Sometimes I can’t believe the things that come out of my mouth, and I don’t mean all the unwieldy ball-gags.

I found myself saying this to someone the other day and I simply had to shrug:

“My silence was not meant to indicate that you should continue talking.”

Some days I do wonder at my survival.

Nicholas Galitzine has been a Dazzler of the Day already, so this is just a bonus post, to go along with this gratuitous bonus post previously posted. I’ve been enjoying the latest version of ‘Masters of the Universe’ as the fun, slightly-campy, and solidly-entertaining jaunt that it was intended to be. Fans of the original cartoon series (like any proper child of the 80’s should be) will find lots to love about this reverential treatment, and Galitzine makes for a remarkably poignant Adam/He-Man. Check out his pumptitude in greater detail here.

We hosted friends for dinner last night, and then later this month, nearer my birthday, we’ll have Ann and Missy over for a weekend of Virgo fun and hilarity. To both ends, a bit of greenery is required to cheer up the indoor summer spaces, and I find a single branch, when large enough, makes for a big impact. In this case, some of the remnants of a pruned Coral Bark Maple provide a lush verdant backdrop for the attic loft. Summer is the best time to bring some of the outdoors inside, and this beautifully blurs the lines between the two.

As for our social lives, August sees us reaching out and connecting as it speeds along to September, that dirty back-to-school word that still strikes post-traumatic terror in my heart. Let’s stay in our August bubble for as long as possible.

Processing these last weeks of my 50th year hasn’t been as simple or easy as the bulk of this year had led me to believe – in fact, I’m still in a slight state of shock as to how suddenly and overwhelmingly I feel the rush of time, as well as how those who come into and out of our lives can do so in such swift and cruel motion. Maybe it’s the anniversary of Dad’s death, the approach of my own 51st, or the hints of fall that carried on the wind and rain during the recent deluges. Whichever the case, something has me emotionally spooked and mentally disturbed – definitely a more fitting feeling for fall than this last full month of summer.

August used to be such a treat, culminating with my birthday, often a full-day destination event no matter the day of the week, it still being summer. This year, like many years of late, I don’t find the same excitement or thrill in a birthday – at the time of this writing I haven’t even sent out a wish list (which, when you truly think about it, is the opposite of high-maintenance but I digress). Maybe this is the mark of finally growing up – you give up the stupid shit that brought your childhood self such silly joy. Or maybe I’m just lowering expectations so my birthday stands a chance of not disappointing. I won’t hurt people by regaling you with episodes to support that statement.

Oh dear – is August about to get messy? Stick around and find out – I’d just about made my mind up to throw this summer out with the baby and the bathwater, but let’s see if I have some sultry sass still in me…

Meanwhile, wildflowers are showing off this brilliant color – in the thistles and loosestrife – a reminder that August has only just begun her show…

Just turn off any and all notifications from me.

Or block me.

Cause I’m never gonna stop.

August has arrived, and the cricket song at night is getting stronger. This past week has been a fucking doozy in just about every possible way. I won’t even try to encapsulate it in a cute intro – click below and read for yourself in this weekly blog recap.

A bulletproof piece of advice.

As the years go passing by… in (and out of) my underwear.

Egyptian secrets, summer style, inspired by my niece Emi.

Only rain, falling out of a summer book.

An Egyptian mood to take us along rivers long gone dry.

Egyptian evocation in a mind safari.

Astrological upheavals delivered on their ominous promises.

A strange melancholy pervaded a very wet week.

Don’t fall for the Pyramid summer scheme.

Once upon a Nile, I was Cleopatra.

Gold rush crush.

Golden summer years bring back memories near and far.

A semi-solid gold summer playlist because music still makes the people come together.

A letter to my Dad three years after he departed.

Driving away the hurt on roads where I only want to get lost.

Summer suddenly so serious I have to wear shades.

The Forgery – or, Don’t you ever call me that.

All that glitters ain’t gold…

Oh look – someone signed my name in the cement!

Just kidding – if anyone ever called me ‘Babygurl’ it would be the last inane word that ever came out of their mouth.

And who wants to have the last word they uttered be ‘Babygurl’?

(This would have made for a lovely #TinyThreads entry but I don’t do those anymore. Why minimize something already so minimal?)

It’s been a while since I’ve written at the cafe – a while since I’ve sent out a volley of ‘This is cafe culture‘ texts to all my friends with accompanying lame photo of my cup of peppermint herbal tea. Mainly it’s been because the joys of summer are at and around our home, where the gardens and pool are the only atmosphere I seek or desire. For better or worse, however, I need to get into planning and plotting the Fall 2026 season of this website, and that isn’t going to happen lounging by the pool and eating bonbons. Would that it could. So it is that I find myself entering the cafe on a Friday afternoon when the sun is still hanging in the sky after a tumultuous week of wet and wild weather.

My favorite barista is working on this early evening in which I resume cafe culture, and she greets me excitedly, saying it’s been a while and asking what I’m doing with my notebook on a Friday night. I told her I was getting back into my writing routine, and she said I looked tan and must have been enjoying my summer. Sometimes it’s easier to smile and pretend and say some innocuous thing instead of the deep and detailed truth of how any one of us is really feeling at any given time, so I did. It’s easier for everyone, and less potentially awkward, and on this night I am very much seeking ease and comfort and reassurance that I’m still here, that I’m still myself, that I still have the power to astound. Because of this, I was especially glad to see her. Some people have that comforting effect – they are rare and wonderful and make this wretched world worthwhile. Though I barely know her, I know she is one of those people.

After I ask her how she has been, she pauses and tells me that she was getting ready to move. I assume it’s just across town, or to Albany or Clifton Park or something – but she goes on to say she’s moving down South, just outside of Atlanta, Georgia to be with her family. My heart sank to think that my favorite barista would be leaving, especially as I was just beginning to think we might become friends – a new step for me as other friends pull back or disappear entirely from my life. She also has such a great spirit and vibe that I will miss her presence in the cafe, and the possibility that we might have become closer.

We’ll see if I muster the courage to slip her my contact info to stay in touch, or if I’ll come to my senses and stop acting so desperate. I asked my friend Paula if she thought it was weird to try to connect like that at this point, and she said I should go for it. Most of my friends have kids and families of their own, and I think part of me wants to expand my social circle just a little bit, to make some meaningful connections as I barrel down the second half of life.

Summer has made a vulnerable mess of me this year it seems – messier even than my usual messy self.

As we wrap up our conversation, I tell her I’ll have to stop in more before she leaves – she’s says I don’t have to do that, and that I should keep working on my tan and enjoying the summer.

Nothing gold can stay…

Some people find comfort and solace in long drives with which to clear their heads and hearts, taking time to be alone with their thoughts, or just occupied by a drive to somewhere near. Up until a few years, I was not one of these people. I didn’t ever drive for the sake of driving – I barely drove when it was a necessity (Andy will confirm). But ever since Dad died, and in the weeks leading up to it, I would find myself driving out in Amsterdam and beyond, just to drive. It was like he was with me, and it afforded me time alone – to weep, to pause, to think, to be – in a way you can’t find when other people might be around.

These days, when things are particularly upsetting or I’m feeling extra sad, I get in the car and just go somewhere – the destination is never important, just the act of being in motion, being alone and uninterrupted, is enough. Sometimes I drive to the cemetery. Sometimes I drive along streets my father knew well. Sometimes I’ll let myself get lost in the rural roads that stretch out off the Thruway, always winding my way back to some known marker or place – it’s difficult to truly get lost anywhere today. Not on the roads, at least. In my head, it feels like I’ve been lost for a while, but I’m hopeful that fog is lifting. Maybe I just needed a few dismal days of rain to clear things up, to set me back on my path and salvage what remains of this summer. In the meantime, I’ll be on the road again.