For well over a decade, a sweet Autumn clematis formed the green archway that framed the entrance to our side yard. It grew twenty to thirty feet each year, and was a reliable foundation element. One year it simply gave up, inexplicably deciding not to return after a winter. Happily, around that same time, the slower-growing climbing hydrangea had taken over the other side of the archway, and now it more than covers the area. It is right below our attic window, making for a happy view especially when spring is in the air.
Before the clematis departed, however, it seeded several other areas with its progeny, which have been slowly creeping in accordance with its accompanying adage: the first year it sleeps, the second year it creeps, the third year it leaps. One of them must be in its third year, as I found this bunch of blooms in the pine boughs of the side yard, sweetly scenting the warm air of the sunny, almost-autumn day.
The objects were made of stone, heavy and substantial and seemingly immovable.
Yet when I closed my eyes, and breathed in deeply, I could immediately move them in my mind.
Was this some sort of Jedi trick that only a few select lucky individuals could master? Not at all – it was simple mindfulness. With some practice, and a proper shift of perspective, anyone can defy the laws of physics and the limits of this physical realm. I’ve only just begun my mindfulness journey, and at six years into the practice I feel like I might know even less than when I began. Some would say that means it’s working.
As an over-thinker, my mind was accustomed to burdening itself with over-analysis and runaway thoughts. When I began meditating, it became necessary to face those thoughts and acknowledge their presence in order to let them go. That was easier when I worked myself into a state of mindfulness – when the focus is on the present moment and what precisely is going on at a very basic level.
The cadence of my breathing – slow and deep or quick and shallow.
The sensations of my skin – cool with goosebumps or warm from the day’s sun.
The light of the room – filled with sunlight of morning and mid-day or dim with the descent of evening.
The scent of the air – a savory wafting of home-cooked dinner on the way or the sweet lingering tickle of a soapy shower.
The observations can change by the minute – they are but a few among a vast multitude, varying and infinite as the boundless world. The purpose is to notice them, to be aware of them, to let them occupy your mind and push the more bothersome and harmful thoughts away for a while. Only when my mind is calm and uncluttered can I make some bit sense of everything.
That’s the start of mindfulness – noticing and observing the here and now.
Very few people are so uniquely talented and celebrated to be known by a single name, but Richarlison enters the vaunted realm of Madonna and Cher thanks to his impressive plays on the soccer field, and an even more impressive embrace of therapy and publicly addressing depression and mental illness. Taken together, Richarlison earns his first Dazzler of the Day honor as we begin our road to World Cup glory.
Suzie and I celebrated my 50th birthday in Boston this past weekend – the last of my half-century celebrations – and it was the sort of charming and enchanting weekend at the end of summer that only Suzie could pull off. It began with an afternoon entry into the city, whereupon we procured provisions for dinner from Eataly and Trader Joe’s. As has been my wont these last few years, an opening charcuterie dinner at the condo is the easiest and most economical ways of starting things off for a Boston weekend. When the weather cooperates, and the breeze is divine, we open up the windows and listen to the fountain of Braddock Park send soothing sounds of water, accenting the dreamy soundtrack of a summer’s afternoon.
The summer wind came blowin’ in from across the sea It lingered there to touch your hair and walk with me All summer long, we sang a song And then we strolled that golden sand Two sweethearts and the summer wind
Boston was still very much in bloom – the roses giving an impressive second showing after their first flush of color in June – and the skies would remain blue through Sunday. We assembled a dinner platter, dined looking out over the street, then took an evening stroll to a matcha ice cream place that Skip and I had tried a while back. We chose the matcha and ube twist, and I took mine in an ube cone.
We took our time walking back and making the most of a beautiful night at summer’s lush end. Suzie is a game walking partner, and if the weather is decent I’d always rather walk than take the T, even if the journey would constitute several stops. Summer nights will be done within the week – make the most of them while they’re here.
The next morning, we traveled to Beacon Hill for brunch at The Paramount. It was my very first time at that institution, as I’m usually not out early enough to get there before the line begins. We timed it perfectly, snagging a table just as the rush began in earnest. After that, our main purpose was to peruse the Beacon Hill Book & Cafe, another popular stop I’d never bothered to visit, and one which I’ll definitely be visiting again.
The definition of charming, it was made for the small of stature and the whimsical of mind, and the magical environs reminded us that there was still enchantment in this world. I was introduced to the story of Paige the Squirrel, and her friends proved a happy motif for books and decor and all flights of fancy. It segued nicely into our walk back through the Boston Public Garden.
Like painted kites Those days and nights they went flyin’ by The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky Then softer than a piper man One day it called to you I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind
Beacon Hill has always been one of those sections that I don’t often frequent – in part because I don’t want to exhaust or run through it so much that it becomes commonplace. For now, it holds a special allure because I save it for a treat – a holiday stroll or a singular summer visit – but if I spend more time in Boston (and the light of retirement’s door has finally begun to glow in the grand distance) I’d like to make this area a regular part of my daily habits.
We would return for a birthday dinner at 1928 – another Beacon Hill first for me – and the meal and atmosphere matched the winsome weekend vibes. Spending time in my favorite city with one of my favorite people is one of my favorite birthday gifts this year – and the very best way to close out a summer season.
After a meandering search for a post-dinner sweet treat, we took the long way home along the Charles River, which held its own bewitching allure. That day we walked over 11 miles, according to Suzie’s fit-bit calculations, and the happy exhaustion indicated a day well spent.
A quick breakfast at Charlie’s finished our time in Boston, and it was so lovely we ate outside, where the bees barely bothered us. I didn’t want to leave, but this kind of perfect weekend wouldn’t be perfect if it lasted too long – and summer is the same way.
The autumn wind and the winter winds They have come and gone And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on And guess who sighs his lullabies Through nights that never end My fickle friend, the summer wind
At last he realized that his entire life could be summed up as the quest to normalize the word ‘no’ as a possibility, a sentence, and an answer to life’s most confoundingly annoying problems.
In the end – in our ending – it is, it will be, it was – the way before, the way after – a seed of a beginning.
This is the way you left me, I’m not pretending No hope, no love, no glory, no happy ending This is the way that we love, like it’s forever Then live the rest of our life, but not together
Wake up in the mornin’, stumble on my life Can’t get no love without sacrifice If anything should happen, I’d guess I wish you well Mmh, a little bit of Heaven, but a little bit of Hell
This is the hardest story that I’ve ever told No hope, or love, or glory, happy ending’s gone forevermore
There’s a party going on in here It’s been happenin’ for many years You weren’t invited and don’t want to stay But keep partying anyway DJ’s playin’ my familiar tune Got them dancin’, shakin’ up the room They hear the beat, but they don’t know the words This is the saddest song I’ve ever heard
If you could look into the future, would ya? If you could see it, would you even want to? I’ve got a feeling that there’s bad news coming But I don’t want to find it out
If it’s the end of the world, let’s party Like it’s the end of the world, let’s party Wrap your arms around, everybody If we’re all gonna die, let’s party Let’s party, let’s party
Who can I blame with everythin’ I’ve done? Is this the price we pay for too much fun? Don’t be misled; it’s not a twist of fate It’s just what happens when you stay out late So raise your glasses, all my kings and queens Smash the chandelier to smithereens Who knew that mercury could rise so fast? Enjoy the party ’cause this is our last
If it’s the end of the world, let’s party Like it’s the end of the world, let’s party Wrap your arms around, everybody If we’re all gonna die, let’s party
If it’s the end of the world, let’s party Like it’s the end of the world, let’s party Wrap your arms around, everybody If we’re all gonna die, let’s party
There’s a party goin’ on in here It’s been happenin’ for many years And even if it all goes bad It was the best time we ever had
Who is she? Blonde goddess, lollipop-licking, candy perfumed, sunglass-shielding diva of divine status: who are you? Who are we? A million different people from one day to the next, and none of them very real, none of them very likable, none of them very authentic or genuine. A diva’s greatest lament is in not truly knowing who she is, because a diva should always know who she is.
That’s the essence of a diva: the certainty and belief in their own self. If that self is mutable and changeable, if that self can transform and transition, if change and transformation are the essence of this diva, does that make them any less?
One day the diva decides to take it off – the masks, the costumes, the make-up, and the sparkle – to see who might be underneath it all. The diva knows this is dangerous; there is always the risk of revealing too much, and by too much she knows this means there might be too little there to constitute anything of matter or meaning. What if it really was just a bunch of poses?
A hair-bumped reprieve at that moment when the guests have all gone, the candles have been blown out, and the saddest strings of smoke hang limply in the air.
We have reached the penultimate weekend of our posting schedule for The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale. Revisiting this project from 2005 has been a mostly-amusing, and occasionally-arduous exercise over the past summer season. It’s allowed me to re-examine choices (sartorially and emotionally), re-evaluate plans and hopes, and re-align the vision I had back then with whatever slight wisdom I may have gained in the past twenty years.
This mini-cliff-hanger before next weekend’s planned finale sets up the dark ending that was the only way this project was ever going to end. It shouldn’t come as any surprise, but even the most expected outcomes carry with them a sliver of hope that things might have gone a different direction. It’s the essence of being human: hoping against the inevitable and hanging onto a belief that anything could ever last. In some ways, this project was my way of reconciling myself to the end, because there is always an end, even if we don’t yet see one.
Lest anyone sound the alarms or call the po-po, this is a reminder that The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale was released twenty years ago. The ending at hand is purely metaphorical, and reveals more the destruction of this fairyland and the end of a mode of living that delved perhaps a bit too much into the realm of fantasy. It may strike with a greater resonance given the current world climate, and the desire to escape from a very real awfulness, but back then things weren’t nearly as serious.
And so, the end is near, and we are about to face the final curtain…
When all is stripped away,
when all is revealed,
when all else is gone,
All Is Vanity.
Married to darkness, bound to night, our diva is poised on the precipice of flight or falling.
Stilled at the right moment, who could tell the difference?
LAUGHING SCREAMING TUMBLING QUEEN LIKE THE MOST AMAZING LIGHT SHOW THAT YOU’VE EVER SEEN WHIRLING SWIRLING NEVER BLUE HOW COULD YOU GO AND DIE, WHAT A SELFISH THING TO DO
DID YOU EVER ASK THOSE STRANGERS WHAT THEY’RE SEARCHING FOR? DID THEY LAUGH AND TELL YOU THEY’RE NOT REALLY SURE? YOU WERE HURT BY LOVE BUT STILL YOU CAME RIGHT BACK FOR MORE IL ADORE, IL ADORE, IL ADORE…
Andy and I are always sad to see the summer go, especially when we haven’t had as much pool time as usual. The season began later, peaked with a few solid weeks of hot weather, then retreated into the cooler nights. In a large part, this summer was a wash for any number of reasons – maybe one day we’ll get into all the messiness of it – in the meantime I reserve the right to return to all that happened should things refuse to improve.
This weekend, Suzie and I are traveling to Boston for a belated birthday dinner – the last of my close-friend celebrations for fifty – and a launching pad for the fall about to arrive.
When we return, I hope that Andy and I get a few more days in the pool before the season comes to a close. That’s the only to-do-list we need to complete.
Last weekend we had Noah over for a jam-packed Saturday sleepover following his soccer game. (He’s still fundraising for his team, and only about halfway to his goal, so if you’re so inclined please check out the donation page here.) We had Suzie’s family over for a pizza dinner, and when that was done Noah and I headed out for a late showing of ‘Superman’ (and a 10:25 PM start time for a movie is just too late for my old ass, but I did it).
The next morning we woke early to avoid the rush of brunch at Cafe Madison, then hit the road for a spur-of-the-moment trip to Manchester, Vermont to get the Maple Creme that Suzie I discovered at The Maple Reserve. It was Noah’s first time trying one of these amazing treats, and he confirmed it was worth the drive.
Whenever I hang out with the twins, I learn something. Sometimes it’s a new way of looking at life, sometimes it’s a new app or setting to take a picture on my phone, and sometimes it’s a little deeper – like some treatise on time itself – how it moves, how it repeats, how it evolves and keeps us going.
Noah is almost a young man, and I feel how quickly time is rushing us along.
Perhaps it was their ubiquitous use in the floral arrangements of St. Mary’s church that made me rebel against the gladiolus from a young age, but whatever the case I’ve only warmed to this stunner in recent years. They’ve been showing up in the markets over the past few weeks, and I’ve been replenishing our prettiest vase with their various color schemes. This time it’s the warm hues of these fiery-throated beauties captured here.
Red-beards have their own fan club in certain circles, as does the gladiolus, whose colors and varieties are as varied as the daylily and iris world. The person checking me out of Trader Joe’s, where I picked these beauties up, shared with me a trick for getting them to bloom all the way to the end of their stalks: snip off the top inch or two of the tip – it can be done by carefully peeling back the outer green protective sheath so you barely notice that anything was cut. This variation on a circumcision supposedly stimulates the plant into blooming the entire length of its stalk, and based on these blooms it seems to be working.
