This weekend marks the recap of my recent trip to Savannah, so here’s a sneak peek of some of the photos that didn’t make the cut. It had been twenty years since I last visited that magical city, and in that time I’ve come to appreciate beauty a little bit more. (And food. I appreciate food way more than I did back then.) As for this recent trip, JoAnn joined me for a journey we’d been planning for a decade. It did not disappoint. Come back tomorrow for the beginning…
This may become an annual tradition, as I’ve already posted about this scene once before, and it is always worth a revisit. The classics never fade, they become more valuable with age. In this case, a return to a Christmas episode of ‘Mad Men’ – and the workings of two of my favorite characters from that show. It’s Don and Joan – both of them complicated and complex. Each cold in his or her own way, but wanting for warmth, desiring connection, and lamenting the conundrum of their circumstances.
“My mother raised me to be admired,” she says winsomely. Being admired only gets you so far, especially at the most wonderful time of the year. Maybe, though, that’s enough for the fleeting coziness of the season. Maybe a Christmas cocktail, shared by two beleaguered co-workers is enough. Maybe a Christmas waltz is enough.
Frosted windowpanes…
The amateurs’ shopping season has begun, which means that from now until January seasoned pros like myself will be avoiding the malls at all costs. That goes for Wolf Road as well, especially if that Toys R Us is still open and operating. (When a police car needs to be stationed at a place for Christmas, things have gotten out of hand.) There are other hustles and bustles in which I’d rather be involved.
As for the start of the holiday season, my Grinch-like tendencies have softened over the years, and the secret way I once loved Christmas has not been a secret for quite some time. We need this bit of warmth and coziness at such a cold time of the year. We need all the light and sparkle we can muster when the nights are at their darkest and longest. Give in to the cheer – it’s always easier than fighting it.
Soon, the traditions of the holidays will be rolling in – from my Boston Holiday Stroll to the Children’s Holiday Hour to our annual Holiday Party. The constant in all of these happy events: family and friends. It’s the only way to make it through the winter.
If you’re like me, at about 8 or 9 pm you’re coming out of a turkey coma and ambling into the kitchen for round two. When we were kids, Suzie, my brother and I would usually sneak down the back stairs of her old Victorian while the adults spoke in animated tones in the red-velvet-wallpaper-buffered living room in the hours after dinner. The bustle of the day had subsided, but no one wanted to depart. We ate a small second dinner, then headed back upstairs to prolong things as much as possible.
These days, I’m all about getting home and winding down in quiet. Some of us have to work tomorrow. For those who need a little break, here’s a look at some former hunks to end the holiday with a sweet treat. Guy candy gay ahead.
First up is Chris Salvatore. Wet or dry, he’s a sight to behold.
Harry Potter alum Daniel Radcliffe and Olympic diver Matthew Mitcham make a couple of splashes on their own.
Colton Haynes, fresh off his bum-pounding turn on ‘American Horror Story: Cult’, bares a manicured chest here.
Pietro Boselli does what he does best: pose and pause in the skimpiest of outfits.
Finally, bringing up the very beautiful rear is Gus Kenworthy in this naked shot from his ESPN issue.
It’s Turkey Lurkey time! And this is the only day this campy clip truly works. I dare you not to dance at the end of it. {Jingle bells! Jingle bells!!}
The older I get (and I’m getting quite old), the more I realize the importance of the quieter parts of days like Thanksgiving, and the opportunity to meditate on the real meaning behind the holiday. It’s more than stuffing turkeys and stuffing ourselves, more than fables of camaraderie and feasts between Native Americans and immigrants, and more than the first official shopping day of the season. It is a day of gratitude – and almost everyone can find one or two things for which they can be truly grateful. Sometimes just taking a breath is reason enough to give thanks. That we are here. That we are alive. That we are still going.
I pause at such moments. In the early light of the day I sit in the quiet of the dining room, looking out at the backyard. The wet and matted grass is dotted with fallen leaves and little pebbles of rabbit scat. On winter mornings the cardinals will visit, gorgeously scarlet against a winter sky – jagged splotches of red in a sea of snow. For now, though, all is gray and brown and still. Another moment for which to give thanks. Another day in which to find gratitude.
As Andy and I are enjoying a meal with our family, I wish you the best in whatever you may do today.
Here we go! The next time I post it will be Thanksgiving Day. How did we get here so quickly? I think the warmer weather lingered so long that suddenly it seems the holidays are upon without the usual weeks of build-up and dreary weather. Not sure how I feel about that. Here’s what happened when you weren’t looking.
Wait, who is the Sexiest Man Alive?
Giving thanks for the past… and the future.
Hunks of the Day included Shawn Mendes, Gleb Savchenko, Dan Amboyer, Cody Christian, & Fabrizio ‘Fab’ Santino.
This is the week we head directly into the holiday season. Are you ready for it? I most certainly am not. With the greatest of intentions, I’d planned on being closer to finishing with my holiday shopping, and like most years I’m not quite there. To get myself in the mood, a little sparkle always helps, as does the promise of some heartwarming holiday traditions.
Whether on scarf or robe, jacket or sock, a splash of sequins works wonders for the soul. It’s the little things that matter most when the holidays turn to high.
Yes, I know, it’s too soon to miss summer. There’s nothing but heartache in that kind of wishful thinking. But on a November Sunday, when a chill is in the air, I’m indulging in this view of a summer visitor. He or she made the most of the clover in the backyard, returning to it as a regular feast. Andy and I would recognize the white spot on its forehead, and watch as it filled its mouth with a steady diet of greens and clover blooms. We will see it in the winter too, just not as much.
The tree depicted here is not one of the offenders. It is the Chinese dogwood, and this specimen has grown into a show-piece of our front yard. It has a beautiful background, as Andy has brought the lawn back from an embarrassing and barren stretch of pine-tree-riddled dust, transforming it to a richly-verdant carpet of fluffy grass. Onto that soft bed falls the leaves of the dogwood, and whatever strawberry-like fruit (in appearance only) remains from the birds and the chipmunks.
But this post is not about the beautiful dogwood parade before you. This is a lament for the oaks, who have held onto their leaves until now, when it’s too cold for Andy to properly dispose of them. They will have to wait, which is not the end of the world – it simply means more raking in the spring to keep the lawn looking healthy.
Come February, I will be dreaming of the ability and weather conditions to rake, so I’m not entirely upset about the notion of doing it. In fact, a memory that also looks ahead is my favorite kind of memory to make.
As for the oaks, they remain sight unseen in these parts. It’s enough to know that they’re there – high in the sky, beyond our roof, beyond the top of this dogwood, beyond the years it took to build the neighborhood. That magnificence deserves respect, and their stubbornness is to be admired.
Caught between the early morning light of a car’s back end and the already-passed descent of winter temperatures, this was our Judas tree right before the world went cold and the leaves froze to a chlorophyll-drained brown. It’s a ghostly picture, made more-so by the fact that it no longer exists.
Next week will mark the first Thanksgiving that Andy will be without both his parents, which will make it one of the more difficult years to give thanks. I still remember the Thanksgiving we had the year his Mom died. It was Andy’s second holiday with my family, and he’d already won everyone over. We sat in the Ko house, where I’d spent almost every Thanksgiving and Christmas since I was born, and it was one of the last times both our families were relatively intact.
I think back to those who were still with us then – Andy’s parents, my grandmother, my Uncle Roberto – and I wonder if we did our best to realize how lucky we were. Suzie’s brothers were talking to Andy when we got the call that his Mom had taken a turn for the worse and we had to leave early to get back to the hospital. Our Thanksgivings would never be the same.
As much as we once loved the holidays, there is always a slight dampening of the festivities when you think back on what has been lost, and what we’re always in danger of losing. More than a dampening of the eyes, it’s a dampening of the spirit and the happiness that is often afforded innocence and youth.
In the darkness of the early morning, before the sun has risen and the world feels a little lighter, I watch in vain for the cardinal to visit our backyard. I hope it returns by the time Andy wakes. I hope he finds it, and that he finds some small comfort in the season.
Malena Valcarcel is a Spanish artist who transforms used books into the works of art you see here. Utterly enchanting and wonderfully whimsical, this is a glimpse into the way art causes us to pause, to examine, and to thrill at the world of possibility. More about Malena here.
They rise and arch like a summer fountain, scaled with green until the very end of the season, when they turn salmon and rust like amber waves of grain. The seeds of the Northern sea oat have become a bit pesky in the garden, spreading their beauty a bit further than I’d like, but it’s still a handsome plant.
Emblematic of the harvest, they wave and flutter in the slightest breeze – all elegance and simplicity and a lesson of life in one glorious visage. There comes a time when we must reap what we have sown, when our preparation and actions come to fruition and judgement. Who among us can stand up and own the fruits of our labor? In the garden it’s the goal – whether fruit or flower or simple miraculous survival. In the rest of our lives, it gets a little trickier.
I think I prefer the straightforward, no-nonsense game of the garden.
People Magazine, long past its pop-culture relevance expiration date, just named Blake Shelton as the Sexiest Man Alive. I guess it’s reflective of the world in which we live. Not that I find Mr. Shelton all that objective on the physical front, I just think I’d be able to find a gazillion guys who are far sexier. (And I guess it’s ok since Adam Levine already won that title a while back. David Beckham too.)
