Category Archives: General

A snowy week in February concludes, and another one begins. Such is our slow trudge through the winter of 2021, when everything feels like some purgatorial space of in-between uncertainty. That seems to be a theme here, when I teeter on decisions that once felt sure and simple. Even a trip to the grocery store is fraught with debate and internal dialogue, and lately I’ve been foregoing the trips and staying in, hunkering down with a book on the conversation couch or snuggling into the corner of the basement sectional, idly flipping through television channels and not watching much of anything. So goes winter… Another week is ahead, one that contains Valentine’s Day, whatever that might mean this year. If history is any indication, it means snow – lots of snow… so on with this pre-red recap.

February makes me shiver.

A snowy groundhog. 

The sweet spot.

The words of Shirley Chisholm.

Being the conductor of your own orchestra.

A gratuitous Gus Kenworthy glimpse. 

A winter window.

Wild is the winter wind. 

The words of Claudette Colvin.

Emanating warmth on the floor of winter. 

Bowls that sing.

Pulling the P at lunchtime. 

Friday flute mindfulness. 

Rita Hayworth gave good face.

The words of Dr. Mae Jemison.

Room noir.

The return of some glorious beefcake: Ben Cohen.

Making a command decision.

My virgin attempt at making Filipino leche flan. 

Truth be told, in my mind all my decisions are command decisions. In this case, I finally had enough and a command decision was made, after months of deliberation: I am no longer going to bother following the directional arrows in stores and supermarkets because literally no one else does, including and most especially the employees. Anarchy rules.

“Noir: all those beautiful sentences telling you the most terrible things.” ~ Robert Polito

Shadows, and shadows within shadows. Gradients of darkness and light. The remarkably inconsistent way a space looks colorful or devoid of color depending on how the light and darkness work, and it’s always the darkness that is more intriguing. Light leaves nothing to the imagination, and we humans crave imagination. We want to imprint our own vision, our own story, our own connection to any singular event. Sometimes we want it more than we want truth. We are rarely satisfied to simply appreciate something other than we.

The recesses of a Saturday night, hidden furthest from the sane, reasonable safety of a weekday, operate mostly in shadow and mystery, perhaps giving this night more allure than any other. What mysteries shall unravel on this one, and what mysteries shall be left alone?

“Why am I telling you this?” he went on. “A secret’s only a secret as long as you keep it. Once you tell someone it loses all its power–for good or for ill–like that, it’s just another piece of information. But a real mystery can’t be solved, not completely. It’s always just out of reach, like a light around the corner; you might catch a glimpse of what it reveals, feel its warmth, but you can’t know the heart of it, not really. That’s what gives it value: It can’t be cracked, it’s bigger than you and me, bigger than everything we know. Those tight-ass suits can keep their secrets, they don’t add up to anything. This deep in the game, pal, I’ll take mystery every time.” ~ Mark Frost

Someone once asked what ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ was about, and having just seen it I said, “It’s about… hope.” My dramatic pause, and the simplicity of my response caused the questioner to crack up in my face. It may have been Suzie or my brother, two people who have always been able to take the piss out of me with a few short words or chuckles. The movie was playing on television the other day, and I caught the last bit of it. Certain movies draw you in no matter how many times youâ’ve seen them ~ and this is one of those for me.

It also helps that my initial assessment has proven to hold true through the decades since I made the trite proclamation. I’ll add something more now that I have a few more years of life experience under my expanding belt: it’s also about grace, and the way friendship is sometimes the only way we survive the horrors of this world. That’s a sentiment which is always worth revisiting.

“Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.” ~ Stephen King, ‘Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption’

“One cannot creep upon a journey; one cannot help getting on faster than one has planned: and the pleasure of coming in upon one’s friends before the look-out begins is worth a great deal more than any little exertion it needs.” ~ Jane Austen

On this day, when folklore has it the groundhog will reveal how much winter remains, I’m left wanting a note of hope, a chance for an early reprieve, but if the rodent happens to catch its shadow and retreats to its underground lair, even the six weeks such an act portends is at least a light at the end of the tunnel. Hence the happy Jane Austen quote that opens this post, and the happy anthurium spath that smiles in its featured photo. 

If life is measured in holidays – and what happy life isn’t? – then the next up is Valentine’s Day. (I know I’m ignoring those Presidents, but I’m all Presidented out at the moment.) While Valentine’s Day holds its own cheesy allure (and the chance for something exquisite to happen) it soon leads into St. Patrick’s Day, which is practically the verge of spring, so let’s have a happy moment no matter what the groundhog says. 

As much as I’ve been trying to embrace the winter this year, and as generally successful as I’ve been in doing so, I’m still greatly looking forward to spring, and the requisite relief it will bring after a winter of cooped-up social isolation. Last spring and summer, I don’t think we made enough of the ability to gather outside and at a distance, perhaps thinking (wishfully) that this pandemic would not last, having faith that our fellow Americans would each do their part instead of acting like a bunch of spoiled and entitled babies who won’t wear a ask or get a simple vaccine to stop the spread of a fatal disease. Clearly, some Americans aren’t getting that message, so while other countries like New Zealand can open up completely and go the movies and sporting events and theater, we are stuck in this muck of stupidity and slowness. Oh well, land of the free and brave and moronic…

Sorry, a bit of bitterness remains even after a year of daily meditation and mindfulness, because I’m only human after all. As I work on that, I’ll focus on these beautiful grape hyacinths, seen at Faddegon’s on my weekly pilgrimage, and a pleasant reminder of the glory that is spring. Less than two months remain of winter, no matter what that pesky rodent tells us or doesn’t tell us tomorrow…

The final full month of winter begins, and it is blessedly the shortest month of the year. February comes in like a lion and stays in such ferocious form throughout its entire interim, but there will be days of crystalline glory, and sun-drenched moments that will melt things, even if temporarily, to remind that hope is on the horizon. For now, we embrace the winter, just as these leggings embrace my ass. On with the booty-ful recap of the last week of January…

Taming the savage yeast – a virgin voyage into bread-baking.

Primrose of almost-spring.

Banana bread that is the moistest. 

Orchid beauty.

Kotoilu and Finnish lace cookies. 

The picture that still cracks me up.

Tulip memories.

The grounding of the Wolf Moon.

Instagratuity.

Comfort food by Gram.

Finally, enough Madonna.

Jumping junipers! 

The search and the find: the return of the Madonna Timeline. 

Assentuate the positive: these Amazon leggings though… 

Beneath the tree of the Buddha.

The unwallowing of winter.

Rather than wallow in winter, this year I’ve made motions to celebrate and embrace it, to find its wonder and enchantment, and largely it’s worked: this season has been a boon to my mood despite the perceived (and sometimes actual) darkness at work in the world. Attribute it partly to meditation, partly to hygge, and partly to an appreciation of each and every day, even the gray ones. The alternative is not worth giving up the mental space. Besides, winter holds its exquisite magic close to its icy vest, and will only reveal it when you bow a bit in humility. I have no problem subjugating myself to wind and ice and snow, marveling and appreciating its strength and might, and admitting my powerlessness in the face of raw ruthlessness.

On my way home from my parents on a recent afternoon, I took the long route back, winding along the Mohawk River on the back roads rather than the Thruway, and on one such side road I pulled over as the sun started its daily descent. The wind was harsh and unrelenting, swirling snowdrifts on the field before me. I was in awe of the way it felt calm, even in the midst of its brutal force, the way beauty had of quelling the freezing temperature and wind-chill, of making me forget the cold, and in that moment a new appreciation was forged.

No field of green grass, even at its most fresh and dotted with dew, could ever reflect the blue sky the way a windswept field of snow can do. There is great recompense in that beauty. It erases any frigid discomfort, easing the oncoming darkness, lending a brilliance that is not present at any other time of the year.

If you want to make your booty POP(!) then just order these not-so-crazy-ass leggings that are all the rage on social media right now, squeeze your butt into them, and wait for the dicks, I mean clicks. It’s been a while since I’ve posted any gratuitous photos, so maybe this little GIF will quell the non-existent clamor for cake. 

Perhaps it’s the return of the Madonna Timeline, or the ennui of this disheartening winter, but something stirs the flash-my-ass-cheeks attitude and reminds me of saucier times on this blog. Like a proper sadist, I’m not going to make this easy for you, so if you want to find those more salacious shots, do some digging on your own, and probe the search feature at the bottom of every page. Type in whatever you want to see, then step on board for a magic ride better than anything the great space coaster could conjure. (Tell Gary Gnu that Al sent you.)

For the lazier lugs among us, here are some general categories of SexyBack:

• Gratuitous Nudity
• Male Nudity
• Shirtless Male Celebrities
• Naked Male Celebrities
• Underwear
• …and my personal favorite: Bulge.

“A man,” said he, “must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as this, for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself a most agreeable fellow; I could not do such a thing. It is the greatest absurdity–Actually snowing at this moment!–The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home–and the folly of people’s not staying comfortably at home when they can!” ~ Jane Austen

Such a sentiment strikes me as especially true during our current cold spell (as well as during a pandemic), which has seen a succession of bitter days best addressed while in the warm comfort of a robe and a pair of thick woolen socks, sipping a cup of hot tea by the fire. Ideally, a good book would be within arm’s reach, and some sort of soothing music would be playing softly in the background. A view of the outside world might then juxtapose itself against this cozy scene, making the notion all the more precious. If there are several houseplants safely ensconced on the inside of the window ledge, so much the better ~ their verdant clumps thrillingly saturated before a wintry backdrop.

Outside there are more subtle delights, in the delicate green of a juniper cradling a patch of freshly-fallen snow. If one must be drawn out to shovel or clear a path, this little spot of green is evidence of survival, of the hope that spring will come again. It’s worth a closer examination, a moment of mindfulness. No matter how quickly and cruelly the wind whips around us, it’s the stoic heart and the mindful head that manages to retain a centering warmth. 

Have you followed me on Instagram yet? Oh you simply must! It’s probably the most fun and frivolous of all my social media outlets, and despite the fact that it’s probably the one I neglect the most (when you’ve been taking selfies and photos since 6th grade, the novelty wears off) it’s easily my most varied. Like my website, it provides a wide-ranging view of what tickles and delights me, and those things are often disparate and at odds with one another. That’s what makes life interesting. 

The image above is one of those things that you can scan or something – I don’t really know, being that I’ve always been more Thoreau than Jobs. But spread it around or share it or do whatever the kids are doing these days, and I promise to reinvest efforts in turning my Instagram into something so scintillating it will be worth a daily visit. 

Whether it’s vegetables or food dishes or flowers or fashion or books or candles or cologne or booty – it’s all in me – anything you want done baby, I do it naturally. 

Maybe it was this previous post that has me all nostalgic, but I needed to find this photo again for a laugh, and it worked. There’s nothing better than a lifelong friend who still brings a smile to the surface whenever certain memories are rekindled. Like this insane photo on the very windy deck of a cruise ship. I’ve featured it before but every now and then I like to revisit it. There’s a lot to unpack here – too much really – from the oddity that Suzie and I, in our late-teen years, found ourselves on a Caribbean Cruise to the notion of me wearing gauze and Suzie wearing whatever that even was. Anyway, it still cracks me up – the perfect antidote for the dark dwindling days of January. 

And just like that, it feels like a switch has been turned on that switches the world from a trajectory to hell into something that might at least point in a better direction. Maybe it’s the light at the end of the winter tunnel which is just starting to show itself – in the longer days, the daylight beginning to linger, the appearance of hyacinths and daffodils in the market – and I’m leaning into this sliver of hope cautiously, carefully. Let’s take the Monday morning quarterback look at the week before…

It certainly began in happy form, celebrating Mom’s birthday as best as COVID restrictions allowed. (Hence the photos from the past rather than present.)

A birthday bouquet for Mom. 

Cloak & Swagger should be the name of my first cologne, if someone ever wants to help me craft a cologne. 

Burrowing into hygge. 

Four years and a lifetime ago…

The pretty remnants of winter carnage.

The Hill We Climb by Amanda Gorman.

Nocturne for a winter day.

A Valentine wish for this Portrait.

One month of winter done, two to go. 

A cozy Danish quartet. 

An exotic hot-house flower. 

My virgin brush with a top coat and chest hair. 

Major martini fail. 

Gimme a break – the game is survival! Gimme a break and plan my arrival!

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

A sky-high surprise visitor.

Curry for comfort.