The golden luster of all those little dickless statuettes has hopefully not yet worn off for all the Oscar-winners from last night, but we are definitely moving forward into the next week, as it’s the last one in February. The sooner it’s over, the better. On with one quick look back…

We begin with some scent planning.

Desperately seeking mall solace.

Are my days of tea-bagging at an end?

Erect as a sun dial.

Mike Rickard, living ‘Out Loud.’ 

A shirtless Nick Jonas afternoon delight.

Is that a pipe in Cristiano Ronaldo’s underwear?

Yawning through the Academy Awards. 

Do follow these #TinyThreads.

Hunks of the Day included Ben Platt, Chris Harrison, Don Benjamin, Jack Muldoon, Reggie Bullock and Tobi Jasicki. 

If I must, I suppose I must…

Slay, Billy Porter, slay.

Regina King is a goddess who knows how to drape it.

Melissa McCarthy, proving me wrong in that not everyone should wear a cape at least once in their lifetime. Looks like a shower cap on her shoulders.

Mark Ronson is wearing just enough chicness to set a tux apart from the pack.

Linda Cardellini belongs on Fraggle Rock, and that’s not an insult.

Henry Golding’s outfit is as elegant as his accent.

Diane Warren – bringing back the dickie. No. God no.

I want Michelle Yeoh to be my fairy godmother.

Kasey Musgraves – what’s wrong? Couldn’t get Glinda’s bubble and wand too? (That said, I adore it. Oh wait, just saw it again. Nope. Give it back to Glinda.)

Apologies to Awkwafina: I think Glenn Close did this better yesterday.

Gemma Chan – I am here for this color, but why the shower curtain ruching?

James McAvoy – A black tux. For the Oscars. Groundbreaking. {Just take it off.}

Glenn Close – Restoring my faith in the cape. Take a lesson Melissa McCarthy.

Angela Basset – I’m questioning my sexuality.

Spike Lee – Channeling Prince’s work in Batman.

Jennifer Hudson – A one-shouldered scarlet dream.

Richard E. Grant – The richly-hued tux must match how good he smells.

Jennifer Lewis and Shangela: giving me life. Operation ‘Avenge the Kevin Hart Debacle’ in effect.

Nicholas Hoult – I am here for all of it, whatever the wrap is going on. (It’s actually a Dior tux, and it’s glorious.)

Is Sam Rockwell playing Lex Luthor for something?

Amy Adams always looks so friendly and approachable. Not sure I want that on this night. I want glamorously intimidating and elegantly terrifying.

Jason Momoa – Bohemian black tie sans tie. It works with the hair, even if the fit is just slightly off. (He still looks better naked,)

Charlize Theron – Joan Crawford will rise from the dead to get her shoulders back. 

Rami Malek – Another black tux. What more is there to say? Take it off?

Sam Elliott – matching the hair to the shirt. Well-played, sir. 

Jennifer Lopez, please don’t cut yourself on any of that! (PS – I’ll take it when you’re done. Thank you, Tom Ford.) 

Bradley Cooper – Whoa! The magenta sequins and ostrich feathers are over the top! Just kidding. Just another black tux.

Emma Stone – I’m torn. Need to see it closer…

Lady Gaga – The jewelry is magnificent. The McQueen is the color of 90% of the tuxes. The effect is largely that of this year’s Academy Awards: underwhelming. 

I love Maya Rudolph so much that I will refrain from commenting on that… dress.

Tonight Rachel Weisz comes complete with a cherry-red baby-proof bib. Not sure why.

Chris Evans is such a gentleman, and that jacket is divine.  

Waiting for Bette Midler to save another Awards show… in 3, 2, 1. 

Camo for the Academy Awards? Interesting choice. Not as successful as this one, sorry Pharrell Williams. 

Melissa McCarthy’s bunny just won the Oscars. {Careful with those rabbits, Glenn Close is in the FRONT ROW.}

Nope, Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper’s performance just won the evening. Classy. Elegant. Moving. 

Spike Lee & Barbra Streisand: Best Couple of the Oscars. #hats 

Glenn Close was robbed. Our country can’t elect anyone anymore. 

Julia Roberts is pretty in pink, even with those fish skeleton earrings. 

This year’s Super Bowl was one big-ass dud (with the possible exception of the Adam Levine strip show) but ball games never interested me as much as shiny phallic men. Tonight is the Academy Awards, and once again I’m not as excited about the night as I’ve been in the past (cite a combination of the new Academy nomination process – how many films are up for Best Picture now? – tiresome hosting issues (Kevin who?) and just getting older and growing uninterested in such things). I still have some favorites, including ‘The Favourite’ and Glenn Close, as well as Cate Blanchett and Nicole Kidman in whatever gown they’ll choose to wear, and of course I’ll watch because there’s something comforting about fluff and entertainment in this present climate.

In the past I’ve done some online posts about the Oscar ceremony (some FaceBook stuff and lots of Tweets) and a recap of commentary on this very blog, and perhaps I’ll get a second wind and do a bit of that, but as we near the last month of winter, I’m probably going to be too exhausted for any of that. (Follow or Friend me just in case.) 

Anyway, let’s get some glamour going. We need it now. 

The very first sundial I ever encountered was in the semi-secret side garden of the Ko house. In the center of a circular stand of hosta, which itself was in the middle of a formal stone-lined section of the garden, near an enormous elm tree and not far from a grape arbor, it stood and marked the path of the sun, or so Suzie and I assumed. Neither of us could read it, even if the dial itself was still intact (that part remains fuzzy in my memory bank). I remembered what was in the surrounding garden quite more vividly: the beds of floppy peonies, heavy and wet from a previous eve’s rainfall – the dirty, leaf-filled basin of a small cement pool that was mostly dry all summer – and the bearded iris that insisted we sniff their beautiful fuzzy heads every time we passed. Only I obliged; Suzie was supremely uninterested in them, no matter how I extolled their virtues.

That sundial stood in the center of the space, yet it didn’t occupy the center of our thoughts. Children don’t often succumb to the intended focus of a place and we were no different. The bees buzzing in dangerous numbers among the Centaurea by the stone walkway demanded our notice, as did the perfume of that summer place, which I didn’t know then but subsequently discovered to be either the fringe tree nearer the street, or a hidden hedge of mockorange dividing the garden from the house next door. And grape taffy – Suzie shared some beneath the grape arbor, from which small green grapes were just starting to form – grapes that would never come to ripeness no matter how many times the sundial marked the day. Or maybe they did and we just weren’t there to witness them. Summer never lasted long enough when you were a kid.

The sundial seen in these winter photos was a gift from a few years ago, and I only just noticed the rather macabre grim reaper on it to indicate the passage of time, and its only slightly-more-hopeful message. Yikes. I’m going to take that as a sign of the passing winter, as it stands there in the snow, marking the march of the sun, and the passing season of a garden waiting to begin again.

Ok, so technically maybe the Prudential Center is not exactly a mall – but it’s close enough in these times when malls are no longer the rage. This stand of ferns was planted beneath a spreading banyan tree, whose roots reached down from the air in tropical wonder, while a few feet outside the glass windows the winter wind raged. We will take our bits of beauty and balm where we can find them. If there’s some greenery involved in the middle of February, that’s a bonus. These are the little tricks that see us through the crueler months, and just because you find yourself walking through somewhere as common as the Pru doesn’t mean there aren’t quieter enchantments for the finding. This little stretch is always a happy trail – bright with all the windows and openness of the space – and it’s filled with a seasonally-updated collection of plants beneath the steadfast trees lining the walkway.

It leads to a bookstore – they once could be found around every corner, now they are an endangered species – and then to the entrance/exit closest to the condo, so I find myself here often, especially in the extreme-temperature months. It’s an oasis of sorts, and during lonelier times I would come here and sit, soaking in the light and the plants, calming the turbulent heart, waiting for the winter to pass.