It’s ‘Auntie Mame’ season, and this year watching the movie will substitute for all the parties we once held.

#TinyThreads

A new moon and Mercury in retrograde have the heavenly bodies wreaking a wreck of havoc for certain signs, and unfortunately Virgo is one of them. I’ve felt that this week, and have been doing my damnedest to lay low, remain calm, and carry on with the least bit of provocation possible. That’s not always easy for me, especially in the face of wild injustice in so many ways, but I’ve evolved new methods of dealing with such issues.

While my not-so-distant past antics tended toward the fiery, especially when facts aligned to unfairly malign me, I no longer go through the trouble of screaming and yelling and throwing fits to make my points. When you have truth on your side, it’s not necessary to be so bombastic, and yelling into voids is entirely pointless. I’m not sure why I ever decided to huff and puff so much in the first place. Let everyone else live in their own mess and deal with their own entanglements; they will or they won’t work it out in their own way.

That makes for a much calmer living, a much quieter atmosphere, and a more peaceful existence. It also allows me to be better company as I don’t allow myself to get riled up or bothered by all the nonsense. A delightful way of dealing with the holidays to come, and a new lease on life – perhaps courtesy of a new moon and a new way of letting go.

A new rule for myself at this ripe old age: do not put anything down if you will need it within the next hour. You will forget where you put it ten seconds after you turn your back.

Repeat: do not put that down if you are going to need it in the next hour. You will not find it again.

Cases in point:

• Notebook on the pile of towels atop the dryer
• Keys on the blind-spot section of the bathroom counter, the only space that can’t be seen from the hallway
• Glasses on the arm of a couch
• Glasses on the bed pillow
• Glasses on the [fill-in-the-blank] table

Just keep it in your hand. (Yes, you will still look for it in a minute, even in your hand, but there’s a better chance of finding it this way.)

Next week marks Thanksgiving – something that doesn’t quite feel possible but the calendar tells me it is so. I don’t recall turning my back long enough for this to have happened. That tricky, fickle hand of time. With any luck, this rushed acceleration of the fall season is not unwelcome, especially if it means a speedy rush through winter. All of this makes it sound like I’ve soured on the holiday season, which may very well be the case, but I don’t really want that out there (he said as he set the public post settings for this blog entry).

Rather than fight what is already at hand, this new box of tea is my way of welcoming the holidays for 2025 – a cup of decaf green tea with a peppermint accent. Simple, slightly festive, and just enough of a twist to set it apart from the rest of the days.

The artwork of the box, a whimsical Trader Joe’s creation, is a fun way to steer us into holiday territory without going too extreme into some overhyped Ralph Lauren Christmas vibe (also known as Basic Christmas for those of us who have been aware of Christmas decor for the past half-century).

Get busy to merry-making, my friends.

Our wonky and often-wayward Christmas/Thanksgiving/Easter/4th-of-July cactus, which always and never lives up to its common name (it’s technically an epiphyte, and rarely hits its bloom stride on any of its designated holidays), announces this year’s commencement of the high holiday season! That’s worthy of an exclamation point, no? Who else is ready to start the holiday slide? Hop on – it’s a long way down, and it begins with a day of gratitude, a very good place to start.

We’ll make the holidays colorful and saturated – to mirror the rich oud-like beauty of this fall’s website theme. Enjoy this now, as the winter looks to be bleak. In blooms may we find a balm…

The world moves closer to winter, and my time outside diminishes by the day. To combat that depressing shift, my visits to the local greenhouse will prove paramount in pushing us through the winter. On a recent trip there, these African violets brightened the green landscape. They came in other shades too – pink, maroon, white, and periwinkle – proof that not all violets must come in violet. A name is sometimes nothing more than a name – meaningless and void of context or designation, sometimes deceptively so.

For a Monday afternoon, it’s enough just to look, and end this blessedly-brief post.

A noirish weekend in New York many Novembers ago comes to mind on this mysterious day, more suited to an evening post than Sunday morning, but these fall where they will fall, like the words escaping from my fingers and appearing on the screen before you now. Originally, this was going to be the day I posted our recent Virginia adventures, but in writing them they have taken on an extended life of their own, so they’ll be here in a string of posts slated for next weekend.

For now, the mystery of a mask worn by the elusive Mr. Oud, who was last seen lighting a candle and whispering a prayer or a curse – and when you think about it those two seemingly-opposed items are just the same thing with a different perspective: a wish.

Mr. Oud will return in a bit, at least a brief glimpse of who we think he is, who we think he might be, who we think of when we think of him. He spins spirals of words, of prepositional clauses, of teasing and tantalizing ends that seem to be about to happen and then never do, and when they do it’s so far from where we thought we were heading, and so far from where it all began, that we’re left breathless in anticipation of a still-not-quite-there period.

…And watches it throw not tears but light upon the room.

Flickering flame, dancing name, playful and bleak and right up Mr. Oud’s alley.

The wording is different, the tone flippant, and the wonder whether this is Mr. Oud at all fully realized.

Perhaps that is his tell-tale calling card, if the trail of oud wasn’t enough.

Anyone can wear oud – few can pull it off with the style and panache of Mr. O himself.

The trails of others have come before him, and will remain long after him.

Legacies evolve, families diminish, friends fade…

Mr. Oud remains elusive to remain alive.

To be hidden is to be safe.

To be shrouded in candlelight is something else…

… and again, he is gone.

“Had to schedule an extra therapy session because of you fucks.”

Who said this?

(Just between me and you, it wasn’t you.)

#TinyThreads