Category Archives: General

Perfectly emblematic of the year that is 2020, these are about the only blooms that the mockorange clumps produced this season – a sad, sorry, and lamentable situation, especially considering we once had four strong and healthy shrubs that towered up to and over the roof of the house. When we first moved in almost twenty years ago, I planted two little mockorange plants. I didn’t know then the house already had two clumps of it – so neglected and forgotten had they been. I noticed their leaves as the season progressed, and gave them a healthy dose of manure. The next year those old plants came back strong, blooming and filling the yard with their sweet perfume. One was a double version of the traditional mockorange, and the other was the typical single version. Both were equally glorious in fragrance. The two new specimens took a few years to bloom, but once they began they too filled June with their delicious scent. 

Unfortunately, as lovely as the scent is, the blooming period is criminally short, and the shrubs themselves tend to revert to a weedy form, with unremarkable foliage, and a thicket of half-dead stems after a few years. It seemed they ran out of steam, as did my enthusiasm for them. But now, absent their big blooming explosion of perfume, I regret not working a little harder on their care. 

The temperatures are scheduled to climb in the next few days. Our pool remains unopened with no prospect of hope for a new liner this month. The idea of the country sliding back into the throes of this COVID crisis has everyone I know rightfully on edge. Yet somehow, I manage to remain relatively calm. Part of this I attribute to a regular meditation regime – twenty minutes a day, usually after my work hours. I’ve only missed it two or three days in the past three months; it has quickly become that intricately woven into a necessary and actually enjoyable habit. 

There’s also my therapy sessions, which I’ve scheduled once every two weeks, a good timeframe to keep things on track, especially in such troubling times. It feels almost like an afterthought by this point, but eliminating alcohol from my intake has likely helped raise my mood too – the removal of a depressant I’d relied on for years has gradually lifted a bit of the haze of middle age. And our imposed social isolation has actually worked to help me overcome some social anxiety – not in the obvious isolated aspect, but in the quiet I’ve had the opportunity to focus on eliminating the underlying reasons for such anxiety. 

There are also some mind tricks that help with the wayward turn the world has taken of late, well, maybe ‘mind tricks’ is the wrong term – this just something I focus on when things feel claustrophobic or stifling, the way an overly-hot and humid day can physically work to crush the soul. It’s a practice I put into play when I would occasionally find myself in Boston or New York on an impossibly hot summer day, when the heat got wedged in the concrete and sidewalks, emanating from brick and glass and the very sky itself. It was difficult to cool down, especially when walking was involved, so I’d go slow, keep to the shade wherever available, and conjure the cooling sound of trickling water and the fragrance of a mockorange or neroli to quell the restless agitation. Envisioning simple blooms like the ones shown here, and memories of cooler spring days seemed to help. It took me out of the heat of the moment, which is a strange notion now that I think about it. So much of mindfulness is about staying in the present moment, but it’s also about clearing the mind. I might finally be finding the balance that works well for me. 

In the middle of a harried week, I seek the solace of this respite, like a fountain in a hidden garden. 

We are due to hit the 90’s this week, which is lovely weather when you are absent a pool liner! Such is the Year of our Lord 2020. This godforsaken wench is doing all he can to remain sane, and cool, but there is probably a breakdown right around the corner, so gird your loins and fire up the smoke machine because the greatest show on earth is about to fucking begin. First, a recap! Pop it like it’s hot…

I could jack off to this any day.

Painting the fronds of ferns. (These have since been ravaged by a rabbit, because 2020.)

Happy birthday Suzie Ko!

Genus: Paeonia. (Not genius, genius.)

Behind our masks, a moment of connection, something I apparently needed. 

I do my June bouquets a little differently. 

This parade went by too quickly. Always does. 

Life is best looked at from different windows. 

Missing my abs, among other more important things. 

A rare bucket-list item gets checked off after a quest that lasted four decades. 

Making an omelette with Andy.

Revisiting the surreal dream-world of Bardo.

The Hunk of the Day shall return…

Bardo is a term used in Tibetan Buddhism to describe the intermediate state between death and rebirth. That also coincides with the time between life and death. In some places, bardo is considered that fuzzy border between sleep and wake. In others, it is considered a state of suspended life. For the purposes of this project, bardo is taken to be the place between a dream and reality, where the limits of the physical world are bent by the fantasies of the dream world. It sounds like a lovely place of dreamy other-worldliness, and there is that fantastical element of limitless possibility, but there is a much darker underside of a dreamworld. The very limitlessness of hopeful possibility extends to the nightmarish as well: the more you can dream of something beautiful and charming and good, the more you can dream of something ugly and disturbing and evil.

The crux of dreams and reality is where we locate the tension that runs through this project. There is a bird motif that carries its own set of metaphors, with egg references and feathered tales and a gilded cage that offers the freedom of imprisonment. There are animals that talk and sing, stories that defy logic and reason, and a merman who cannot miss the limbs he never had.

Mostly, though, there is the tension of the unresolved fuzziness of the border between being asleep and being awake. Once upon my youth, there wasn’t 24-7 television broadcasting. Some stations simply went dark at certain hours, with that weird color-banded screen and a strange one-note tone that rang until they resumed broadcasting the next morning. That was the land of bardo.

A state of suspension. A state of the in-between. It was a place in which you didn’t want to get stuck, but it was interesting to visit now and then. One got the sense that it was a land where monsters dwelled, and while monsters may seem exciting from a distance, when they get too close it can be terrifying.

…And in the end the birdcage descends, its bamboo bars now gold, now melting away, now revealed to be… a pretty ornate gate closing off the open sky. Protections against what is without. You, pretty bird, have sung for Kings and Queens through the ages, your plaintive coos unanswered, your shrill trills unheard, your splattered shit veined with gray. You dribble urine down your talons and dream of digging them into your masters. One day your beak will be unleashed, macerating all in its path, only your wings won’t work. You won’t remember how to use them, even if they’ve never been clipped, even if they spared you that one indignity.

{See ‘Bardo ~ The Dream Surreal’ in its entirety here. Also see ‘StoneLight‘, ‘The Circus Project‘, ‘A Night at the Hotel Chelsea‘ and ‘A 21^stCentury Renaissance: The Resurrection Tour’.}

I miss Boston.

And travel in general – just the simple option of going somewhere new and different.

I miss our pool.

It’s still here, it’s just unopened and in a state of swamp.

We are waiting for a new liner.

At this rate, we may be opening it for May 2021 if we’re lucky.

Finally, my abs.

Yes, I miss my abs.

They’re still here too.

Just buried a bit.

I love the interloper who susses out a person’s home by peering into photos and deciphering the layout from the background. There’s dedication in that. There’s a show or respect and honor there that goes unexhibited by even the closest and most well-meaning of friends. Oh sure, some would cry stalker, but as a former-stalker myself I say in the words of Suzie Ko, ‘pshaw!’

Here’s another glimpse of the bouquet from yesterday, because when you bring a bit of the outside in, you want to draw it out and let it linger. Positioned in various points throughout our living room, it brings a little bit of calm and beauty to my most favorite room in the house. I’m one of those annoyingly fidgety design people who will move a vase to wherever it best suits the moment, where it will get maximum exposure, or where it will stand slightly hidden, knowing that the glimpse is more powerful than the full reveal. 

In one of those deliciously-cruel twists of fate for the introverted, my car is an instant conversation-starter. I know – it’s pretty. I know – it’s unique. I know – you don’t see that color very often. I’ve heard all of this and more, and not just from members of the Mini Cooper cult. Most of the time I’m fortunate enough to be in motion and unable to respond to their thumbs up or smiles with more than a quick middle-finger. (Just kidding – I would never do that.) 

And one time I am absolutely convinced it got me out of a speeding ticket – I have Skip as a witness. 

The other day, after an unsuccessful shopping excursion at Troy’s Landscaping, I had just gotten into the car and closed the door just as I heard a woman in a mask and sunglasses exclaim that she loved my car. I paused for a split second, thought about the importance of social connections even among the introverts, and opened the door to say thank you. She took it as an invitation. I still had my mask on, and held the door open as she asked me the name of it (I didn’t remember – Tiffany blue?) and how long I had it (I didn’t remember – five years? Ten?) She came a bit closer, about ten feet away, and my mind suddenly wondered at its instant ability to clock such things after just a few weeks of living like this. She too took our distance and barriers as a simple fact of life, continuing with her inquiries and conversation. 

“How do you like it?” she said, still on the car. “I’ve always liked Mini Coopers. They’re from England, right?” She had a bit of an accent, slightly Asian, and she asked about the license plate, which is my last name. 

“Is is Latino, or Hispanic?” she said. I smiled, and hoped my eyes translated the smile. (Is that smizing?) 

“It’s Filipino,” I said. 

“Oh! I’ve been wanting to go back to the Philippines. I was supposed to run a marathon in Manila next January but now we’re not so sure.” The tall white-haired man beside her, whom I assumed was her husband, affably shuffled his feet, seemingly used to these side-tracked forays into conversations with strangers with masks on. “I was in Manila a number of years ago, and the person who showed me around was always very careful about seeing me safe! I’ve wanted to go back since.” 

I nodded, on the verge of telling her about how my family sewed pockets into my underwear to keep money in before deciding against it, and simply stating that I had been there in 1997 and it was just like that as far as concern for valuables and staying safe went.  

It was hot, and I was squinting into the sun, and my mask felt like such a hindrance. Her sunglasses and mask added to the outward elements of distance between us, but somehow I felt closer to her than I have to anyone in a very long time. She returned to the car. “How is the mileage on it?”

Do real people other than my husband actually know the answers to these questions?

I was about to answer, “Somewhere between 10 and 90?” when she realized I had no idea. I said I didn’t really know, but I wanted to give her something. She asked if I had any problems with it. 

“I haven’t!” I said a little too excitedly, happy for an easy lob I could return. “I was initially concerned about its performance in winter, but it actually works fine with snow tires and some judicial decisions on not to take it out in a raging snowstorm.”

Her husband chimed in. “Do the back doors open separately?”

“Oh yeah!” 

“That’s unique,” he said. “Is this the station wagon version?”

Back to the hard questions. 

“Yyyyyeeeeeessssssss?” I said hesitantly, drawing it out and ending on an upward inflection, completely betraying my blatant insanity. “It’s got four seats – I just have it down for plants,” I said, trying to sound semi-sane. 

They admired it some more and took their gracious leave. Part of me wanted to connect a little more, which is rare for me. Usually I want to end such random conversations before they even begin. Maybe I needed something more that day. I’m glad they were there to share. 

Behind our masks, two strangers somehow managed to connect like only people can do. Imparting information (as limited as mine may have been) and finding common touchstones in places as far away as the Philippines. 

Would I have done such a thing if we were without masks? I don’t know. 

The world is in a different place now. 

I’m in a different place too. 

Today is Suzie’s birthday, and in the insanity that is 2020 I believe she is working, which is pretty typical for the woman I’ve known literally since birth. (She’s two months older than me, and always will be.) Not sure how we will celebrate, and the card and gift will be late, but this is how we roll. Through all the events of our lives ~ the clams and the Poppins, the daisies and the peonies, the travels and the Junkies ~ she remains the very best kind of best friend. 

Happy birthday, Suzie! (No need to send a Koosa thank you card just yet.)

In times of tumult and sadness, grief and uncertainty, some people reach out and look for a way to connect. On occasion I will do the same, but not this week. It was better to keep to ourselves, to see Andy through a bit of surgery, and to spend time in the garden. I’ll work on social connections in the next few weeks. On with the recap…

A lilac bloom for you. 

Flower faces to signify the joy of June. 

Yet another sign of this messed-up year.

Making Pad Thai at home.

Our still-unopened pool becomes a haven for all sorts of creatures. 

A walk in the garden.

Alli-alli-allium.

The welcome return of the peonies.

Dangling floral bells.

Starry days & starry nights in a song for summer.

The fountain bamboo begins its babble for another century.

Returning to a Renaissance.

And these hunks did their best to show off. 

The year 2010 was a pretty big one for me.

That was the year I got married, and it also marked my 10-year-anniversary with Andy (that’s how long it took this country to get its shit together regarding marriage equality).

It also marked some more minor, but equally-fun anniversaries, such as the 15^thanniversary of my first “tour” ~ ‘The Friendship Tour: Chameleon in Motion.’ Ahh, memories of delusions and illusions, they feel so quaint now, and so crazy. Oh well, it was what I needed to do to fake it to make it, and if it went some way toward helping me build some confidence and genuine self-esteem, so be it.

By 2010, I’d realized how I’d been living out life as a work of art, which is fun for others to watch, but not always such fun to actually live. Around this period of time, I began to separate the writing and artistic work I did from the person I was, and differentiating between the two was paramount to becoming a better artist and more importantly a better person. So in many ways, ‘A 21^stCentury Renaissance: The Resurrection Tour‘ was a bit of an after-thought in 2010, when my main priority was marrying Andy and enjoying the company of my new husband and all the good people in our life wishing us well.

That didn’t mean the artistic fire had been extinguished. If anything, it burned a bit brighter because once I was able to separate myself from my creative output, it gave me a sense of greater freedom. ‘A 21st Century Renaissance’ was a way of starting over again – and that meant going back to the very basic make-up of the universe and our place in it. To that end, the building blocks of the world were set on display: earth, air, light, water, fire ~ all with a pivotal role to play. 

That focus on the natural world was part of this Renaissance, but I still liked to dress up and inhabit different characters. Set free from tying them directly into my own life, they could put on their costumes and do as they pleased. It was a new way of creating, a new way of artistic expression, and in that freedom was an exhilaration and thrill that had eluded me for a while. 

This was a resurrection. 

Of aspiration. 

Of inspiration.

In some ways, it was if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. 

We each carry our own little worlds around, and they can weigh us down with worry as much as they lift us with wonder. When you let them roll off your shoulders, leaving them in the past and not looking back because there’s no longer a need to dwell there, the world rebuilds itself before you eyes. 

A resurrection indeed. 

{See ‘A 21^stCentury Renaissance: The Resurrection Tour 2010’ in its entirety here. Also see ‘StoneLight’, ‘The Circus Project’, and ‘A Night at the Hotel Chelsea’.}

Our pool remains unopened and in need of a new liner (don’t ask) so it’s been turning itself into a green pond of sorts, welcoming and apparently beckoning all sorts of wildlife to make a home of its unchlorinated water. We started off the spring with a visit by two ducks, who were very adamant about trying to nest beneath a poolside juniper. We dissuaded that, repeatedly (though it turns out the whole ‘birds don’t like human scents’ myth is nothing but a myth, as sprays of cologne did not quite keep them at bay). Ultimately, they gave up and moved elsewhere. 

A few weeks went by rather uneventfully until one morning we awoke to find an opossum sitting in the dry shallow end of the pool. Andy had heard it go in during the night, and in the morning hours there it saw, groggy and cranky-looking in the light of day. I felt bad for the thing. Too big to scoop out with the net, we decided to put a wooden plank in so it could climb out. I didn’t want to hurt it in any way – possums eat ticks by the truckload, so I’m very happy to have it patrolling the neighborhood in the night – and I wanted to give it a chance to move out peacefully. 

After consulting some friends, who advised that it would probably sleep during the day, we left it alone in the hope that it would disappear in the night. I would peek over the edge of the pool and peer in to find it at various stations during the day. It had noticed the plank and was sitting beneath it, but other than that made no motions of moving out. I told Andy we would give it one night, and if it wasn’t gone in the morning we would have to be more forceful in our eviction plan.

That evening, after the sun went down and after I went to bed, it made its move and climbed out. There was no sign of it the next morning. That’s my kind of visitor. No muss, no fuss, and just enough contact to be interesting. 

A few months ago someone was being especially kind and generous and said that they visited my site as an escape from rest of the crap they found on social media these days. That meant more to me than all the “nice ass” accolades I’ve accrued over the years, and reminded me of an integral reason I keep on writing a blog when they’ve all but gone extinct. This has been a place where I can creatively allow my writing and photography to flourish in unedited, uncensored, and unmitigated glory. It’s messy at times, and unwieldy, and occasionally unsettling, even for me, but for the most part it’s become a place of comfort where memories can be mused upon when they no longer have the power to hurt us, and the frivolous items that occupy one’s entertainment and enjoyment can be highlighted without judgment or harsh criticism.

In recent months especially, this blog has become a place of peace when the rest of the online world implodes with toxicity and unbridled hate. I find myself spending less and less time on FaceBook and Twitter, settling for the quick post-and-run of a promotional link to whatever is up on this blog. I have been avoiding the comments sections more and more, blocking idiots with wild abandon, and mostly setting up shop in this quiet corner where I can relax and breathe and decompress. It is a blessed place to be, and I am sublimely aware of how lucky I am that this is my main concern and worry. 

Even as more of us are awakening to the reality of what our country has become, there is still a need for innocuous spaces like this, for pockets of beauty, for glimpses of calm, for escape from all the nastiness that is happening on our social media feeds. It’s the closest thing to disconnecting while still maintaining an outlet for creative expression. 

Here, the lilacs still bloom for us.

Here, the music still plays. 

Here, the chance for becoming something better looms on the horizon of hope and promise. 

Here, we can sit in silence beside one another, as connected as one human being can be to another in such socially-distant times. We will figuratively hold each other’s hand through whatever is yet to come, in a land of virtual hugs and imagined hand-shakes, and I will feel a little bit better for it. If you are reading this, thank you for being here. I’m here with you too.

It is with a weary and heavy heart that we begin the month of June. Usually a time of celebration and jubilance, there  is nothing but sadness, doubt and worry based on what our country has become. I wish I had something more uplifting and inspirational to say. I wish I could find something that would inspire those feelings in me, but I’m at a loss. While the world burns around us, I turn more insular, relying on Andy to be strong, to keep us going, and somehow he does. Turning off the television and the computer, I take lots of walks in our small yard, examining each plant and tree, breathing in the sweet scent of the Korean lilacs and squatting down to get a close-up glimpse of the tree peony about to burst forth in bloom if the critters don’t eat her head first. In 2020, anything is possible, no matter how heartbreaking or upsetting. On with the recap…

It was a joke just a week ago, but how prophetic this comparison turned out to be. 

I’m now old enough to remember a more innocent time. Most of us are. 

My virgin brush with a virgin.

A flash mob with a purpose, and you know how they make me cry. 

When the bored get bored.

Whispers from loved ones in the perfume of a flower. 

Floral memories are the sweetest.

A gratuitous glimpse of Julian Morris because some gents deserve more than one glance. 

Remembering a lost mate from childhood. 

I hope we can one day dance again.

Mourning what has become of America.

Hunks of the Day included Dr. Andrew Neighbors, Jim Cooney, Rick Fox, Maxi Iglesias, and Giovanni Pernice.