The title of this post says about all the nonsensical things I wish to say, as I vamp and stall for more time away from this blog. Having spent the bulk of this past weekend with good friends, and the last couple of days with Andy in Boston, I just didn’t have the chance or heart to spill my guts out here for the umpteenth time. Check out the past few posts for gut-wrenchingly-silly soul-searching, and come back later this week when I’ve had a chance to properly collect myself from all the birthday fun and mayhem.
Sharing my birthday with a weekly blog recap is just the sort of generous endeavor I do for my soul now that I’m grown. Just kidding – Monday birthdays suck but the calendar ceased being my friend years ago. On with this weekly blog recap…
I felt the years. I felt the weight. I felt the fact that there were more days and years behind me than would ever be before me again. I felt the rush. I felt the hushed, icy lack of turned heads when I’d enter a restaurant. When you’re fifty you blend better into the background, and after fifty years of not blending into the background, there was wickedness and relief in that.
What might be most surprising is that I could still access the tumultuous emotions of life without having to actually go through any of them – a removed yet thrilling way of remembering and experiencing what I once thought solely the province of the young. My 50th year ran through gamut of emotional highs and lows, even as nothing extreme really even happened. In that respect, things got decidedly more exciting, merely from the shift in my own perspective and how I experienced everything. That bodes well for the next half of life.
As for this 51st birthday, I’m laying low and keeping things relatively quiet, enjoying a day in Boston and trying not to take any of the social media flowers too seriously. Fifty-one isn’t one of the big milestones anyway, though some might argue that anything over the halfway mark is worth celebrating. My own love/hate relationship with my birthday doesn’t find reconciliation one way or another – not quite that evolved yet but definitely working on it.
Anyway, have a gander at previous birthday posts, most of which feature some element of my birthday suit because I’m nothing if not a goddamned giver.
Birthday #50: A letter to myself because if you can’t do you on your birthday, what can you do?
As I near the end of my final day as a fifty-year-old man, and the completion of five full decades in this world, I pause and wonder at my place in it. Well, not so much the peculiar places at which I’ve resided, but more at the places the world allows for us. So much inhospitality, so much hostility – so many ‘Do Not Enter’s, so many ‘Keep Out’s – so many private spaces and inaccessible hearts – even when I belonged, I never felt like I belonged.
So many things I would have done…
This is why part of me hates birthdays, and why they’ve always made me uncomfortable: this is when the world forces a look back at one’s life, at the year that came before, and the years that came before that, and before you know it a song like this is playing and you’re weeping at what it now means to you, and how it means so much more than it did when you were a kid and your Mom was just playing it on the car stereo as your family hurtled along on a summer vacation that felt like the happiest time you would ever have in your entire life. And maybe it was, and you didn’t know it then, but you know it now, and that makes you cry harder, and it’s all too late.
But now it’s just another show, and you leave ’em laughing when you go And if you care, don’t let them know… don’t give yourself away
I’m still not sure about it, and maybe I’ll pull this at the last minute. They say one should never write when the dander is up. I’d add that one shouldn’t write when the tears are down.
Tears and fears and feeling proud, to say, “I love you, ” right out loud…
When I said I was out of fucks to give, I didn’t mean it. I thought I did, but I wasn’t that strong. We’re never as strong as we pretend to be. And when we’re not pretending, we’re still not that strong. At least I’m not.
How and why a fifty-year-old-man should feel like the little boy he once was, walking home from school in the rain and letting the raindrops fall into his eyes so no one could tell he was crying, is one of those stupid things that happens to reveal the ludicrous state of being a fifty-year-old and remembering your youth. It’s why on most days I don’t look back.
Most people would not welcome a rainy Sunday morning, but I’m not aligning with most people these days. On this particular morning, I step onto the front steps of our home and listen to the sound of the rain, grateful for the downtrodden aspect of atmosphere. My lifelong friend Ann has just departed after a weekend of fun and friendship rejuvenation – a time where two old friends could just relax into the easy cadence of our youth, reveling in how much things have changed – and how our friendship remains the same.
Pulling the golden streamers that framed the doorway, I toss them down and see them pool into a sparkling pretty mess. This will likely be our final Solid Gold Summer gathering – I’m too tired and apathetic to rally and plan for more golden moments – and scheduling things with kids is too impossible to try. Leaving it in the hands of others means nothing will happen, and I’m happily reconciled to that.
Spending the weekend with Ann (and a dinner with Missy and Carla) reminded us of how important it is to nourish the soul by having this kind of time together. We did little else but talk and laugh (with a quick trip to Schenectady to get some goodies at Perecca’s) and it was absolutely what we needed to highlight this tender time of summer.
I miss her already, and the rain feels like a fitting coda to complete a beautiful weekend – a happy echo that will reverberate throughout the fall and winter whenever we need a memory of joy.
As previously mentioned, August is a time of plentiful rainbows in these parts. Whenever one appears, I go online to see how many others saw the same thing – it’s one of those increasingly rare moments when humans come together under a single event and have a sort of communal experience – the way we used to all watch the same television show at the exact same time and talk about it the next day. The world is at our fingertips now, but I’ve never felt so far removed from people.
Perhaps we should be throwing away all the guises we assume to please others – the roles we feel we should be playing to be more acceptable – more loved – in the world. Maybe that’s the real garbage in our lives, these ideas that we should try to fit in and be like everybody else. What a stupid thing to desire – and how difficult it is to not want for the comfort of it. I’ve always considered myself a bit stronger than most when it comes to that – able to defiantly march to my own beat, in my own strange sense of style but even I know it’s often easier to make my way through the average day in jeans and a t-shirt than some sparkling golden ensemble that practically glows in the dark. There are more than enough battles to be waged – battles that will be thrust upon us without say or choice – why would we create any more?
That said, I still want to sparkle – and I will always want to sparkle – and I’m going to throw away all that ever inhibits that from happening.
Visually, this post remains true to our Solid Gold Summer theme; musically it’s a slight side-step away from the 70’s disco sound and Egyptian accents that this summer had preciously sung out in questionable taste. Somehow, this song meets the moment at hand – when I find myself contemplating the idea of throwing away what remains of August, and summer, to the rabid wolves of the world. Usually I’m a bit more protective of this month, and these tender last weeks of the season of sun; this year I’m ready to launch full-speed into fall, forgetting every last golden bit of my 50th year on earth.
Need I say I love you? Need I say I care? Need I say that emotion’s something we don’t share? I don’t want to be sitting here trying to deceive you ‘Cause you know I know baby, that I don’t wanna go
We cannot live together, We cannot live apart That’s the situation, I’ve known it from the start Every time that I look at you, well, I can see the future ‘Cause you know I know baby, that I don’t wanna go
Just throwing it all away, Throwing it all away Is there nothing that I can say to make you change your mind? I watch the world go round and round and see mine turning upside down
Just when I’m ready to let it all go, to throw away whatever is left of this crazy season, I remember that there is still a full month of summer left. A full month to recharge in what sun the summer days might allow – a time to reflect, to heal, to rebuild, and to rediscover the things that once brought me such joy, and might again. The world sometimes seems to dim the brightest lights, and I’m not always sure I understand why. Maybe to equalize things? Maybe to check the ego. Maybe to temper what might have been happiness? It doesn’t feel like humans were meant to dwell long in elation – and the gods never did appreciate those of us who flew too close to the sun. What a rotten trick to play on humanity – to give us such a capacity for hope and emotions, only to use them against us. Sometimes it’s just survival.
Now who will light up the darkness? And who will hold your hand? Who will find you the answers when you don’t understand? Why should I have to be the one who has to convince you? ‘Cause you know I know baby that I don’t wanna go
Someday you’ll be sorry, Someday when you’re free Memories will remind you that our love was meant to be But late at night, when you call my name The only sound you’ll hear is the sound of your voice calling Calling after me
Yet August persists in her devilishly dogged way. Scrappy, fighting, resilient beast, like the Virgos born in her last days, she gets up for every one of her thirty-one mornings and faces whatever might arrive after whatever we might have done the night before. Reassurance and madness in one – attempting to throw it all away while seeing it indelibly into your memory palace. The more we fight things, the more they insist on staying lodged in our heads and, more dangerously, our hearts. In this mad world, it is a curse to feel – and to hang onto feelings. Throwing it all away might be the surest and safest path to self-preservation.
Just throwing it all away Throwing it all away And there’s nothing that I can say…
When your entire democracy hangs in the balance, as it does this election year, it’s more important than ever to rid this country of the Trump-supporting Republicans who are throwing away the very tenets of what made this country great in service to Donald Trump, an alleged pedophile and someone who has already been found liable for sexual abuse and battery. One of the few Democrats to fully fight against the Trump regime’s awful policies and hateful rhetoric, Jon Ossoff is also up in a tough re-election bid in Georgia, where he’s established himself as a candidate for the people. Better than that is his BDE (IYKYK) and swagger as he pummels Trump with the truths that the GOP and much of the media chooses to ignore or pretend away. Ossoff earns this Dazzler of the Day as a rare politician who speaks the truth and continues to work for his constituents in the face of all that the Republicans are trying to take away from us. Check out Jon Ossoff’s re-election website here, and let’s hope that Georgia does the right thing this fall.
Richie and Austen are often along for the ride They don’t say a lot, but they know every inch of this drive If these trees started talking, I bet you they’d only talk shit ‘Cause we never do anything real, we just talk about it Endin’ of August, the bugs are just starting to die All the neighbors are voting for someone who wins every time And I thought getting older meant knowing it’s too late to try And I tried getting sober, I swear I did better this time
Whoa, everything you see out here will die Ooh, it’s a matter of time ‘til it’s Fields of ice and reflector lights ‘Til it’s our town And anything you need I will provide A ride home or an alibi I know the traffic light You can speed right by ‘Cause the camera’s down And I follow New York plates to the county line I ignore ‘em when they wave on 89 The minute that September hits I’m going off my medicine, oh Late August angst, and a pointless night Ooh, and the feeling of being alive For the first time, in a long time
On the eve of their arrival, I step onto the back patio. It’s raining, and I don’t mind it. The tomatoes have started to split, and I hurriedly harvest a few, popping them into my mouth and savoring the summer moment. Pausing to take it all in, I listen to the rain, remembering a similar rainy day in which I sat beside a patch of trilliums earlier in the spring. That feels far away now – so much can happen in a single summer, even when nothing seems to have happened.
Oh we’re a drawing of a place We’re a photo on the fridge They mined copper for years Oh, there was nothing left to dig It’s a place where most kids Just grow up and have kids, who grow up and have kids Who build homes for the rich, oh
A pesky mosquito threatens the peaceful moment, and even that doesn’t annoy me the way it usually would. I wonder why I care so much less. I wonder why I don’t care much at all. End of summer blues, probably. They’ll be chased away once Ann and Missy arrive – friends always to the rescue.
Whoa, everything you see out here will die Ooh, it’s a matter of time til it’s Fields of ice and reflector lights ‘Til it’s our town ‘Til it’s our town ‘Til it’s our town And it’s ours now It’s ours now
Some plants just inspire happiness – and this brilliant begonia has always been one of those plants for me – from its fiery color to its elegant cascading structure. This year I only ended up planting one of these, but it’s filled out its pot admirably, backed by a chartreuse sweet potato vine to set off its gorgeous flower hue. Some years when it gets particularly wet and cool, these have failed, rotting before they get a chance to really shine. Happily this wasn’t one of those years, and the sun and warmth have given it prime atmosphere to show off.
Our potted patio plants always come into their own right about now – reaching maximum size and floral impact – and so long as I keep up the fertilizing and watering, this incredible show should continue until the frosts begin. Let’s slow our roll in these latter days of August.
Winning two consecutive Tony Awards for Best Featured Actress in a Play in 2024 and 2025, Kara Young holds a special place in theatrical history, having been nominated for Tony Awards in four consecutive years, and winning two Drama Desk Awards, an Outer Critics Circle Award, and an Obie Award. Add to those more prestigious honors this Dazzler of the Day crowning, and you have the brilliance that theater-goers have known about for quite some time.
Fresh heirloom tomatoes, served with mozzarella and Balsamic vinegar, and topped with salt and pepper and some fresh basil from the garden, form the simple but potent lunch treat on the plate before you. This is how summer celebrates itself, whether we decide to pause for its joy or not; the ingredients are there at our fingertips, it’s up to us how and whether we will employ them to supplement the beauty of a day. That’s enough of a mid-day post for now.
When I find myself in times of trouble, such as in these emotionally-charged waning days of 50, I have a secret weapon that has always saved me in just about every tricky situation. Looking back over the many years, I’ve come to realize that my secret super-powers have always been my friendships. Whenever I’m in the midst of doubt or difficulty, when the world has done me a wrong turn or someone has hurt me intentionally or unintentionally, my friends never fail to assemble like an avenging source of support and emotional sustenance.
It’s not usually an explicit action in response to a cry for help; my habit is not to cry, and my history is not to ask – yet somehow they all sense when I need a friend.
At those times, we’ll schedule a dinner out, share a phone call at the end of the day, or simply volley some texts back and forth that are enough to make me feel better about the world and my place in it.
As I navigate these treacherous final throes of 50, when mid-life malaise and crisis threaten to derail what personal progress I’ve made over the year, I find my friendships coming to a rescue I’ve only just realized I need – and for that I am grateful.
Anyone who’s operating under the title of The Naked Florist demands consideration as a Dazzler of the Day, and when I checked out the impressive background of New Zealand’s Naked Florist named Steve, he immediately earned his crowning here. Making use of fresh and local flowers, along with an eye for the seasonal and sustainable, Steve also imbues his work with a personal slant and an embrace of inclusivity to provide beauty for all. Check out his website here and the self-written bio that goes into the journey that got him where he is now:
Kia ora, I’m Steve, a 40-something kiwi born and bred in the Waikato. From an early age I have loved gardening – growing my first veggie patch when I was ten years old! Growing things is in my DNA – it teaches us so many things. It is also such great therapy. After spending twenty plus years in corporate roles I resigned my job in 2023 to take a career break and re-think my future. During my downtime I enrolled in the NZ Certificate in Floristry (L4) to scratch my long held itch for being a florist. Combining my extensive amateur knowledge of gardening, and the creative component of floristry I started to plan a future where all my passions could come together: gardening, floristry, environmental responsibility, empathy and shared positivity. Out of all this, The Naked Florist was born!
