A new season doesn’t always begin with a bang, just as most New Year Days are quiet and simple mornings of reflection and contemplation. This fall feels small in that way, in a very good way, because after a year and a half of this madness a quiet little entry into a new season is the most comforting way to approach change. We’ve all been through a lot, and the world has collectively been traumatized. That’s something we have only begun to realize, and I’m concerned that the effects will linger far longer than most of us realize. 

That said, this site has never been one to sound the doomsday clock, or to watch it tick down to danger without offering some fantastic alternative of escapist frivolity and nonsense with which to divert our harried minds. To that end, let’s enter this fall season with a little intrigue and mystery, a colorful reigniting of passions after a summer, drained and devoid of many pleasures, fades into shades of gray. 

A scarf dances in the wind, alighting on a dogwood heavy with its own fruit, which is still no match to the super-saturated brightness of this pseudo-silk accessory. How a scarf came to be in the branches of a dogwood is a story likely not worth a telling, much less a re-telling at some later date, and so the mystery shall remain. Fall carries mystery with it, with its expanding darkness, the coolness on the wind, the way it teases you into its early pleasures right before striking it all down in a hard frost. Such a cruel sleight of hand, such a lovely way to burn. 

Dancing over to a hydrangea in its own salmon-hued bloom, the scarf winds its way through the garden like a snake, hiding among the branches and blooms that tickle its passing fancy. Fall is tricky like that too, cajoling and nudging us along in sun and splendor until we’ve passed a point of safe return, and then it clamps down its frost-laden nights, freezing the ground and heaving the fields. 

The afternoon sunlight on certain September days no longer belongs to summer, and the change is distinct to those who have seen it before. It’s both sharper and gentler, crisp yet supple. Summer gets all the glory, but the real secret is that fall color resonates more deeply. The sky is the bluest it will ever be. The blooms, if there are any repeat bloomers, are smaller but richer in tone and shade. And soon, very soon, the foliage will ignite and burn itself up in autumnal splendor. 

For now, though, there is this scarf, and a necklace of fuchsia beads that may or may not come into some greater play sooner or later or never – the fluctuating whims of fall forever prey to fickle behavior and luckless decisions. 

I have quite purposely and intentionally left out a fall entry song for the first post of the season – it will arrive later today – so as to allow the thoughts to expand without noise or music or harmony. The sounds of summer – those relentless cicadas, that crackle of fireworks, the giddy shouts of neighborhood children, that goddamn ice cream truck jingle – fade from hearing now. The sun shines quietly, and the only noise comes from the whoosh and whirl of a scarf, carried on the wind, and sounding like a librarian’s wearily repeated ‘shh, shh, shh’ shushing a group of kids who haven’t excised all memory of summer freedom just yet.  

Summer’s second act couldn’t help but be better than its first, and so we continue on with our recap of the sunny season, which finally deigned to give some merit to its name. When it all began, I found inspiration in the Doris Day version of ‘Where the Boys Are’ – which, while filled with longing and a certain undertow of melancholy, carried Day’s hopeful earnestness into something lighter and more joyful. This summer proved that even amid the season of the sun, there could be rain and wind and darkness. As we grappled with all of that, this version of ‘Where the Boys Are’ seems a more fitting encapsulation of how we spent our summer. Visions of gatherings by the pool and a return to normal now feel worlds away, and maybe this is just the way us humans have got to cope from here on out. That didn’t mean we couldn’t find happiness and light of our own, and family and close friends saved this season more than any other. 

Where the boys are, someone waits for me
A smiling face, a warm embrace, two arms to hold me tenderly
Where the boys are, my true love will be
He’s walking down some street in town and I know he’s looking there for me…

When August arrived, the sun remembered it was supposed to be shining, and the weather warmed up for a few stretches of high heat and humidity. Where I’d typically be complaining of the excess of such uncomfortable temps, by this point I all but got down on my knees and praised Jesus. Summer, though late and weary, showed at last, and I began daily dips in the pool to maximize the moments. Who knew how long it would last?

Summer could, at times, feel like a Sunday sort of love. 

It could be filled with sadness and melancholy, especially when a song like this reminded of the past. 

But it could also come with cheeky Speedo shots and similar thrills and frills, if you looked close enough.

A rainbow hydrant in Amsterdam. Go Rams.

Old boy in the attic.

Bamboo harmony.

The Summer Olympics continued to shine. 

Painted by the light, the Japanese painted fern provides a luminous spot of beauty in any shaded space. 

Summer stuns in scarlet.

A sacrificial parsley plant, for the benefit of the butterflies. 

Summer offered its own sort of peace, but there was still space for meditation and mindfulness. I shook off my self-imposed restraints of a Virgo-like structure and found mindfulness outside as well. 

Madonna returned to the summer fold with this quiet moment of beauty from the ‘Dick Tracy’ soundtrack and that glorious summer of 1990.

Our mocktail madness continued with this delicious faux-daiquiri.

Closing out the Summer Olympics in a Speedo.

Suzie offered her take on the summer with one look.

Second showing of lavender.

A tale of two Albany dinners.

A few days in Amsterdam with the gentlemen Ilagan – three generations of us under one roof.

Shakedown to the 80’s – a reminder of my childhood with some help from my nephew Noah.

In keeping with smaller get-togethers, it was just me and Suzie who made this much-needed friendship trip to Boston, which began with a charcuterie rose that Suzie didn’t believe in, and continued with a walk along the Esplanade. 

A walk on a very hot day was tempered by the cool shade of the Boston Public Garden and frequent shopping stops along Newbury Street. Suzie picked the jazz-inflected soundtrack.

Boston embraced us with the night, sending us scuttling along the Seaport and along its enchanted cobblestone streets, and spending the weekend with Suzie was precisely the pick-up the summer needed. (And yes, Chris, we totally stuck your glasses where the sun never shines.)

Madonna turned 63, further defying the naysayers.

A geranium refreshment.

Summer air.

I found my way into caffeine through matcha.

Social media mayhem doesn’t let up just because it’s summer.

My birthday arrived in late August, and with it a requisite birthday suit shot.

Despite that cheeky peek, it was a birthday spent quietly, and happily so.

August, slipping away…

Recalled to meditation.

Morning glory memories before August took her leave.

My state career began in the late summer of 2001 – and after twenty years, I’m well over the hump, with only ten years left until I am eligible to retire. That puts things like summer into deeper perspective. 

Rolling the yarn hints at another season to come. 

September still holds summer for most of its duration.

Imitations of life in downtown Albany.

The closest we’ve gotten to a naked David Beckham shot, courtesy of his wife Victoria.

The arrival of Labor Day, the coming of the chrysanthemums, and the realization that summer was almost over.

A low-key birthday celebration in Boston with Andy was a lovely way to enter the second half of my 40’s. 

An early birthday wish for my Dad – a fellow Virgo – who turned 91 years old this September.

September sunset.

Summer, drained of color, and maybe even a little sick of herself, turns the scene over to autumn.

An epic overnight with the Ilagan twins was just as fun for me as it was for them, and sets us up nicely up for a fall season. That feels like a very fine place to end the summer. Until we meet again…

Let’s dwell, just for this opening/closing moment, on the positive and the upbeat, and begin this summer recap with a song by the Jonas Brothers, designed for the Summer Olympics, capturing the very best of what this summer should have, and could have, been: ebullient, celebratory, and glorious. Summer should catch the sun, throw it back to us, and engage in a volley that lasts until we are spent in happy exhaustion. It should splash about in the pool, squinting from too much sunlight and too much chlorine, leaving a memory that’s as hazy as it is wonderful, searing itself into the heart of every pleasure center. It should explode into bloom like some hybrid tea rose, spreading its perfume and shifting between shades of scarlet and fuchsia and pink as it ripens into something akin to the sunset. 

USED TO PRAY FOR A MOMENT JUST LIKE THIS

THERE’S A FIRE IN YOUR EYES I CAN’T RESIST

BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANNA REMEMBER THIS

BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANNA REMEMBER THIS

Thats how summer should usually go. Not this year. Instead of that, we were largely still stuck inside, with COVID cases on the rise, and the Delta variant wreaking further destruction, all because a minority of selfish fucks refused to get vaccinated, wear masks, and rise to the most basic level of human fucking decency. Compounding that fuckery was the weather, which decided to absolutely shit on us now that our pool is fully functional and we might actually have something to do on a sunny day. All in all, the nastiness that was 2020 simply carried over into 2021, with the additional factor of sheer exhaustion from the awfulness of it all making it that much worse. Summer was supposed to be better than this. And so I’m hearing this song with a bit of ironic bitterness, and only a bit, because the things I’m about to describe were some of the happier moments of the season. While I’ve never been one to sit down and take note of happiness, this seems the best time to do so. We need some of it before the season officially retires. On with the summer show!

We got a jumpstart on the summer, knowing it would end all too quickly, and christened it with ‘Where the Boys Are’ – even if the only boys who would use our pool would be me and Andy and our nephew Noah. 

Skip and I officially opened the summer season with a welcome return to our almost-annual BroSox Adventure. It began with a free night at the Mandarin Oriental thanks to a dog named Cooper, continued with walks in the rain and taxi rides from heaven and hell, and in the end was one of the more hilarious trip we’ve made in service of the Sox. 

In an effort to set the tone for the summer we’d hoped would arrive, ‘San Remo’ by Mika played on repeat rotation. And maybe that brought all the rain.

Despite the wet weather, family formed the warm and glowing aspect if the sun failed to do so, and it was a season of re-connecting with those who matter the most. Here we celebrated Father’s Day, grateful for our Dad as his continued in his 90th year. 

The wild sweet pea, tamed in the garden.

Bees, knees, and hips. 

The Ilagan twins proved summer saviors, as spending time with them as they grew into their 11th year would be one of the highlights of the season, as previewed by this Saratoga movie trip. 

WE AIN’T GETTING ANY YOUNGER, TO BE HONEST I DON’T CARE

I’M NOT TRYING TO LIVE FOREVER, I’M JUST TRYING TO BE RIGHT HERE

THIS I KNOW, ONLY NOW IT’S ALL WE GOT… THIS I KNOW…

ALL THE NIGHTS OF STRIKING MATCHES, JUST TRYING TO FIND A SPARK

COUNTING DOWN TO RAISING GLASSES, COUNTING UP TO BROKEN HEARTS

THIS I KNOW, YEAH THE COUNTING NEVER STOPS… THIS I KNOW

Flowers that remind us of Gram.

Pride and panache, and a most difficult jacket to store.

All in a day’s eye.

One of the many differences between me and Madonna.

The cardinals did their part by lighting up our thuja hedge.

We always need more thyme.

Memories of Andy’s roses.

A summer song that features water hyacinth is a rare and welcome gem: the best imitation of life. 

Poem of solitude for summer – especially this summer.

The flair of phlox.

The dangerous perch of the future.

Sunflower splendor.

Sometimes it felt like echoes of sunshine were all that we had.

Summer, still standing, like this little boy beach pose, one of my first…

Another Boston trip, for which I was joined by our old pal Chris for a trip along the Esplanade, and the weighty issues of getting older, sustaining friendships, and making it through the winding roads of middle age amid a raging pandemic. We did our best to laugh at it, and only partially succeeded.

Rain and rain and more rain, and while the flowers loved it I was less than thrilled. 

Flowers at a favorite hotel.

Blooming wet allium.

Baubles and bangles.

A pose for a pause to honor the silence.

USED TO PRAY FOR A MOMENT JUST LIKE THIS

THERE’S A FIRE IN YOUR EYES I CAN’T RESIST

BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANNA REMEMBER THIS

BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANT TO REMEMBER THIS

A meditative return to friends in Connecticut after too much time apart was another highlight of the season. Missy, Joe, Julian and Cameron were all ready to lift the spirits and find the fabulousness left to the season. 

I absolutely love hydrangeas, especially when they turn blue. 

Speaking of blue, this is Tuesday tea.

When it rains, we find solace in our friends, and no one comes closer to providing such safety and warmth as our two favorites from Cape Cod – JoAnn and Ali – who turned a summer weekend into a badly-needed catch-up session for all that we’ve missed the last two years.

Rainy day reading.

Our featured song was performed by these guys, and the the Summer Olympics were born. 

An anniversary letter to my husband.

LIFE MOVES A LITTLE FASTER EVERY SECOND I’M WITH YOU

DIDN’T KNOW WHAT I WAS AFTER, UNTIL I FOUND IT ALL WITH YOU

THIS I KNOW, IF TONIGHT IS ALL WE GOT

DON’T LET GO

JUST ONE MORE DANCE, TWO MORE DRINKS

IT’LL GO BY FAST, SO DON’T YOU BLINK

A power outage reignites mindfulness.

The Summer Olympics returned in the nick of time.

Pete Buttigieg went jogging shirtless.

Papyrus by the pool.

And summer did its best to come to fruition.

The classic BLT sandwich, minus the B and the L.

A classic flower, perhaps in need of a new common name.

Lily for a day, beauty for a decade.

A pot plant grows in Albany.

USED TO PRAY FOR A MOMENT JUST LIKE THIS

THERE’S A FIRE IN YOUR EYES I CAN’T RESIST

BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANNA REMEMBER THIS

BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANT TO REMEMBER THIS

One of the silver linings of the cool and rainy weather was an enormously long bloom time for the Chinese dogwoods. 

Still, we prayed and prepared for summer’s second act, one that would come and be happily populated by more family get-togethers…

{To be continued…}

Summer comes to a close here tomorrow, with a pair of ambivalent summer recap posts that take us back through the summer that wasn’t. I hung onto it as best as I could, but at this point I’m ready to send it packing, and to begin fall with a clean slate of hope and promise and possibility. 

Fall has also been the time to return to structure and organization – whether at school or work or simply in the first few cold snaps of morning frost, when we’re reminded that we need to be vigilant and on guard in a world that has gotten this mad. 

Come back tomorrow for the summer recaps – it wasn’t all bad, but some saltiness seeped into my retelling of it, and since most people love when I let loose and get saucy, this is your chance to see such villainy on full display, even if I do my damnedest to bring you to a happy ending. 

The final full week of summer is now behind us, and this week brings the arrival of fall. That means the time is ripe for drama, and with the VMAs and the Met Gala providing fodder and intrigue to finish off the summer, we certainly had some drama. As long as it remains of the fashion kind, I’m cool with it. When the warmth and the color drains from summer, and the world begins its turn to the brittle beauty of fall, we start all over again. But first, the last complete week of the supposed season of the sun. 

She’s still Madonna. 

Front door visitor.

Ornamental heat.

A semi-homemade bouquet.

Madonna: the sass, the ass, and the attitude. I hope I’m that confident one day. 

Tom Ford does Palo Santo.

A candle meditation.

Savoring the last days of summer. 

Fall market.

More joy for autumn.

The sun and the flowers.

Greenhouse flair.

Fig fruition.

An underwear-clad Ben Cohen appreciation post.

Summer drains away.

Dazzlers of the Day included Rachel Bresnahan, Robert Scott Wilson, Sean Doherty, and LeRoy McClain.

Learning to savor and appreciate every moment of enjoyment is an integral component for finding happiness in one’s life, and so it has been that philosophy which has guided me into the pool for daily swims over the past few weeks, when the weather has been clear. We’ve kept the pool heated to make up for the early run of rainy days and weeks and, well, months, so this final stretch has been important to make the most of this otherwise-dismal summer. 

Still, it found a way to shine, such as in these daisies which have prolifically flowered beside the pool, surviving regular snacking by the chipmunks and consistent assaults by rain and wind. Like many of us, they took a beating amid this summer’s fickle sunshine, and bloomed in the face of all that awfulness. Were they a bit bedraggled by the end of it? Of course. I was too. But they’ll have a nice winter slumber and store up their energy for next spring for another chance to start over again…