke silently to my father there, before I even spoke to God, and I think He understood.

My favorite bouquet of the year is also the easiest: the single branch of Chinese dogwood, placed in a beloved vase from a long-lost friend. It signifies the start of summer – a time for simplicity and ease, beauty and elegance, freshness and rebirth.

This year our dogwood trees have been especially floriferous, and our indoor scene benefits from some overdue pruning at this particular time of the season. I’m not sure why I don’t see more bouquets using Chinese dogwood blooms (the American version is seen more often) – when captured early they can last for a couple of weeks, the leaves even longer, and a single branch can make for an entire elaborate bouquet. Life is difficult and ugly enough – we need more beauty, we need more art, we need more flowers… and this is my contribution.

Our backyard patio is a bit of a shambles given all the rain we’ve had of late. The potted plants are struggling – drowning may be a more accurate description. A once-majestic potted banana tree looked to be completely rotted out, in spite of my pampering and care of it in our garage, where it overwintered in frost-free relative-warmth. Thankfully I spotted two little green spikes just poking through the soil, and I covered it with plastic in an effort to keep the rainfall due this weekend off of it for a few precious days.

On a recent evening, before the full moon, but not far before it, the house begins glowing as the light moves from the sky to indoors. It is the moment of dusk, often a moment of magic – when the world begins its leisurely stroll toward the slumber after the turn of a day.

Perhaps this post would be better placed nearer the evening, but on what is scheduled to be a rainy day, I’m keeping it here. May it provide a place of peace, of calm, of the tranquil promise of summer.