Holy shit how have we reached the last week of September? That stings, and maybe the beautiful stretch of warm weather we’ve had – payback for all those weekends of rain that started off the year – has tricked us into thinking it’s not such a late hour in the seasonal calendar. Alas, truth will out in the end. Here’s your weekly blog recap – our final one for September. When next we recap, the scary season will be upon us…
Where’s the accountability for all the wackos who caused such a panic over that ridiculous rapture? I’ve been told it’s unhelpful to be so condescending to moronic idiots, but giving credence and a voice to such fucking stupidity is a large part of why this country is where it’s at today.
It was a misty morning. The air was warm and thick with the residual heat and humidity of a long hot spell emanating from the earth, finally tempered by a welcome patch of rain from above. Tiny water particles floated in the air, not quite wanting or ready to land on the ground, entangling themselves in my wild bed-head of hair – silver droplets joining silver strands, waves upon waves upon waves. Next door the neighbor’s carpenter had the radio playing and ‘Time In A Bottle‘ came on – a musical memory of a memory. I paused to listen, unbothered by the water all around me – in the air, on the leaves, pooling on the ground. We needed the rain. The song ends and an old Commodores hit came on… so many sad people singing of sad times in a sad world…
Sail on down the line ’bout a half a mile or so And don’t really wanna know where you’re going Maybe once or twice you see Time after time I tried to To hold on to what we got, but now you’re going
And I don’t mind about the things you’re gonna say, Lord I gave all my money and my time I know it’s a shame But I’m giving you back your name
I listen for a bit and pause to inspect the patio plants. A pair of bamboo containers – the only way to contain any running bamboo, even in these inhospitable Zone 5 spots – has done well, and I make a mental note to attempt an overwintering in the garage come November. A banana tree, in an overwintered pot that I salvaged from last summer but won’t try to save again, has done rather poorly – only barely pushing out a flush of foliage rising barely a foot in height. A far cry from its typical 6-feet-high-in-a-single-season performance, and a reason to start with a new banana tree every year, if you want that sort of tropical vibe. This is the summer we wanted it, so of course it’s the summer it refused us.
It did, however, provide these late season scenes of beauty, accented and adorned by the rain, so I can’t be all mad. Contemplating this, and forcing my mind to broaden and take in a positive spin, I listen to the song still drifting in from the neighbors yard.
Yes, I’ll be on my way I won’t be back to stay I guess I’ll move along I’m looking for a good time
Sail on down the line Ain’t it funny how the time can go All my friends say they told me so But it doesn’t matter It was plain to see that a Small town boy like me Just wasn’t your cup of tea I was wishful thinking
Perhaps this was summer talking, saying goodbye with a wistful bit of bitterness. Perhaps it was a paramour, on the unrequited end of a one-sided romance. Perhaps it was just melodic defeat and resignation, the way we bottle our heartache and try to pour it into a song, a book, a painting – hoping for someone else to see it and connect, maybe even to heal. How best to make our hurt mean something more?
I gave you my heart And I tried to make you happy And you gave me nothing in return You know, it ain’t so hard to say Would you please just go away?
I’ve thrown away the blues I’m tired of being used I want everyone to know I’m looking for a good time Good time, yeah
My hair is a mess, matted and wiry from the gathering mist, but it doesn’t matter. Behind the fence, no one can see. Leaves of bamboo cradle raindrops, gently lowering them to the ground when their carriage becomes one drop too many – water joining water in the circle of nature’s ever-recycling wisdom. It will become part of the earth again, then perhaps part of a plant’s root system, then released from the leaves to become a part of water again – the most basically elemental process in a world that operates regardless of how sad our songs may be.
We recently had our first dinner party of the fall season, even if my intended outfit didn’t arrive until the next day. These are the conundrums of a privileged life. My second-choice outfit was a retread of something done years ago, but true style never ages. It’s not like Suzie or our Moms would even notice. ‘Tis the practice for holiday entertaining, such as it may be. We’ve graduated from the big house parties and only do smaller dinner or brunch scenes now – and it’s so much more pleasurable. Downsizing – it’s a good thing.
Tango music seemed a fitting intro to the dinner scene, so here’s a little taste:
It echoes our introductory fall post here. This is a more laid back vibe, fitting for a dinner. “Old-fashioned music” is what Skip would call it. And in so many ways, I’m genuinely old-fashioned. I can live with that. Enjoy this old-fashioned Sunday…
“Some people live as though they are already dead. There are people moving around us who are consumed by their past, terrified of their future, and stuck in their anger and jealousy. They are not alive; they are just walking corpses.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
Astrologers have said that the recent events in the heavens – solar and lunar eclipses, a new equinox – have created a tumultuous opportunity for growth, particularly for Virgos. I wasn’t fully aware of this, as I greeted the end of summer with a certain reticence, an emotional overload, and an overall wish that it just be over so we could get on with fall. It seems I’m tuned into such things even when I’m not, so I stumbled in wondering what the actual hell was going on in the world to make me feel so crazed. (Sadly this isn’t entirely foreign land to me.)
It is said that eclipses are times for letting go of things that no longer serve us well, and this recent one was especially about releasing those things that emotionally clutter and wear down our brain space. A good lesson and practice for any given day, made especially pertinent with the changing of seasons.
So it was that I found myself doing an early morning meditation on the first day of fall – not of intention or purpose, but of letting go.
Letting go of the icky feelings of resentment, anger, and hurt.
It’s a way of decluttering and re-organizing the head-space ~ an ideal exercise for this Virgo. It’s also a new direction as far as ease and comfort of living, and that’s always been part of the goal, hasn’t it?
Part of truly letting go is in acknowledging and examining what you are releasing, and that’s where this blog comes in handy. As one of the themes of this fall, letting go will involve getting things out of my system so I can truly be finished with them. A mental clean-up that feeds the soul of a Virgo, while claiming new territory, and new ways of moving through life. Are we ready for such a release? We shall see…
“Letting go gives us freedom, and freedom is the only condition for happiness. If, in our heart, we still cling to anything – anger, anxiety, or possessions – we cannot be free.”
What is a cup of coffee or tea but a particular potion made to elicit some sort of feeling, some minor transformation, some bit of ease and comfort? What is a prayer or a meditation but a spell cast upon the purpose of our soul? What is a candle but a beacon of light from another world – a world of hope and dreams and fantasy, made no less real from its sole residence within our minds?
Behold the magnificent chrysanthemum – weighted with history, filled with tales, and present for so many seasonal changes. It’s played a part in various periods and forms of art, emblematic of more than could ever be even touched upon in such a trifling post like this. This particular plant carries the appropriate colors of the season – and by that I mean the season of fall and Taylor Swift. We won’t quite get that trifling, as there are more important matters for the mind. With that said, let us travel somewhere together. It’s Saturday morning – the time for escape – even if it’s just in our heads…
This is music for journeying, music to back the motions of travel, of planning and preparation – two favorite Virgo pastimes. While I feel myself wanting to slow down, I also feel a restlessness in the air, a need to take action and get away for the occasional weekend. Traveling has a wonderful way of making the weekend feel longer.
Planning for a trip produces similar euphoria, at least for my obsessively-organized ass – and it allows a quick weekend jaunt to exist for longer than its actual weekend length. We can plan and prepare and make the days leading up to an adventure just as exciting as the adventure itself – in some ways, those moments are more enchanting because they contain only the dreamy aspects of possibility and what might come, unburdened by the reality of what will be.
“To be beautiful means to be yourself. You don’t need to be accepted by others. You need to accept yourself. When you are born a lotus flower, be a beautiful lotus flower, don’t try to be a magnolia flower. If you crave acceptance and recognition and try to change yourself to fit what other people want you to be, you will suffer all your life. True happiness and true power lie in understanding yourself, accepting yourself, having confidence in yourself.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
Lately I’ve been practicing my meditations in the morning, before the sun is even out, and it’s been good for setting an intention and tone for the day. The recent rainy stretch of weather has actually been a bit of a balm on this riotous Virgo heart – we definitely needed the rain – and it’s been helpful to start things off in a quiet and mindful manner. I see what all the early morning yoga fuss is about – though my body is not quite there to be so bendy quite so early in the day. One must work their way into a sling for anything to be safe these days.
“To dwell in the here and now does not mean you never think about the past or responsibly plan for the future. The idea is simply not to allow yourself to get lost in regrets about the past or worries about the future. If you are firmly grounded in the present moment, the past can be an object of inquiry, the object of your mindfulness and concentration. You can attain many insights by looking into the past. But you are still grounded in the present moment.” ~ Thich Nhat Hanh
“We dream in our waking moments, and walk in our sleep.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
This time of the year always reminds me of ‘The Scarlet Letter’ by Nathaniel Hawthorne – the way the sun slants through the changing tree leaves, the way the earth, and its implacable stone and rock, still holds onto some of summer’s warmth. There’s magic and enchantment in the forest at this time – and when the forest is bordered by water, it’s even more entrancing. At some point every few weeks, I find my way to such a leafy scene – to find comfort in solitude, to be by myself, to re-connect with nature in the way that most Virgos need to be connected to the earth.
For this nearby expedition, I needed only to drive to Cohoes to find the waterfalls I’d been wanting to visit for years. Thanks to a severe drought, there was barely a trickle from the might and majesty they typically conjure, but I didn’t mind the quieter and more serene scene. There will be more than enough opportunities for thunderous downfalls and tumultuous waterfalls later this fall. Rain is already on the horizon, and winter is not as far as it seems.
“It contributes greatly towards a man’s moral and intellectual health, to be brought into the habits of companionship with individuals unlike himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
When the foliage is still lush and the leaves haven’t yet been ripped from their precious perches, it feels safe on a sunny day. When the leaves start to turn, their coloring sets the sky on fire, matching the brightness of spring’s earliest chartreuse show. It is a beautiful point for reflection – the perfect place to pause in the madness of the current world. There are times when I wonder how I got here – to this specific space and place – and of all that I have lost and gained on that winding journey. I think back to my first forays into the forest behind my childhood home, the way the paths and the trees and the plants felt somehow more familiar than my own bedroom – the cozy comfort of a patch of moss, the hooded cloaks of a stand of May apples, the evocative hide-and-seek game of a clump of Jack-in-the-pulpits. This sort of beauty brings me back to those days, reminding me of our connection to such sacred spaces.
“But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
Scattered throughout downtown Albany, these little Nipper sculptures always make me paws (sorry) and smile for their bit of whimsy. Occasionally, they come with a more pressing message – in this case the ever-pertinent idea that ‘you matter’ – a reminder for anyone who needs a little pick-me-up at a troubling time. We all have struggles, and most of us like to pretend that we don’t. I understand that – sometimes it’s easier to push on through rather than face and possibly falter over something that’s hard to handle. It puts me in the mind of this song by Paramore. For some reason, this harkens to the 90’s tracks that comprised the Structure soundtrack of my retail days (Structure was the precursor to Express Men, for those who were not around then). It also brings me back to that time in my life – starting out with a retail job and wondering what ever would come of a career. And so we travel back to Boston in the mid-to-late 90’s…
I don’t mind Lettin’ you down easy, but just give it time If it don’t hurt now, but just wait, just wait awhile You’re not the big fish in the pond no more You are what they’re feedin’ on So what are you gonna do When the world don’t orbit around you? Ooh, uh, uh So what are you gonna do When the world don’t orbit around you?
Ain’t it fun Livin’ in the real world? Ain’t it good Bein’ all alone?
My co-workers at Structure were becoming my friends – or the closest thing I had to friends in that transitional time of our lives. They taught me what it was like to live alone in Boston – where to go, how to act, what to say, how to be – most of it superficial and useless. But we were going through it together, and that felt like all that mattered.
Where you’re from You might be the one who’s runnin’ things Well, you could ring anybody’s bell and get what you want See, it’s easy to ignore trouble When you’re livin’ in a bubble
While this song came out about twelve years ago, it speaks to life as a twenty-something, when every little obstacle feels like an insurmountable ordeal, and the idea of making a living in any substantial way feels far away. In many respects, that’s one of the sweeter spots in life – that section of not-knowing, that moment when there is only possibility.
So what are you gonna do When the world don’t orbit around you? Mm, uh, uh So what are you gonna do When nobody wants to fool with you? Oh, oh, oh, uh, uh Ain’t it fun, Livin’ in the real world? Ain’t it good, Bein’ all alone? Ain’t it good to be on your own? Ain’t it fun you can’t count on no one? Ain’t it good to be on your own? Ain’t it fun you can’t count on no one? Ain’t it fun Livin’ in the real world?
In the way you have to make your own family when there’s none nearby, I leaned into the little retail family of Structure, even as they had their own lives and friend groups. A rainy Sunday morning of inventory was the highlight of my week, as much as everyone else dreaded it, and I stayed in town for the day after Thanksgiving rush that year, deliberately missing a family Thanksgiving at home. It is telling that I made such a choice then.
Don’t go cryin’ to your mama ‘Cause you’re on your own in the real world Don’t go cryin’ to your mama ‘Cause you’re on your own in the real world
Am I the last person you know to try an acai bowl? My niece and nephew seem to think so, and they are occasionally correct. It was Noah who mentioned them to me as we passed a store offering fruit bowls for lunch. Then I started asking around and it seems everyone has tried an acai bowl, and has been eating them for years. It’s not that I was never aware of them, they just existed on the periphery of my food journey – something like chicken wings or Orange Julius, ever-present but not a part of my life.
When asking around on what exactly an acai bowl was, the descriptions from friends were wildly off-the-mark and disparate; none of them made me particularly excited about the prospect of putting purple porridge into my body, especially if it was covered in blueberries, green bananas and granola.
As the universe would have it, down the street from my office a new cafe called ‘Blends and Brews’ had just opened, offering a multitude of shakes and smoothies, and about a dozen acai bowls. Taking a pic of the menu, I sent it around to friends and family to get their take on what my virgin acai experience should consist of, and I decided on the basic Acai Berry Bowl.
It was like a slippery frozen yogurt with icy bits, fruitfully tart with a decent amount of sweetness, and more about the toppings of strawberries, blueberries, granola and banana – a more healthy and colorful than a hot fudge sundae, but also a lot less fun. Give me that processed sugar any day. Still, I finished almost the entire bowl, leaving but one tainted blueberry. After it was done, I felt a little like I did the night I lost my gay virginity – slightly let-down, slightly satisfied, not quite hungry for more – the main difference being that I didn’t need to find a cab to take me home from an abandoned warehouse on the Mississippi river where it all went down. I digress…
{That was my fake look of disgust because blueberries were involved… and I won’t sully the end of this post with why I have an issue with blueberries – that’s for a rainier day.}
For a few formative years in my youth, fall was the season when I typically fell in love with someone ~ or thought I was falling in love. I was so young and naive and foolish that looking back it wasn’t anything like love, but it was a closeness and connection that I wanted so badly, any poor chap entering the realm of vision was at risk.
Wait… that’s not being entirely fair to myself. There were reasons and signs that led me to believe in the possibility of love ~ I didn’t just fall for someone because they were cute or wanted to fuck me. Every infatuation began with a bit of engagement and interaction, little signals or breadcrumbs that may or may not have been inadvertently left. I don’t know… I’m ok with acknowledging my wayward brain in leaping to romantic conclusions, but also smart enough to know that it wasn’t all entirely in my head. Flirtation wasn’t the fun and harmless thing it would become years later; back then my middle name should have been Earnest. (Confirmation name: Don’t-Fuck-With-Me.)
Those infatuations also usually came accompanied by music, the way certain songs at certain points in your life leave a lasting impact. Someone once said that music is the way to expressing the soul, even more than words. For a writer, I’m not sure I completely agree, but there have been songs and melodies that define a person or a place or a time, and do so more than anything I could ever write down, so there is truth to it.
Music played a major part in those memory-making days, and sometimes it was a song that brought me back from the brink of danger or repulsion. Like certain scents, certain songs will return me to a time and place from long ago, when the heart was tender and the mind was questionable – music as a totem and marker. Here are a few fall moments that form the soundtrack to a season.
‘Secret‘ ~ For the first man I ever kissed. So many memories come attached to this song and this period of time, I couldn’t possibly capture all the links, but this last letter hits most of them.
‘Dynasty‘ ~ For a more modern memory, one that brings back Dad’s downhill start and the foibles of family.
These rods of gold sway but do not break in the wind. Goldenrod is no stranger to the wilds of fall, and it won’t be felled so easily. The scientific name for the plant – Solidago – stems from a Latin word that means ‘to make whole’ – this is due to the medicinal properties the plant was once believed to have. I don’t think it’s used widely for anything curative today.
In these parts it is a pretty signifier of fall, celebrated for its stationary pollen, blamed for the unnoticed ragweed, and bothered by almost none of our nonsense.
