Behold the invasive water hyacinth, grown safely only in lined containers that do not allow for spread. Not that it’s all the dangerous in these parts; our winters guarantee annual death. It’s so pretty, I couldn’t resist taking a few pics of it at the local nursery. It grows in water, so we don’t have any appropriate space for it, not that I would mess around with something this invasive. It’s a glorious embodiment of summer in these parts, all tropical color and thunder, dangerous and pretty all at the same time. And it brings to mind this summer song by R.E.M. which I’ve always loved:
Charades, pop skill
Water hyacinth, named by a poet
Imitation of life
Like a koi in a frozen pond
Like a goldfish in a bowl
I don’t want to hear you cry
At the time of this writing, summer has been a fickle thing – three days of cool and rainy weather following by three days of unbearably hot an humid weather – and no happy medium whatsoever. It’s a rollercoaster of weather that is wreaking havoc across the country, uniting Americans in emotional upheaval. Just what we need. But this is summer, and so we focus on what is pretty, and what is beautiful, and what is on the sunny side of the street.
That’s sugarcane that tasted good
That’s cinnamon, that’s Hollywood
C’mon, c’mon no one can see you try
My favorite part of these water hyacinth blooms is the spot of yellow on the top petal of each. It is slightly iris-like in the way it’s painted on there, and it’s only on one petal per bloom, setting that petal apart from the rest, the way summer sometimes separates the rest from the weary. There is so much to do, no matter how exhausted we get, and never enough time to rest. It’s happy exhaustion, though, and I will not complain. That’s what winters are for.
You want the greatest thing
The greatest thing since bread came sliced
You’ve got it all, you’ve got it sized
Like a Friday fashion show teenager
Freezing in the corner
Trying to look like you don’t try
That’s sugarcane that tasted good
That’s cinnamon, that’s Hollywood
C’mon, c’mon no one can see you try
No one can see you cry
When there is no pool, or no air conditioning, or even the cooling relief of a cold shower, the mind is the only way to attempt to abate the heat. At such times, I think of the trickling sound of running water, the water that might be lapping around the leaves of the water hyacinth. I do not go to winter scenes of ice and cold, I recall the tropical tank of fish and plants that was in a strange little hotel in Chelsea, where my room was hot and stifling, despite a thunderous oscillating fan in the corner. In a windowed room off a landing, this glass tank in the shape of a hexagon sat in the middle of the floor, raised on a pedestal and lifted almost to eye-level. Goldfish swam there, in and around several clumps of green water plants. Water trickled down from a filter system, lending it a calm and tranquil feel. When I got too stuffy in my cramped room, I’d step out into the hallway and watch this scene of water, and it somehow managed to cool me. It’s how you beat the heat in New York: mind over matter.
This sugarcane
This lemonade
This hurricane, I’m not afraid
C’mon, c’mon no one can see me cry
This lightning storm
This tidal wave
This avalanche, I’m not afraid
C’mon, c’mon no one can see me cry
That sugar cane that tasted good
That’s who you are, that’s what you could
C’mon, c’mon on no one can see you cry
For years I struggled with keeping the Endless Summer hydrangeas in the front yard as blue as possible – asking Andy to save all his coffee grounds and religiously amending the soil with them, collecting all our rusty metal items from the garage (nails, screws, washers, paper clips) and inserting them into the soil around the roots, and mixing scary-looking acid-green acidifiers into the watering can and carefully pouring the mixture just onto the hydrangeas. For the occasional bloom, here and there, it worked, but only in the slightest – the petals would fight to turn pink, moving from the blue where they started through a purple tone, and into the pink they so clearly desired.
At the same time the front yard hydrangeas went in, I planted a blue variety – not the Endless Summer variety which bloomed on old and new wood – this one only bloomed on old wood. The trade-off for the blue I so sought was paid for by the fact that our winters usually killed off any potential flower buds. For many years – a full decade at least – this one barely deigned to bloom. When it did, there was maybe one or two small stalks that were hidden in the shade of its foliage.
This year we must have had a milder winter, coupled with a less-aggressive pruning practice, and the results are these beautiful blue blooms on our backyard hydrangea. It is located right outside our bedroom window, and makes an especially stunning sight when the afternoon sunlight is slanting through its flowers. It’s so nice when things are worth the wait.
Thus far, it’s been a banner year for the flora and fauna in our yard. The cardinals have made cozy homes in the Steeplechase thuja, while a family of bunnies must be nearby, as judging by the two or three regulars we see, a baby that appeared in the backyard once, and the missing chunks of certain perennials. (They’ve done quite a number to the early spears of hosta, and decimated a loosestrife that never even had a chance to become invasive.) We haven’t yet had the heart to chase them away, especially as they have stayed mostly to the lawns, which could use some cutting anyway.
For now, we can exist peacefully, and it’s a treat to see these cute creatures munching away at some weed or overgrown stalk of grass. If a groundhog should join their ranks, however, that changes everything. There are some lines that must not be crossed.
When I came upon these roses at Faddegon’s, fresh from a rainy night and unfurling their petals in the morning light, I was instantly transported back to the summer of 2000, when I first met Andy. He grew roses in his garden, carefully tending and trimming them as necessary, occasionally clipping a bloom for his Mom or his living room. A man who knew his way around a garden was a good man indeed. That he took the time and care to share something beautiful with his Mom cemented the notion.
He favored the perennial rose favorite ‘Peace’ and tried his hand at ‘Mrs. Lincoln’. There was also an extremely fragrant tiger variety that was a deep pink, marbled with fuchsia – its beauty matched only by its exquisitely potent fragrance. I remember walking into his living room one evening and wondering at the delicious perfume – all produced by a single bloom in a little vase.
His prowess with roses was impressive, as it was one of the plants that always eluded my green thumb. He knew when to apply the fertilizer, when to protect the crowns for winter, and how to bring them all back to life each spring. Equally adept at preventing problems, he kept the aphids and beetles away, and managed to elude powdery mildew and rust, things that even the most skilled gardener can’t always keep at bay.
I was content simply to enjoy the fruits of his labor, as every few summer nights a new rose would appear in a vase by the couch, gently perfuming the air, reminding us of the beauty of the world when you put in a little work.
Nestled on the edge of concrete, between the pool and a weeping larch, this patch of lemon thyme has reliably returned year after year, and this summer looks especially stunning in full white bloom. It is not a show-stopping plant, but it is integral for softening the concrete deck of the pool and transitioning into the softness of the garden. That it enjoys intense heat and sun – the kind that concrete so often produces at the height of the day – is a bonus treat which allows it to flourish in such a space.
The lemon-scented oils in its precious leaves are added incentive to plant some wherever you have a sunny place that gets some foot traffic; brushing by this one releases its lemony effervescence, in the same way that lavender or mint refreshes the garden when brushed or bent.
Oddly enough, I never think to cook with it much, though it would be lovely with chicken or fish, and is striking as a cocktail or mocktail garnish. Mostly though, it makes the perfect plant for edging the pool deck, or any hot and sandy space. It softens and flows over whatever it’s planted near, and that kind of service, joined with all its additional wonders and attributes, makes for a magical and too-often-unheralded garden plant.
The quagmire that is social media grows increasingly upsetting with each passing day, but every now and then a ray of inspiration shines through, a reminder of the very best ways the internet can bring us closer together, and in some instances back together after decades apart. Such was the case when a woman named Paula reached out to me on Instagram and asked if I was oboe player in Amsterdam and the brother of Paul. It was an old friend from high school – now known as Paula ‘Precious’ Bell – and she has earned this Dazzler of the Day honor not just for her work on her own fitness endeavors – Ninja P Fitness – but for having the courage to reach out to someone who in high school was anything but approachable. To be named a Dazzler typically requires more than one dazzling aspect, and Paula also has a few other aces up her sleeves, as evidenced by this magnificent multi-hyphenate: Speaker/Coach/Consultant/Author. Her website offers even more magnificence here.
Her recent Affirmation Monday video speaks of inspiration, a timely entry from her YouTube channel ‘The BA Martial Artist’ (she’s aiming for 1000 subscribers by her birthday in December, so give her a follow and start subscribing).
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vt3BXc0jf4A
After she sent me a message and I confirmed that I was indeed the kid she remembered from school, I sent her an apology for being such a terror in high school. In many respects, my high school behavior was less than kind, and in more pointed terms I was simply a mean girl. “Yes, you were a little bit of a terror,” she acknowledged, before being big enough to offer some grace: “Sometimes embarrassing or humiliating situations actually give you strength along the way.”
That little show of forgiveness touched me, and I wrote back that I actually considered her a closer friend than I probably ever indicated at the time. She was one of my favorite people in the band of misfits that comprised the Amsterdam High School orchestra in the early 90’s, and though she was younger than me, and had grown up in my brother’s class, I felt a closeness to her. We even exchanged notes like girls in high school were wont to do in the old days.
After exploring her YouTube videos and social media accounts, I gave her my text number and we dove into the modern version of exchanging high school notes, making tentative plans to reconnect in Boston this fall.
“We’re surrounded by my family,” Andy said as he beckoned me to the garage, where a young cardinal had created a predicament for itself by getting trapped on top of the open garage door. A visit from a cardinal is often seen as a sign that a departed family member is near and saying hello. This year, we think there are two pairs of cardinals taking up residence and raising families in the Steeplechase thuja hedges we have in the front and back yards. On this day, one of the juveniles was hopping to and fro on the garage door, seemingly afraid to jump through the thin opening from which it flew in. Maybe it’s easier to fly up than down, the same way it’s typically simpler to ascend stairs than descend them. Whatever the reason, it stubbornly hopped back and forth, peering over the edge to the driveway below, and listening to the annoyed chirps of its parents in the nearby lilac tree. We watched with amused interest for a while, then Andy made several attempts to shoo it toward freedom, none of which it decided to heed.
Eventually, it grew tired of its game of hide-and-seek and joined its parents. We’ve seen them grow from the tiny strained necks that reached skyward whenever a parent would arrive with a caterpillar or worm, into the little birds that grew increasingly skilled at flying. They’re much more enjoyable than the annoyingly aggressive robins that will dive-bomb you the moment you get within a certain distance of their nests. The cardinals rise above such tactics.
Having them here for the summer has been a gift. When I was watering the hydrangeas in the front yard, I sat in the hidden shade of a Japanese maple and melted into the surroundings, so much so that the cardinals resumed their playful lessons in flying and catching worms. At first I thought they had lost one of their offspring – the way they hovered around, quite visible and not moving when I shifted made me think something was wrong – then I watched as their young ones fluttered about, and the parents watched from a safe distance.
A few days later, I was pulling out of the driveway when a flash of scarlet caught my eye. Right at window level, a male was perched on a lower Thuja branch, simply sunning itself in the bright sun, unbothered by the Mini Cooper that moved slowly past. I managed to take a few quick photos, as seen here. He chirped a curt hello, and I left him to his day.
Joining teammate Simone Biles in the quest for gold at the Tokyo Summer Olympics, Sunisa Lee earns her first Dazzler of the Day for the recent qualifying show she put on which secured her place on the American gymnastics team. Olympic excellence is the sort of dazzling achievement that will always impress and inspire, and Lee looks to be a top medal contender in next month’s games.
Our lavender is doing exceptionally well this year, particularly this pink variety which has come back nicely to blur the edge of our pool deck with the start of the garden. It’s an enchanting plant, which appears differently every time I see it. Sometimes it looks like a black and white version of what I’m so otherwise accustomed to seeing, drained of the typical tints of purple that symbolize this plant. Other times, I see the faint pink that almost gets lost among the more vibrant shows being put on at this time of the year.
Either way, its effect is soft and subtle – two things that are much appreciated in the garden right now, when the sun works to fell even the hardiest of heat-withstanding soldiers, and the colors battle back as if reflecting the brightness might repel some of the heat. Lavender adds a coolness to this, especially when it goes pink, and the gray foliage works to further subdue the scene.
It reminds me of the importance of such cooler color schemes, especially at those moments when the heat rages, as we’ve already had this week. As much as I love a striking shade of chartreuse, or a fiery orange asclepias, there is a calming magic that occurs when the palette goes a bit quieter.
It’s pretty amazing that at this point in her storied career, Madonna can still turn heads and get people talking with just a few Polaroids, a couple of wigs, some satin gloves, and a quick Pride Month extravaganza. Her new look once again defies her age, and by now that’s just the way she’s going to roll. I’ve always enjoyed her absolute lack of apparent concern for what people are going to say, and when you strap yourself into a corset when you’re 62 years old, then you can comment.
This is a whimsical set of looks for her – not quite entirely brand new (though I don’t believe we’ve seen such a blue hue in her hair), and in their totality they feel fresh and enervating. It definitely has me thinking about satin gloves again, maybe when fall chills things out a bit.
It also has me thinking about Madonna, and what’s to come. No one comes close to inspiring such mystique and thirst for what she might be up to next. She’s reportedly still working on a release of the Madame X Tour, and her screen treatment of her now biopic. Neither of those excites me as much as the idea that new material must at some point be on the horizon.
Broadway performer Kyle Dean Massey was part of the recent revival of ‘Company’ but when the show announced its return later this year he had a happier announcement that since he and his husband were welcoming their new baby, he’d have to drop out. There is something refreshingly noble about someone who makes such a sacrifice for their child, and for that alone Massey earns his first Dazzler of the Day. (It’s an honor he can add to his previous Hunk of the Day crowning here.)
The differences between me and Madonna are staggering and plentiful. We won’t get into the many of them because it actually gets quite depressing. Instead, I’m simply going to offer a visual juxtaposition of what she was doing at 3 AM on the Saturday of Pride Weekend in New York City and what I was doing at roughly the same time in upstate New York.
Keep in mind, Madonna is almost 20 years older than me, and still rocking it on the top of a bar, while I lounge in bed well before the stroke of midnight on a Saturday. Some might use that as inspiration to be a little more active. I’m just going back to bed. Let’s get unconscious, honey.
The last time I remember being this enraptured by the dazzle and pizzazz of an Olympic runner (and their nails) was when Florence Griffith Joyner set the world ablaze several Olympic decades ago. (I may be dating myself, but who better to date?) This stunner is Sha’Carri Richardson, who swiftly earns her first Dazzler of the Day honor for her record-breaking speed and agility in the Olympic trials.
