Kids.
Sometimes that’s all I can say.
And it’s more than enough.
Not sure where they learned to pose like this, but promise you it wasn’t from me.
Kids.
Sometimes that’s all I can say.
And it’s more than enough.
Not sure where they learned to pose like this, but promise you it wasn’t from me.
My brother and I have been going to get the Ilagan family Christmas tree (off and on) for our entire lives. Some years we skip it, but eventually we get back around to driving over to Bob’s Tree Farm and picking out a tree for the family. For the past couple of years, we’ve brought the twins along with us, with dinner afterward, preferably at the cozy Cock & Bull. This year we set out for the same adventure.
Emi wore her sequined high-tops.
I was more than a little envious.
She also showed me an impromptu drawing she did. That’s me. (Why do I look so fat? Don’t answer.)
We made it to Bob’s Trees and found this reindeer, then quickly found an acceptable tree. What used to be the most fun part of the night had quickly become the most trying, as all I wanted was dinner at the Cock & Bull. I’d asked my brother to call and make sure they were open (last year they were closed for a holiday party so we ended up at another place that everyone complained about for an entire year).
Of course, he never called, and when we arrived the Cock & Bull was not open, so we ended up in the same place that he and the twins hated so much last year. I shrugged it off because, well, these things are not surprising.
We made the most of it and the twins were fine once they made their salad bar trip and shared some chicken tenders. The holidays are not always perfect, and when things don’t turn out as perfectly-planned as you like, the only thing to do is go with the flow.
Christmas has a way of softening the most righteously indignant among us.
It was a quiet Thanksgiving, but sometimes those are the best. And quite frankly, we probably won’t see a really quiet Thanksgiving until the twins gain about ten years. In the meantime, there is joyful noise and running around, and somewhere in the middle of it all a moment to sit down, give thanks, and enjoy a home-cooked meal.
PS – Keep your eyes peeled for a Special Guest Appearance by the OG Ko Jello Salad!
Eli knows how to strike a pose, especially when there’s a bright backdrop like this coral bark maple.
She simply glows.
It would be impossible to top last year’s treasure hunt with my niece and nephew, so I didn’t even bother trying. Unfortunately, I should have had another plan in store, because a couple of hours without a schedule makes for a chaotic series of scrambles when trying to keep a pair of six-year-olds occupied. Still, just being around the twins has its fun moments, and kids are often easily entertained when Uncle Al is at his wit’s end.
We began with a walk around the yard, which held onto its fall foliage but was a far cry from the summer sumptuousness of just a few weeks before. Time is measured in the steps of children.
The day held a few surprises, such as these bags of silly treats, hanging in the branches of a brilliant coral bark maple.
This year’s treasure was a pair of nonsensical objects that, thank you Jesus, kept the twins busy for a few precious minutes: Silly Putty and Squirmles. Throwback toys to my own childhood, they still somehow work their magic all these years later, even if they were greeted with skeptical eyes at first.
We also checked the original fairy traps we’d set last year, because my backyard is a veritable breeding ground for fairies.
Back inside, we had cider and mozzarella sticks. (I was told children eat such things.) They played with their putty and squirmles, but weren’t at all interested in assembling the felt turkeys I’d bought at the last minute. Oh well, best laid plans. We’ll do a holiday get-together next, or maybe a winter weekend before the years fly by.
If you’re anything like me, and for your sake I hope to God you’re not, you will already have begun your holiday shopping. I’ve only made a small dent in mine, but it’s an admirable dent and I look to continue that this weekend. For those seeking unique and one-of-a-kind gifts, particularly in the rustic furniture line, check out my brother’s shop in Ballston Spa: DeadWood Field & Furniture. It’s a cozy little nook in a cozy little town, and a perfect jumping-off point for holiday gift gathering.
Much of the focus is on his hand-crafted wooden furniture – rustic, bold, and teeming with echoes of the Adirondacks that surround us. His pieces can be custom-ordered and designed to your own specifications. Don’t be afraid to think and propose things that seem out-of-the-box. I’ve seen him rise to the challenge of corner shelving, kids’ coat cubbies, dining room sets, and bed frames. He’s crafted portable kitchen islands that can be moved as needed, sliding wooden doors, and plant stands for indoor or outdoor use.
Not that you’re limited to immense, stalwart big-ticket pieces – there are a number of smaller items for your browsing and buying pleasure, something to fit those hard-to-buy-for people who have everything.
It’s worth a look-see, and then amble on down the street to visit the rest of Ballston Spa – it’s got some great old-school charm, a couple of restaurants and cafes, and several other interesting shops. It’s almost the season, and I’m starting to get excited.
It’s my annual belated birthday wish to my father, who has the distinction of being born on a day now marked with infamy – 9/11. As such, he gets his birthday shout-out a day late, but with no less fanfare. He’s never been the biggest self-trumpeter, but without our birthdays we wouldn’t be here, so we celebrate such things with his indulgence. Happy Birthday Dad!
As for the previous week, it was mostly about Washington, DC. From brunch with a baby to dinners with an old friend, it was a typically monumental visit. Everybody needs some time all alone. Farewell for now, sweet whimsical Washington.
Summer started to go to seed.
This I promise you.
Don’t you wanna dance?
How sweet it is.
The Hunks of the Day were all from across-the-pond: Jack Whitehall, Danny Mac, &Â Ashley Cain.
I’m not claiming that title.
Yet.
Today is somehow ‘Gay Uncles Day’ which is ridiculous and wonderful and something I want nothing to do with unless gifts are involved. In a world where the hunt for the next Hallmark Holiday has run dry, leave it to the Gay Uncles to step up the fabulousness. (Though I do wonder why the Gay Aunts aren’t included.)
It just so happens that my niece and nephew will be visiting us for a summer dinner later today, so we’ll celebrate in our own way (likely with Uncle Al doing their bidding). They’ve provided a bright spot in this otherwise rather dark summer, and for that I am grateful. Summer’s not over yet, and I’m reminded of that in the exuberance of a child. Or two.
The chant in the field was infectious, and I couldn’t help but join in: “No hitter, can’t hit” – CLAP-CLAP – “No hitter, can’t hit” – CLAP-CLAP. If I could have been a baseball cheerleader, I would have been in my pom-pom glory, but since I couldn’t (and since there weren’t any) I had to find other ways of amusing myself at my brother’s Pee-Wee baseball games. I was reminded of this when we attended my nephew’s last game of the season. As we sat in the setting sun of a rather beautiful summer day, my mind returned to the games of my brother’s youth. At such times it wasn’t my youth ~ I was on the outside, aloof on the periphery while the real action swirled somewhere in the middle. I liked that vantage point. I went unnoticed, blending into the background, which made my disappearance unremarkable.
Behind almost every field at which his team played (Bacon School, Veteran’s Field, Isabel’s) there was a path that led to a stream or creek. Some of these were barely running in the heat of summer, but some were almost rivers. I’d slowly soften my chant and sneak away, out of the sight or sound of the game, and into a secret world hidden behind leaves and trees and the winding half-hearted paths that led to the water.
Not unlike today, I was drawn to the water back then. The sound of it trickling or moving along, the way the light danced on its rippling surface, and the creatures that made its wet environs their home ~ all of it entranced me. Being landlocked in upstate New York instilled a longing that found expression in my fascination with all sorts of water bodies and tributaries.
On those summer afternoons, as the light slowly began to drain from the sky, I’d walk along the water’s edge. The muffled shouts from the game faded as I listened to the gurgling brook, or the unexpected splash of some hidden animal. In the cool surroundings of the leafy forest, summer felt secret and solitude felt safe.
I’d rejoin the dusty dry game as it neared its final stretch, returning to the noise and the tumult, but quieter in my heart. Nature could tame my emotional wilderness better than any other form of exertion. Like running around bases and hitting balls.
I remembered those games as I watched my nephew make his way to first base, and my niece meander around the perimeter of the field. We are each lost in our own world, but if we’re lucky we meet up again at the end of the game.
For Father’s Day, the family gathered in our backyard, where my niece and nephew enjoyed their favorite pool. The day was practically perfect – sunny, warm, but with a nice breeze – necessary for these shade-free times. Andy barbecued some chicken thighs, Elaine brought her delicious potato salad, and Mom had made a couple of strawberry-rhubarb pies. We also had the twins’ birthday gifts from many moons ago for them to open. It was a day of many celebrations.
First and foremost was the arrival of summer, to which the twins splashed in jovial fashion. By the grace of God I managed to not throw my back out when tossing them over my head, but it wasn’t easy. Uncle Al is too old to play these strenuous games.
As my brother is also a father, we celebrated him as well.
In the end, the twins expelled all their energy for the ride home and an early bedtime. Sometimes that’s the best gift you can give any father: tiring their children out. You are very welcome.
For all the fathers out there, this post goes out to you for all that you do. I’d say that being a good father ranks second only to being a good mother as far as thanklessness goes. When we’re kids, we don’t always appreciate what we have – and sometimes when we’re adults we need a reminder of that too. To be fair, I’ve always been grateful and appreciative of my father – so that doesn’t change with today – it only gets celebrated and notated a little more than usual.
As for today’s celebration, the family is coming over for some time by the pool – which is probably not my Dad’s first wish, but sometimes Father’s Day is for the kids. Being a good sport is part of being a good Dad – and I have one of the best.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
We threw a low-key 41st birthday pizza party for Suzie and the family, and seeing these smiling faces are just what this blog, and this week, needs right now. Happy memories, happy times, happy friends and family. This is how we feel. This is how we heal. This is how we find happiness. Let’s do it again next year.
This space and date is usually reserved for some ridiculous photo of Suzie Ko, given that it’s her birthday. This year I’m switching it up and keeping it brief and simple (and without that infamous wet shot of us walking a mile in our bathing suits). Of course a silly hat photo remains, but that’s the only kind of photo she really takes…
There’s no need to go into our lifelong history together – it’s been well-documented in ways both of us would likely like to forget, and if you’re a regular reader of my nonsense you know that she’s a prominent character in my cast of favorites.
As for what 41 will bring her, I hope it’s more of the same – health, happiness, and a fun-loving family that makes her one of the luckiest people I know.
Happy Birthday Suzie!! Pizza and cake forthcoming!
Afternoon Tea at The Plaza is the stuff of history and glamour, of Eloise and elegance. It conjures the ghosts of balls and galas that took place in the Palm Court. In the hallway leading to the Court, photos of Frank Sinatra and Mia Farrow from Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball hang directly across from a framed photo of Marilyn Monroe. These are the memories such storied walls hold. My mother and I slowly walk around, imagining the rustling of fancy skirts and the clinking of crystal.
It is my belated Mother’s Day gift to her, and as we are seated in a comfortable corner nook we nestle in to the surroundings with grateful ease. There is lots of walking to be done in New York, and never enough time for rest, but for the moment we pause and take in the breathtaking scene at hand.
We were both expecting a couple of high-priced petit fours and some fancy tea, but this was a full-bodied meal, presented on a three-tiered wheel that carries all the bang that its hefty buck commands.
The bottom layer was breads and pastries – a delightful scone and muffin combination. The second tier was all dainty sandwiches, and all quite different from one another. Scoff if you must at a finger-sandwich – when there are seven, and each one is a work-of-art in its own right, that’s a lot of damn good food.
At the very top was this gorgeous rendering of decadent desserts. If this was my daily existence, I could stomach living here, right next to Eloise, roaming the hallways, hiding behind velvet curtains, surreptitiously sneaking a bite-sized confection and gleefully enjoying a world of whimsy.
The entire ceremony was a lesson in refinement and taste, and by the end we were both more than satiated. All worries of it being an exercise in restraint and not enough food were more than put to rest.
Our weekend in New York had come to a close, and it felt like we had only just begun. That’s the spell the city manages to cast upon many of us. As much as I want to write it off, I simply can’t. In fact, I’m already looking forward to next year. (And maybe a high summer weekend with Suzie or Chris before then.) Whether it was the food or the shows or the warm comfort of being with my Mom, I’m ready to do it all over again.