Category Archives: General

It speaks in whispers and the faintest of nudges. 

It reveals itself slowly, in small steps and stages, and for the first few instances you may not quite be sure what is being suggested. 

Don’t worry, all will be revealed, you need only be open to the universe. A little bit of patience, a little bit of listening, and a lot of observing – and soon the mission will be clear – or at least the general way the universe wants you to proceed. 

Another thing to set your mind at ease: the world wants you to fulfill your destiny. If you make a drastically wrong turn, it will make notions to offer correction. If you take a mistaken step, new paths to get you to the same destination will appear. Watch for these doors if you feel stuck or unsure. 

Mr. Oud has learned to heed the whispers, to direct his steps according to the little nudges. 

Mr. Oud leans into where the universe is subtly directing him, taking challenges as invitations, discomfort as stimulation, and that initial fear and loathing as an intriguing thrill to conquer. 

Mr. Oud takes his time, trusting that the necessary components will fall into place as they are needed, even if the total picture hasn’t quite been projected just yet. Having faith in your trajectory is one of the most tenuously frightening spaces to find oneself, especially the first few hundred times. 

Mr. Oud is old hat at this creative conundrum.

We will leave him to his work on a fall day that promises autumn things…

When celebrating Andy’s birthday, traditional Monday morning recaps fall by the wayside to honor the man who really matters to me, so we come to the weekly blog recap a little later in the day. It’s here now, please peruse at your leisure…

The moonlit pool has soaked up enough full-moon energy to carry it through the winter.

Ogunquit falls of the past.

The mask of self-promotion.

A naked shower scene.

A mural grows in Albany.

Cabbage has a cabbage smell.

My crop-top days.

A new fall of Ogunquit magic.

Favorite Ogunquit haunts.

A secret easement ends a fantastic Ogunquit adventure.

Sticker shock, again.

Watch until the end.

A blue heron.

A crazy non-cactus in bloom again.

Andy’s birthday.

Our artistic Dazzlers of the Day included James Fenner, Alexis Franklin, and Glen Pudvine.

Let’s just call this the Holiday Cactus, to encompass Columbus Day, as we add that to the roster of holidays on which this crazy plant has bloomed. It’s been this pretty for Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, and Easter. At its heart, it’s a signifier of change, of seasonal shifts, of more light leaving or arriving. A transitional totem. A symbol of time and movement.

We are moving quickly through this fall. Once Halloween comes and goes, we’ll be right into the holiday slide. Is anyone ready for this? I am as ready as I’m going to be, and I’m taking the weight off any and every holiday responsibility because boundaries and limits are best for a proper Virgo.

‘No’ is a complete sentence, and one of my favorites.

Shadow and majesty glided overhead as a blue heron landed right where I was taking afternoon photos along the Ogunquit River. It floated down silently, gracefully, then took a few deliberate steps before standing confidently before me. These sad, cropped photos hardly do the creature justice, but its beauty and magnificence could barely be captured by anything other than an in-person experience. Such enchantment is not to be harnessed for the likes of a blog, though I hope some residual magic remains in the idea and spirit and respect offered to this wonder.

I’ve always had an affinity with the cranes and herons of the world – the way they hold their elegant heads high, allowing whatever raging water of a stream or river to flow chaotically around their stalwart legs, maintaining composure and grace in the face of riotous surroundings. Betsy pointed out that I have a lot of clothing items with cranes and birds on them – confirmation that my soul is made for flight, my heart is designed to soar, and my thoughts are as insubstantial as the wispiest cloud in the sky.

Some days the price stickers don’t come easily off anything.

Those are the trying days.

Those are the days you think about giving up.

But you don’t.

You put on your Big Boy Go-To-Hell Pants, you dig out the Goo Gone, and you scrub and you scrape and you tear that sticky pulp off like some retail therapy band-aid designed to save the world.

Or at least your little world, in this one very particular little moment of absolute ludicrousness, like this entire ridiculous post where any and al humor will be completely lost upon the masses.

First world problems until I move to the third world.

Ornamental kales and cabbages are favorite fall accent plants, and I’ve always admired their brilliant color and ruffled textures, the way each one can be a bouquet and focal point at once. These can also take a light frost and keep on putting on their show. Hardiness and beauty – a killer combination.

The vibrant colors of the leaves rival any flower of spring or summer, and the prominent veining exceeds the work of any artist.

A belief in oneself can be manufactured from thin air, but it’s a difficult and arduous journey. Not for the faint of heart or weak of constitution, it requires a certain infallible confidence, often misplaced, joined with a degree of vanity and ego, and an unhealthy dash of desperation, or wanting to be something or someone greater than what you might be today – all in the name of yourself and your survival in the world at large. It’s easy to be dismissed, especially today, when so many others are willing to whore themselves out to make the loudest splash, the brashest statement, the rudest clickbait. I’ve towed such a line in the past, and I don’t recommend it. There are so many better ways to make oneself known, especially to oneself. Self-discovery is best done in a quieter and more neutral space than social media, but kids will be kids and there’s no talking to them anymore. I can’t say I would have listened any more in my younger years.

This post is somewhat ironic in the way it deconstructs its very tenets, poking holes in its own critique, illuminating its fallacies while playing up those very failures. A reflexive instance of self-ownership and self-propaganda. Do you follow me on Instagram or BlueSky or Threads? Social media mayhem abounds… join me there for the show. Oh, and please share that QR code, because sharing is caring.

Our most recent Harvest Moon beckoned to me on a clear night, illuminating the pool to magnificent effect – a thrilling send-off to a pool season that was never quite as full as it could have been. As of this writing, we have just returned from our annual fall visit to Ogunquit, Maine, and it’s a gray and rainy afternoon, made sadder by the end of a lovely vacation with Andy and Mom. Give me a day to get back into the grind before piling on ~ the heart is weary, the soul is old.

In the meantime, feed off some of this residual full-moon energy – I strode through its rays, soaking up whatever power or energy or magic it might offer – and if it’s all in my head that doesn’t negate its effects when one believes. We are what we allow ourselves to be, manifesting what we need when we focus and learn to shift perspective. A mindful pause, then, just this morning, before we get back into it.

Mid-October, and who knows what the weather might be by the time this gets posted. It may be a holiday of some sort, but it’s also a Monday, so our weekly blog recap is once again at hand, if a little later in the day. Enjoy the look back… or don’t.

When the moon gets hunty.

In a world of bitter, be the sweet.

Main character energy – over it.

October pink.

Mr. Oud comes alive.

Pessimism is realism.

Whispers of projected intentions.

A new creative haunt.

Christmas decorations already?

Stevie Nicks sounds the mystery season.

Dead Wood resurrected.

The Sweetish Cafe: Ballston Spa Destination.

This word should mean what I think it should mean.

The Archivist Insolent.

Mr. Oud is a man of memories.

Sunday morning, water and light.

Faster, faster, we need another aster.

Shirtless male celebrity Sunday: take five.

Misguided ghosts.

When the summer heat finally lifts, offering some respite and relief from its relentless glory, I find myself itching to get into the woods. It’s a need that goes back to my childhood, when I’d get home from school and hastily run in to the little stretch of forest behind our childhood home while the light was still golden. In that uncharted space, I had my own paths and knew the way by various markers – a large rock placed by God as a remarkable accent piece, an unconventional evergreen with weeping limbs, the fallen trunk of a tree beautifully mottled by moss and lichens – this was how I navigated that space.

These days I prefer a well-trodden path, or any path for that matter – just some bit of structure and order from which I might find my way back. Such was my frame of mind as I made my way along the Burden Pond Preserve in Troy the other weekend. Betsy had told me about it, saying there were waterfalls there – and who doesn’t love a waterfall? There were also whispers of suicides, lending the place a haunted aspect that aligns with this point in the year.

I decided to make my visit early in the day rather than later – I didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught near dusk when the light always falls quicker than you think it will. That’s happened in forests before and it still strikes terror in me when I recount the mad dash to beat the night.

Water birds were present – ducks and geese and a crane of some sort – I seemed to be the only disturbance in their sunny morning of peaceful swimming and/or standing. Walking along the water’s edge on a worn path, I was the first person to make this trek that morning, at least judging by the plentiful spider-webs that tickled my face and arms.

The notion of wandering alone in the woods, during daylight, has never frightened me, but as I made my way further along the path, and the woods closed in behind me, I had the typical moment of wonder and worry as to what I might do if someone intending harm came my way. It was during this time of heightened guard that I sensed something large to my right, moving swiftly but in impossibly quiet fashion.

A thick back of brownish gray fur moved sleekly through the reeds rising through the water. It was enormous, and gone before I could get a good look at it. Reason and history told me it had to be a deer, but it felt more ominous, and other-wordly; the way it traversed the water and reeds so stealthily, almost without movement, and so quickly. It felt like an admonishment of danger, or something larger looming, not only larger physically, but larger in the immensity of shadow and doubt and terrifying uncertainty.

An uneasiness had crept upon this sunny morning, the trees seeming to rise higher, the shadows elongating and deepening, and suddenly this peaceful moment was imbued with a definitive dread. I was already deeper than I’d intended to be, and a little panic surfaced, the way silent fish sometimes rose to the plane where water met air, just eliciting the slightest ripple.

The uneasiness stayed with me until I decided to turn around and head back the way I came. Possibly poisonous fruit was strewn about the pathway now in various stages of decay and decomposition. I would not venture further, or tempt fate to turn on me in any way.

Must be the season of the witch…