Oh look – someone signed my name in the cement!
Just kidding – if anyone ever called me ‘Babygurl’ it would be the last inane word that ever came out of their mouth.
And who wants to have the last word they uttered be ‘Babygurl’?
(This would have made for a lovely #TinyThreads entry but I don’t do those anymore. Why minimize something already so minimal?)
It’s been a while since I’ve written at the cafe – a while since I’ve sent out a volley of ‘This is cafe culture‘ texts to all my friends with accompanying lame photo of my cup of peppermint herbal tea. Mainly it’s been because the joys of summer are at and around our home, where the gardens and pool are the only atmosphere I seek or desire. For better or worse, however, I need to get into planning and plotting the Fall 2026 season of this website, and that isn’t going to happen lounging by the pool and eating bonbons. Would that it could. So it is that I find myself entering the cafe on a Friday afternoon when the sun is still hanging in the sky after a tumultuous week of wet and wild weather.
My favorite barista is working on this early evening in which I resume cafe culture, and she greets me excitedly, saying it’s been a while and asking what I’m doing with my notebook on a Friday night. I told her I was getting back into my writing routine, and she said I looked tan and must have been enjoying my summer. Sometimes it’s easier to smile and pretend and say some innocuous thing instead of the deep and detailed truth of how any one of us is really feeling at any given time, so I did. It’s easier for everyone, and less potentially awkward, and on this night I am very much seeking ease and comfort and reassurance that I’m still here, that I’m still myself, that I still have the power to astound. Because of this, I was especially glad to see her. Some people have that comforting effect – they are rare and wonderful and make this wretched world worthwhile. Though I barely know her, I know she is one of those people.
After I ask her how she has been, she pauses and tells me that she was getting ready to move. I assume it’s just across town, or to Albany or Clifton Park or something – but she goes on to say she’s moving down South, just outside of Atlanta, Georgia to be with her family. My heart sank to think that my favorite barista would be leaving, especially as I was just beginning to think we might become friends – a new step for me as other friends pull back or disappear entirely from my life. She also has such a great spirit and vibe that I will miss her presence in the cafe, and the possibility that we might have become closer.
We’ll see if I muster the courage to slip her my contact info to stay in touch, or if I’ll come to my senses and stop acting so desperate. I asked my friend Paula if she thought it was weird to try to connect like that at this point, and she said I should go for it. Most of my friends have kids and families of their own, and I think part of me wants to expand my social circle just a little bit, to make some meaningful connections as I barrel down the second half of life.
Summer has made a vulnerable mess of me this year it seems – messier even than my usual messy self.
As we wrap up our conversation, I tell her I’ll have to stop in more before she leaves – she’s says I don’t have to do that, and that I should keep working on my tan and enjoying the summer.
Some people find comfort and solace in long drives with which to clear their heads and hearts, taking time to be alone with their thoughts, or just occupied by a drive to somewhere near. Up until a few years, I was not one of these people. I didn’t ever drive for the sake of driving – I barely drove when it was a necessity (Andy will confirm). But ever since Dad died, and in the weeks leading up to it, I would find myself driving out in Amsterdam and beyond, just to drive. It was like he was with me, and it afforded me time alone – to weep, to pause, to think, to be – in a way you can’t find when other people might be around.
These days, when things are particularly upsetting or I’m feeling extra sad, I get in the car and just go somewhere – the destination is never important, just the act of being in motion, being alone and uninterrupted, is enough. Sometimes I drive to the cemetery. Sometimes I drive along streets my father knew well. Sometimes I’ll let myself get lost in the rural roads that stretch out off the Thruway, always winding my way back to some known marker or place – it’s difficult to truly get lost anywhere today. Not on the roads, at least. In my head, it feels like I’ve been lost for a while, but I’m hopeful that fog is lifting. Maybe I just needed a few dismal days of rain to clear things up, to set me back on my path and salvage what remains of this summer. In the meantime, I’ll be on the road again.
Our recent episode of Mercury in retrograde motion wreaked much havoc with certain astrological signs – yours truly and my fellow Virgos especially – and now we have a full Buck Moon with which to contend tonight. There’s a lot of messiness on both fronts usually. Additionally, Saturn is now in retrograde motion through the end of the year, but this may be beneficial to anyone who has been wronged, secretly or not-so-secretly, as this is supposedly the justice and come-uppance moment for those situations. People generally know enough not to wrong me, but sometimes attacks manage to get through, especially when least expected, and perhaps even least intended. That all finds resolution if we are to believe the current Saturn placement, or any astrological nonsense that’s flying about right now.
Happily for me, and I mean that in quite a literal sense, I no longer seek vengeance or retribution as I once did. Harboring hate and resentment and bitterness only ever hurts the harborer – the villains have already moved on to their next victim. It is so rarely ever about you, and anyone with a healthy ego finds that difficult to fathom. I’ve worked on my ego over the years and have reached a place where there’s a genuine sense of self-worth rather than the vain show-off nature of an unhealthy ego. At the ripe old age of fifty, I’m also more grounded and solid than I’ve ever been, and daily meditations keep my wandering, overthinking and overanalyzing mind in helpful check. It’s boring to relate – you all want the drama and the heartache, and I’m happy to not supply it. Finally, my good friends have been with me for decades, and have yet to go anywhere, so I must be doing something right; my friendships sustain and see me through the rough patches, and I continually work on nourishing and fostering them because that’s what good friends do.
As for this period of comeuppance and justice, I’m hoping my own reckoning spares me any great pain because no one is perfect.
Stop questioning dodged bullets.
Stop worrying about things that might not or did not ever happen.
This is how we begin the way to happiness.
(Unless you’re not interested in being happy – in which case, do all of the above. It takes all kinds.)
This blog recap begins as we are set to get rain for the next five days, so all the sunny recounting will officially be in the past. Just as I was getting back into the sunny swing of summer, the forecast changes. We change, we shift, we adapt, and we complain. Summer will happen rain or shine. On with the weekly recap…
Taming this beast is more than a literary reference, and I made it through the wilderness. (Somehow I made it through…)
A sinister summer place, for those moments when summer goes dark. Or rainy.
Furry, fuzzy and fabulous goes for more than my crotch.
Cleopatra whispered down the Nile as our musical summer moved from the 70’s to ancient Egypt.
An Egyptian excursion was just the sort of escapism that summer was designed to conjure.
My Godson Jaxon turned four years old, another indicator that time is moving much too fast.
Case in point: this happened 26 years ago.
A little purple flower gives powerful pause in the rush of the season.
A cinematic Egyptian summer seeps into the mood and music.
Summer reading turned light and breezy, like a tampon commercial.
Summer pyramids brought us deeper into Egypt with a song originally chosen by my nephew Noah.
A quietly magical weekend in Boston was recounted this week, as there’s always a tranquil Boston moment in the summer ripe for contemplation and memory.
Summer contentment in the flowering form of the stalwart hosta.
Sunny drops in the sky exploded with the first cheery blooms of the cup plant.
We are family, and we are golden.
Dazzlers of the Day included Jason Leigh Winter and Bryden Hattie.
Celebrating my Godson’s birthday brought me back to my hometown for a quick visit, and after watching him charge around the backyard on his new wheels with his cousin, I went indoors to find the twins and see how they were faring in this golden summer. They were gearing up for some travels, and Noah showed me his impressive cologne cabinet (modeled after yours truly). I sampled a few, and he has surprisingly sophisticated tastes for such a young age. (My teen years were marred by flights of Curve and Cool Water.)
Emi joined us in the dining room and Jaxon came in just long enough to pose for a few pics. Siblings are funny, as exemplified by the antics only half-captured here. Uncle Al did not have to step in as it was mostly play (I think). Anyway, what am I really going to do? It was a lovely visit, and we went out for ice cream all the way to Broadalbin because that’s what an Uncle with wheels is for. Emi paid because she has a job now. I thanked her with great pride, and just the slightest bit of sorrow, because it seems they really are growing up this quickly. A silly song that rekindles our 70’s vibe from this Solid Gold Summer, as it was on the playlist on our way to the ice cream stand.
Can’t turn back the hands of time…
The cup plant, despite a devastating aphid attack that continues out-of-hand, has managed to throw up a few yellow blooms against the blue sky. A valiant effort, and if anyone knows of any aphid-stoppers (aside from ladybugs, 1000 of which did nothing to the aphids last year) please send them my way. For now, I will enjoy the few blooms that made it through.
I feel summer slipping away faster than any of us want, so I took the summer back by spending a day not spending it, only enjoying – the sun, the warmth, the flowers. the book, and the pool.
Hosta blooms have appeared, signaling the midsection of summer. Actually, the first flush has already gone to hefty and full seed, which I need to remove since we have more than enough hostas through self-seeding. A rather unappreciated aspect of the hosta plant – which is more renowned for its fabulous foliage – the flowers are lovely and lily-like in form and fragrance. Softer and smaller than lilies of course, less showy, but just as enchanting. Summer sometimes offers simpler joys.
During yesterday’s brilliant late morning moments, I assembled a simple salad of cucumbers, fresh tomatoes grown on our patio, fresh basil from the garden, garbanzo beans, and mozzarella – doused with some balsamic vinegar and olive oil, salt and pepper. I threw in a few slivers of red onion that I’d soaked in water and vinegar to remove their edge, and it was the perfect summer salad to eat by the pool as I read lazily from my current book.
There was nowhere else I’d have rather been at that moment – the brilliance of a summer morning in July makes up for all sorts of January awfulness if you know how to store it in your heart. I paused to imprint the memory, to take in the flavors and the feeling of this summer day. Mindfulness makes for happiness.
Summer does too.
Perhaps appearing more brilliant against its sweet potato vine backdrop, this little purple flower pops and adds a bit of happiness to an already happy day, the way summer accentuates and complements what is good in the world. This may very well be the most wonderful time of the year…
Birthday boy Jason Leigh Winter gets the only kind of gift I can give to him, which is a crowning as Dazzler of the Day. A social media star and West End triple-threat, Winter recently turned heads in the celebrated production of ‘Hercules’ as it dazzled the London theater scene. More impactful seems to be his beloved social media posts, which largely feature him dancing to requested songs and reminding us of the joy still to be found in the simplest acts of showmanship.
Has this been an exceedingly wild and crazy summer even when not much has actually happened? It feels that way to me, though it’s quite possible (and highly likely) that it’s all in my head. That doesn’t make it any more or less fun – merely an observation of mine. On with this weekly blog recap…
A modern-day Madonna milestone, as she scores her 10th number one album with ‘Confessions II’.
A splendiferous summer’s day before the sky started to burn.
Our mocktail of the summer is this orange concoction, lovingly named ‘The Golden Shower’.
A bouquet of oregano reveals another pretty use for this herb.
The yolk of a daisy, a.k.a. the eye of a day.
As previously mentioned, the sky started to burn from the fires in Canada.
Pool ruminations in one’s underwear, as one does.
Summer darkness and intimacy still reside in the sunny season.
An icebox cake recipe for those who are wisely leaving the oven off this week.
Getting wet with water tableaux.
A Friday night fern for viewing ease and pleasure.
Cloudbusting is a song by Kate Bush, a blog post, and a term meaning… something.
A queen up close is sometimes just as enchanting as a queen from afar.
Pause for dramatic effect, and new glasses.
The very first tomato harvest of the season is always a happy event for my mouth.
My favorite donut shop is better than any basic bitch out there.
A simple Sunday night post in shades of lavender.
Dazzlers of the Day included Patrick ‘Patch’ Hyde and Edward Delling-Williams.
Sitting up in the attic far later than I should be awake, I write these words directly into this blog post. It won’t go up for a few days, and in that detachment and removal from immediacy, I feel emboldened and brave enough to reveal just a little more of myself than I typically might. Lately, I’ve been writing these entries into a notebook, all by hand, then typing them in later along with any necessary editing. It feels more meaningful to write it out longhand, if anyone even knows what longhand is anymore. I’m not even sure I do. Sometimes I just say words because they sound right, and I’m usually good about placing them where they belong, even if I’m doubtful of what they may actually mean. There, a little reveal, a little strip-tease, one that will find you trying to catch me out soon, and I will deserve it.
Jesus saves, and Bubba scores
A childhood you’ll always mourn
You found your things out on the floor now
And you believed in every maybe
Shalala, it drove you crazy
Tough as nails and built for breaking
But you were just a kid when they told you
You’d been born to bleed, little soldier
With your garden heart and sentimental boulder
Oh, it pulled you down
Look at you, you made it out
Yes, I had a garden heart. Still do. The garden has always been the place of peace and healing and learning – and the most interesting thing in the world to me ever since I was a little boy. It’s been a haven and a space of hope, where I learned heartbreak and heaven, sometimes at the exact same time. It set me apart from other boys, as did so much else. That dark trip back won’t be made tonight – I’m skirting the deeper shit until we make it out of retrograde motion.
Now it’s time to go, it’s time to chase it
Break the locks out of the basement
Rearview mirror to the faithless
And you believed in every maybe
Shalala, I love you, baby
Told them all you were good at breaking
Going around the gardens every day is my favorite way to ground myself during the sunny season. It’s a good mental health break – and any time spent offline or away from a computer screen or television is time well-spent. The removal of such stimulation is more powerful than most people realize, it allows for a re-charge, and the chance to be thrilled again when heightened stimulation arrives. Lower your expectations. Shift your pleasure perspective. Refine your acceptance.
But you were just a kid when they told you
You’d been born to bleed, little soldier
With your magnet heart and sentimental boulder
Oh, it pulled you down
But look at you, you made it out
Born to bleed with a sentimental boulder? Were we all such terrorized children? Why do I remember being more resilient before I was aware of myself? A small part of me wants to explain what that means, but it’s late, and a larger part of me wants to sleep. These lyrics hit harder than the music.
Yeah, you’re just like the rain
Carrying everyone’s shame
But you move just like a river
No, you don’t wear an inch of it, babe
I’d follow you down, down, down, down, down to the water
Way down to any kind of chance
To a stone in a creek
‘Til you’re out of the blue
Honey, I can see it too
Rather than say more about that, or offer an explanation for the title of this post (which was originally supposed to be a look at my creative process, as I’ve started the first part of my next project) I’m going to wrap things up since we are winding the song down. This was going to be a break in the Solid Gold Summer run with a glasses-and-all look at what really goes on in the summer. A dramatic pause if you will, then the music speaks to the soul again… and our Solid Gold swing shall return shortly.
‘Cause I was just a kid when they showed me
This great big weight that would come and pull me
Like your magnet heart and sentimental boulder
I carry it with you, throw it on my shoulders
You’re the one way out and I’m your dark horse clown
Isimo, look at you, you made it out
A fern for your Friday night fun. After the age of 50, Friday night fun unfurls differently, not unlike the frond of a fern – gently, quietly, beautifully. What calls to me now is deeper, more resonant for the soul, and it has nothing to do with FOMO or being seen or burning oneself into the break of the next day. It also has nothing to do with being online or engaging on social media, so excuse me while I step back into the world outside – the only world that matters.
Happy Friday!
“Even so, there were times I saw freshness and beauty. I could smell the air, and I really loved rock ‘n’ roll. Tears were warm, and girls were beautiful, like dreams. I liked movie theaters, the darkness and intimacy, and I liked the deep, sad summer nights.” – Haruki Murakami
I’m a bitch when it’s hot, because I’m a bitch when it’s not. That said, this summer the heat hasn’t gotten to me as badly as it has in years past, which is strange because we’ve been much hotter than recent summers have been. Chalk it up to the proximity of a pool and air conditioning, and the fact that I’ve largely avoided walking at midday when at the office or visiting Boston or New York in such a heat index. To that end, it’s been a rather enjoyable season thus far, and my lack of complaining is either growth or evolution or the lackadaisical summation of simply learning not to care (or realizing that there is no point to my caring). There’s something that approaches melancholy in all of that, in summer itself, as gleaned from the opening quote. It’s as if the sun, with its relentless cheeriness and charm, illuminates fully all that is otherwise lacking, all that is otherwise wrong, amid the perfect idyllic days: the conundrum of summer, which nobody dares to criticize lest we frighten it away.
Rather than indulge in the melancholy, or fight it outright, I’m finding a quiet sort of middle ground, one where I lean into the feelings while staying afloat and distracting myself with the fun. It mostly seems to be working. From the pool, I watch a red squirrel scurry across the top of the wooden fence, its clicks and clacks a warning or a mating cry or some other exclamation I cannot translate. A hummingbird hovers beside a pot of salvia, its tongue moving deeply into the tubular blooms that few others can so easily reach. Life reveals itself in multitudes when you stop and sit still long enough to receive it.
When the sun goes down, and the light reluctantly drains from the sky, the summer night begins…
“The summer night is like a perfection of thought.” – Wallace Stevens
