We turned back time like Cher could only imagine, and now the nights come earlier than ever. It’s only going to get worse until December 21 or so, and we better get into the holiday spirit to lift that kind of darkness. Thankfully, I’m already in holiday planning and preparation mode. If I get enough done in advance, I can simply lounge in silk pajamas when things get really stressful. A look back at the last week…
To all of us who get on the roller coaster, throw our arms in the air, open our eyes and scream for glee and glory.
I see you thinking twice
Wish I could read your mind
Move up or out of line
Too late for praying
I know we might lose our breath
We might be scared to death
This chance is like a step
Just got to take it
Hold on tight, slide a little closer
Up so high stars are on our shoulders
Time flies by, don’t close your eyes
Kiss by kiss love is like a thrill ride
What goes up might take us upside down
Life ain’t a merry go round
It’s a roller coaster… It’s a roller coaster
Can’t lie and won’t pretend
I know what’s round the bend
Too late to start again
Won’t take it slower
Let’s slip right off these tracks
We’ll fly or we might crash
Don’t look down, don’t look back
Cause it ain’t over
Hold on tight, slide a little closer
Up so high stars are on our shoulders
Time flies by, don’t close your eyes
Kiss by kiss love is like a thrill ride
What goes up might take us upside down
Life ain’t a merry go round
Lockhart Brownlie has been a Hunk of the Day here not once, but twice. This isn’t quite his third, but it goes some way toward establishing that as his next goalpost. He seems to be going by Locky these days, as you’ll see on his super-fun YouTube page. Check him out there – he’s even better in motion.
It really wasn’t all that out-of-the-ordinary or strange, when you consider it in the pantheon of outfits I’ve worn over the years. A ceremonial Indian wedding coat, adorned with a few sequins and some sparkle, and some beadwork around the neck. A bright marigold-orange silk, paired with a loose pair of turquoise pants. I’d worn it to one of the Beaujolais events a few years back. On the rainy day we were traveling to Amsterdam to check out my brother’s new house, it seemed a fine choice.
Andy and I pulled up to the house, and I texted my brother to help us with the potted palm I’d brought to warm the place. We entered and were dutifully impressed by the results. My brother had worked hard on the house, and he and Landrie welcomed us in as the twins ran rambunctiously around.
We talked home decoration and I offered what little guidance I could. They had already done quite a bit, and the living and dining rooms were mostly complete. We sat for a drink before getting ready for dinner with our parents.
As we were leaving the kids looked at me and asked why I was dressed like this. “Like what?” I asked.
“In a dress,” one of them said. “It’s weird.”
For one brief moment it stung, just a little.
“Aww, you hurt Uncle Al’s feelings,” Andy explained gently as we went out into the rain. But by then there wasn’t much hurt left. This was how kids talked. I understood they didn’t mean anything by it.
I just hope the rest of the world will be as forgiving as me.
This is always the chilliest month. True, January and February bring the coldest temperatures and the roughest weather, but by then we’ve had enough time to acclimate ourselves to the freeze. This year especially, the first few days of cold weather will be a shock to the system. We’ve gone soft with the spectacular October we’ve had.
That velvet curtain seems to have come to a swift close, and like some cosmic thermostat, the temperature seems to have been put back to right. It may be appropriate and typical, but that doesn’t ease the jolt that these first few truly fall days has given.
The wet leaves on a sidewalk remind me of walking back to my dorm at Brandeis after dinner. I may have eaten with a friend or two, but somehow I’d end up stopping at the library, or they would head in another direction, and I’d make the last part of the walk by myself. The sun had long since fallen, and the false lights along the way were no match for the darkness. A stand of trees surrounding my dorm rendered the street lamps mostly powerless anyway.
On the darker days, when the world beat me down, when I flailed in desperate attempts to understand the physics involved in mapping out an astronomy project, I’d return to a black and empty dorm room. That first year I lucked out: my roommate had quickly found a girlfriend and spent much of his time with her, so it was basically like living in a single. I cherished the solitude. Still, as I looked out the third floor window of my room, at the pine tree fanning its needles in the faint glow of moonlight, I wondered how long it might be before solitude turned to loneliness. On those evenings, I’d let Enya play in the background while I tucked into bed, waiting for the light of day to make things better.
I’LL WAIT THE SIGNS TO COME.
I’LL FIND A WAY
I WILL WAIT THE TIME TO COME.
I’LL FIND A WAY HOME.
MY LIGHT SHALL BE THE MOON AND MY PATH, THE OCEAN.
MY GUIDE THE MORNING STAR AS I SAIL HOME TO YOU.
November always starts in the same desolate fashion.
This isn’t much more than a gratuitous post of a shirtless Chris Hemsworth, on the day that he returns to the big screen as Thor. His last solo movie still holds special meaning for me, not so much for the flimsy storyline, but for the way we entered the theater. Skip and I are planning on doing it all over again (minus the sketchy beginning). In the meantime, here’s some more of Mr. Hemsworth (with better hair than in these shirtless pics). And here he is naked in case you need just a little bit more Thor. (And here is his bro Liam for those who prefer that.)
Turning the calendar to November puts us instantly into the start of the holiday proper season. We held onto unseasonably balmy weather right until the end of October, but November wants nothing to do with that kind of cheap sentiment. There’s no rain colder than a November rain. That’s why there’s whiskey.
Personally, I prefer cognac, especially if it’s served in a sidecar (a variation on the persnickety brandy that is traditionally abused). But I’ll take any cozy amber-hued liquor when the days go dark this early. Served on the mantle of a fireplace, or on a candle-lit side table, the simple snifter demands to be sniffed.
It’s time for darker fragrances too, and I go deep into Tom Ford Private Blend territory for this moment in the year. ‘Japon Noir’ and its smoky, soapy vision starts the month off, when scarves and wool and slept-in weekends are the order of the season. Supplemented by a few days here and there of ‘Tuscan Leather’ my seasonal scent map is tentatively drawn.
After my summer sabbatical from blogging, I vowed to treat you (or trick you as today’s case may be) to a different and occasionally-unexpected posting schedule. It goes against the cardinal rule of blogging, which is to stick to a set schedule, but that’s why I like it. When you know the rules you can break them. Hence this surprise post on a day when this blog usually goes dark.
Tonight, we welcome the neighborhood children to our home for free candy in a resigned bow to socially-sanctioned extortion. (And by we, I mean that Andy will be handing out candy with a smile and genuine amusement while I hover in the background nervously sipping a strong cocktail, possibly draped in a velvet cloak lined with purple satin but more likely still in work clothes since everything starts so early these days.)
Our front yard will both beckon and warn the unwary passers-by. A stand of castor beans overhangs the walkway, waiting to grab anyone with its prickly seedpods. Its immense leaves spread wide like an outstretched hand – fingertips elongating to fiendish needle points. A thorny clump of barberry waits to shred the calves of those careless enough to ignore proscribed boundaries. Even our pastel cleome comes with sporadic razor points laying in wait for anyone daring enough to pick one of her pretty flower heads. My plants fulfill two very important needs: protection and prettiness.
When the veil between the physical and spiritual worlds is this thin, we need beauty and barricades.
Halloween is my day off, which means I will dress down and let the amateurs have their fun. See you on Thursday, when I’ll be back to the usual shenanigans. Until then, check out the previous week here. It was positively ghoulish.
It began with the paws of a lion, padding along even the late in the growing season.
“Normality is but a paved road. Comfortable to walk, yes, but no flowers grow on it…”
Baz Luhrmann has created the holiday promotional video for ERDEM X H&M’s new collaboration/collection, coming next month. This site is big on flowers, as am I, so this looks intriguing enough to get me back in the store. It’s not spring, so florals can be groundbreaking again.
As for this collection, I’m intrigued and impressed, and I only hope H&M delivers something slightly above its average/poor quality for such an enterprise. There’s promise here, but not all flowers are as pretty as they appear in pictures. We shall see.
“Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” ~ Marcel Proust
Andy was good enough to drive Suzie and me to the train station while it was still dark. And chilly. A welcome chill in the relative heat of this autumn, and one that would quickly dissipate, like the fog rolling over the Hudson River as we rushed by en route to Penn Station. It was an other-worldly journey, clouded by the early hour as much as by the strange weather that had portions of the river shrouded in fog and cloud cover, with only a few floating vessels and trees appearing through the haze, illuminated by the morning sun. A magical beginning to a magical day. I wore my grandmother’s sapphire and diamond star-shaped ring on my pinky – a bit of bling that would have made her proud. We brought some lost family members along with us in our talks during the day, as we tend to do only when it’s just the two of us.
We started with a rather unproductive stop at Century 21. I found a stunning Emilio Pucci coat which was marked down to $1260 (from $4000 – which is a bit of a steal when you think about it, but not so much when you really think about it). In the end, Suzie found more than I did, but on a day trip without a hotel home-base, I didn’t mind being empty-handed. We walked along Central Park as it neared lunch time, making our way to the Plaza.
In the past, I’ve discounted this corner of New York as a tourist trap, and it still is, but there are nooks and hideaways that can get you away from the masses and into the embrace of a cocktail. The Rose Court is one such place, slightly hidden up and away from the Plaza’s Lobby. We found a velvet banquette in the corner and set up shop for a ladies-who-lunch moment. A martini and a burger are a great accompaniment for a conversation with an old friend (so is whatever froo-froo champagne concoction Suzie ordered off the menu). The latter came with an orange peel that occupied her. Food and service were both impeccable, and you pay for both. We finished and made our way to Broadway for a matinee preview of ‘M. Butterfly’ with Clive Owen. I was eagerly anticipating the visual sumptuousness that director Julie Taymor usually brings to her work, but it was sorely lacking. The jewel-box description of the show made it sound more beautiful and intricate that it is, but the cast did their best with it. Even when Broadway doesn’t shine at its brightest, it’s still a nice escape.
A walk back toward Penn Station and some shopping stops later (Suzie tried out a few pairs of Doc Martens as if it was 1994 all over again) and soon we were at Keen’s for a final cocktail before our train ride home. It’s our old pre-Madonna concert stomping ground, where we’d always grab a burger before the strenuous gauntlet of a Madison Square Garden show. On this night, a sleepy Sunday evening that had us peering up at the Empire State Building on a breezy but balmy balcony a few moments before, we paused at the bar, holding on to our last moments in the city.
