Category Archives: General

“To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.” ~ Alexander Pope

We are so quick to anger. And we are so quick to argue. Simple inquisition is too quickly taken as an attack, and no matter how misguided or misdirected it is taken, if one thinks it’s an attack, it feels like an attack. Too often we live in defensive mode, and maybe that’s safer. I don’t know. It feels like I’ve been doing things the wrong way and am just waking up to my worth and value, while realizing I have more work to do. Much more work, and the thought is daunting and invigorating. Humbling too.

The universe reveals its intentions through signs and symbols, and sometimes in blatant directions printed plainly and clearly for a reader like me. Such was the case as I was contemplating decisions the other day and the book I’ve been reading brought me to a page that extended its advice gently and helpfully for those of us suffering:

“Sit in the full or half lotus. Begin to follow your breath. Choose the situation of a person, family, or society which is suffering the most of any you know. This will be the object of your contemplation.

In the case of a person, try to see every suffering which that person is undergoing. Begin with the suffering of bodily form (sickness, poverty, physical pain) and then proceed to the suffering caused by feelings (internal conflicts, fear, hatred, jealousy, a tortured conscience). Consider next the suffering caused by perceptions (pessimism, dwelling on his problems with a dark and narrow viewpoint). See whether his mind functionings are motivated by fear, discouragement, despair, or hatred. See whether or not his consciousness is shut off because of his situation, because of his suffering, because of the people around him, his education, propaganda, or a lack of control of his own self. Meditate on all these sufferings until your heart fills with compassion like a well of fresh water, and you are able to see that the person suffers because of circumstances and ignorance. Resolve to help that person get out of his present situation through the most silent and unpretentious means possible.” ~ ‘The Miracle of Mindfulness’

Of course it requires the two things I’m least likely to successfully become: silent and unpretentious, but I’ll do my best. If all else fails, at least I’ll be on the road to becoming a better person. There is nothing to be lost in that.

You don’t always understand when things are going out of focus until it’s too late. At first you think it’s just a passing cloud, or a floating bit of fuzz that momentarily gets lodged in the corner of your eyes. You blink a few times to correct it, then move onto something else because life demands it. The world doesn’t slow for your own failings or faltering. It won’t slow for mine either. Instead, you work through it, carrying the bit of haze with you, assuming or hoping or stupidly ignoring, waiting for it to lift, waiting for it to correct itself. And sometimes it does.

Things become clear again, like a dirty mirror you didn’t realize was dirty until it starts to obscure. You wipe it off, see everything in focus, and things seem brighter, cleaner, better. Then, as if some insidious steam seeped into the room, the mirror clouds again. You lose a bit more sight of yourself, and you wonder at the mirror, and your own vision.

A little fuzziness in life is good. There is no such thing as perfect focus. The human experience is too shaded with various textures and filters to ever perfectly reveal anything. And a little blur to things can be artfully executed, lending movement and the idea that we are, indeed, alive and in constant motion.

Yet there is a limit to how much distortion and distraction may be good. Swerving too far out of focus can feel exciting and daring for a bit, but a lifetime in haze and confusion is a life lost. And things born out of darkness of obfuscation are doomed to fail. It feels like I’m coming out of such a haze, and with it all the requisite tumult is hitting just as Mercury moves into retrograde.

There is a jolt. A cry. The earth feels like it’s shifting.

Suddenly, clarity.

Clarity and color.

As if a scrim you didn’t realize was there rises and illuminates what had been hazy.

The lifting of a veil.

Some veils are pretty.

Some veils are poisonous.

The ones that are both are the trickiest of them all.

I’ve always been aware of the haze, and I’ve always known about the veil.

It may be time to see anew.

After holding onto my iPhone 6S for as long as possible (since I foolishly paid in full when I got it) I finally had to succumb to the five-minute battery life I was getting and upgrade to the iPhone 11, in this beautiful seafoam color. We are all at the mercy of the phone companies, so I’ve reached the point where I’ve stopped fighting and just give them my monthly allowance. The older I get, the easier it is to throw money at problems and not mind it. 

This upgrade is already worth it, if not for the battery that lasts longer than a day, then for the camera, and the ‘Contour lighting’ that makes my facial moisturizing scramble look positively ludicrous. Who needs Tom Ford‘s $75 Anti-fatigue eye cream when you have filters that make everyone look prettier? It’s time I stop fighting the aging process and give in to the technology at hand. 

I’ve only just begun to look into the other camera features, but I’m sure there are ways to get into more trouble on FaceBook and Instagram with this puppy. And if you ever find me banned there, you can always come back here, where it all happens no matter what corporate entities try to stifle. Try it on me! 

Colin Harrison is a writer who has captured the dangers of mid-life manhood better than almost anyone else I’ve read, illuminating where we so often take the wrong turn if given a chance, and where we might go completely off the rails if we’re not careful. More than the mid-life crisis, this is a perilous time fraught with the temptation to do the wrong things, coupled with a valiant often-delusional belief in doing what feels right while under some curse or spell. It’s a recipe for disaster, the end results of which can be reached from any number of ill-advised paths.

“Such men believe in luck, they watch for signs, and they conduct private rituals that structure their despair and mark their waiting. They are relatively easy to recognize but hard to know, especially during the years when a man is most dangerous to himself, which begins at about age thirty-five, when he starts to tally his losses as well as his wins, and ends at about fifty, when, if he has not destroyed himself, he has learned that the force of time is better caught softly, and in small pieces. Between those points, however, he’d better watch out, better guard against the dangerous journey that beckons to him – the siege, the quest, the grandiosity, the dream.” ~ Colin Harrison 

In these past few weeks, and perhaps the weeks to come, when full moons and Mercury in Retrograde have made (and will make) life tumultuous and emotions intense, it has been important to remain calm in the face of calamity. One of the tricks I’ve come to learn in this life is that sometimes it is better to stay the course and not make rash decisions. That is much easier said than done, particularly in the heat of anger or righteousness. I will do my best, but I’m not making any promises.

The post says all I will say about the buffoon occupying and disgracing the Oval Office right now. I’m too busy painting bathrooms and figuring out a new iPhone to make much sense of anything else anyway. It’s also the first day of a new cycle of Mercury in retrograde – so get ready for some insanity to see us all the way to March 10. I am so not ready for that jelly. God save the queen. On with the recap…

It began with a drive through Andy’s past.

Emi Lu drew us a ship on the sea.

Admiration from afar for the African violet.

Some Speedo bulges to warm the winter.

Palo Santo for the soul (a.k.a. Holy Wood).

A strategically-placed pillow hides my junk.

Just for funsies.

A tale of two foxes.

Messy Valentine’s visage.

A little love song for Valentine’s Day.

An afternoon cup of tea, solo-style. 

The Buddha in winter, beneath the falling snow. 

This is how I meditate.

From the liquor bar to the shampoo bar, courtesy of the Beekman Boys. 

Hunks of the Day included Anthony Ramos, Kevin Lee, Steve Brockman, Taika Waititi, and J.R. Price.

The idea of a shampoo bar never much appealed to me. I assumed it was like a bar of soap – drying and harsh and having no business anywhere near something that should be soft as hair. I also didn’t think it would lather up as much as typical shampoo, and I adore a powerful lather on my head.  Enter the Beekman Boys and their goat milk shampoo bar, and color my world instantly changed.

Trying out their Activated Charcoal version, I followed the instructions and rubbed it on my head as I began my shower. Immediately it began forming a nice lather, and even better a cooling and calming sensation with its elements of menthol and essential oils. It was actually lathering up better than certain shampoos I’ve used of late. While lather is one thing, the true test comes after the shower, and after my hair has dried.

In this case, the end result was happiness indeed. Far from dry and brittle, my hair felt nourished and soft. Maybe it was the argan oil or the charcoal, but whatever alchemy was at work, it worked wonders. Bonus perks include the fact that it’s a solid bar that doesn’t make any use of plastic or bottles for packaging. If you’re looking for environmental soundness, this is it. There’s also a lot of shampoos in a single bar of soap – one will last as long as a decent bottle. Trading in the drinking bar for a shampoo bar is indeed a very good thing.

After driving into Great Barrington and happening upon a magical brush with wildlife, I returned to Stockbridge and wound up at the Red Lion Hotel. While perusing the gift shop I asked if there was a place to get a cup of tea and the woman said they would be happy to set me up with one just down the hall. Passing red velvet curtains and antique furniture, I inquired about tea at the host stand and the gentleman offered to bring one to me. I chose a peppermint herbal variety then tried out several seats in the cozy lobby area. The places nearest the fire were already taken, and a cat occupied the table nearest the host stand. I moved about twice before settling near the window at the Lincoln Table, where Dickens, Thackeray and Lincoln once reportedly sat.

Unhurried and unrushed, a relatively unknown state to me up until now, I sunk into my coat on a leather upholstered chair. The fire crackled a short distance away, even if the door to the outside was between us. Sometimes the coziest situation is only attained when in proximity and juxtaposed against a frigid space.

The cup of tea arrived, with instructions by the host that peppermint tea usually steeps for seven to ten minutes. (Tea steeping time is a serious business. Over or under too many seconds may result in weak or, worse, bitter results.) He apologized for not asking if I wanted the cup to go and I explained I was taking my time. A Sunday afternoon ensconced in the fireside lobby of a historic hotel, sipping on tea and soaking in the weight of centuries – it was a reprieve from worry and sorrow.

Taking more cues from ‘The Miracle of Mindfulness’ I felt the cup of tea in my hand. I listened for the musical clink as I set it back upon its saucer. I savored the delicate mint flavor and its accompanying aroma. The fragrant remnants of a slice of lemon lingered on my fingers. Outside the picaresque falling of a thin veil of snow lent its New England charm and enchantment to the moment. There was still beauty in solitude, and in the slow taking of a Sunday cup of tea. I read a bit of my book as more hotel guests arrived and departed, enjoying the minor thrill of the proximity to travel and movement and the possibility of vacations going on around me.

Next to and behind the library was a reading garden. It was one of those secret little nooks that looked to have a surprisingly large collection of plants as judged by the name plates which remained. Most of it was hidden by the snow and the crumpled branches and leaves of the previous season, but even in slumbering gardens one can sense promise and potential. There were winter treats as well, such as in the papery bark of a birch that unfurled like unruly Christmas wrapping paper, or the berries set in the fall, some of which still retained their form and steel navy color.

My Sunday tea time in Stockbridge had come to a close. It was just far enough to give me some distance and perspective – somewhere between Albany and Boston, which is precisely where my head had been, back where it used to be. In the end, I returned home, to my heart. It never left in the first place. 

In the rush of exhilaration following this dramatic dessert of Cathedral windows, I must admit to going a little Jello crazy. What a marvel this gelatin was! Surely there was a place for it at the adult table. Setting about to experiment on some heart-shaped endeavors, I found some raspberry Jello and decided on layering it with a white chocolate pudding. Andy makes some superb white chocolate and raspberry muffins in the summer season, and my heart was longing for sunnier times so this was my way of approximating it in heart-shaped form. As with a few of my cooking endeavors, I failed pretty miserably.

The layers set well in their Valentine form, but as I flopped the thing onto a plate, I realized that a layer of pudding in between might not stick or hold very well, and indeed, as soon as it began wobbling, the top layer promptly slid off. Not disastrously so, but enough to make a mess of my heart.

Some Valentine’s Days are like that.

Luckily, the taste remained intact, and though it was but a faint echo of Andy’s summer muffins, it made for an enjoyable-enough dessert. When you’re no longer striving for perfection, perfectly-acceptable things suddenly seem quite sweet.

Rediscovering the emancipation of driving that began in this journey back into the past, I took a Sunday morning to head to the Berkshires as a soft fall of flurries sparkled in the sky. Doing my best to practice mindfulness, I made it a relatively quiet drive. No loud music, no singing, no road rage – a simple Sunday drive, letting the other drivers pass by in their haste, allowing the mind to let go of its worries, or doing my best to let go. I’m still new to all of this.

Not quite ready to entirely be free of past indulgences, I stop at the Lee Outlets to see if any winter sales are going on. It’s possible to be mindful and exercise a little retail therapy at the same time.

The pickings were slim, and I mostly avoided purchasing much. A sweater called to me, but I remembered I had a similar one already, so I put it down. A soft long-sleeved T-shirt felt cozy, but wasn’t marked down enough to justify my intended use for it as a night shirt. I did find a pair of work pants and a button-down work shirt, as well as a warm sweatshirt on a big sale. For whatever reason, shopping didn’t hold as much allure and joy as it once did. Maybe I’m growing up and different things mean more.

It was almost noon at this point, and a few snowflakes were falling slowly from the sky. Without wind, it was the charming kind of snowfall that looked beautiful but left no marks on the ground. I drove into Lenox, thinking of getting a cup of tea at the Red Lion Inn (I’ll get to that portion of the journey in a later post). For now, I bypassed the inn and kept going into Great Barrington. I don’t know why I headed that way – there didn’t seem to be much out there, but I followed the pull of the day.

The Berkshires were putting on a pretty, if muted, show. The somber shades of winter required closer inspection to fully appreciate. I pulled over a couple of times to take it all in and get a few crappy cel-phone photos.

Near a sign for a nature preserve, I turned off and took a side road. Something impelled me to go off the beaten path. Slowing the car, I looked over the snowy terrain to the mountains in the distance. To my right the preserve stretched out with patches of frozen ice and snow interspersed with brush and some smaller trees. There in the middle of a snowy little clearing was what I thought was a grey fox. It was magnificent. Its coat was dark gray with ends of silver. I sensed a kindred spirit in the animal (and not just in our silver hair). The fox has always been one of my totem animals, ever since I was a little kid.

I expected the creature to bolt away as soon as I scuttled out of the car to get a picture but it took its time turning around, then paused and looked back at me, deliberately and intently, and I could see, just for a sliver of time, a future, and it was ok. Its lush tail swung behind it as it disappeared silently into the brush. As I watched it walk, it looked less fox-like and more like a wolf, and I realized later it may have been a coyote. I’ve felt a kinship with the wolf as well. A bird gave call. A sprinkling of snow fell quietly from the sky.

It was one of those magical, meaningful moments that comes along when the universe is trying to tell you something. After some time, I got back into the car and headed into a nearby town for some tea. When I finally made it back to Loudonville, I saw a black car ahead of me, stopped for no apparent reason on Albany-Shaker Road. I was about to beep when suddenly a thin red fox jogged slowly in front of the car, traveling weakly across someone’s front yard. It looked slightly haggard. Its tail was a wet and raggedy thing that dropped limply behind it, darker and more depressing than the rest of its ginger fur. I wondered if it had just been attacked by some other animal. It had a downtrodden look to it and my heart jumped. I drove on and ended the journey.

Seeing these two animals meant something. The last time I’d seen so many foxes was in the dunes of Ogunquit, where a young fox family was peeking out as Andy and I walked by.

Later on I learned it happened on the day of a full moon. A warning from the universe… or a promise that everything was going to be all right. Only time will tell.

There are no words needed. 

Stripped of every stitch of clothing and bereft of any sartorial armor save for a set of spectacles and strategically placed pillow, it is not the nakedness of the body that challenges me, but the nudity of the soul, laid bare for all to see, laid vulnerable and prone and impossibly open when once it was impenetrable. I do not hide behind suit and tie, I do not mask my unruly madness with pomades or product. No cloud of cologne transports me to safe distance, no flash of beaded embellishment distracts enough to allow for exit or escape. The veneer of perfection is like a mirror that cuts both ways: a tale I tell myself, a tale I tell the world.

“If you’re going to reveal yourself, reveal yourself!”

Snappy headlines, snippy attitude, and confrontational gaze.

The biggest risk in life is making oneself vulnerable, and it takes more strength and power to do that than I can usually muster. It’s been easier to shed clothing, to make an exhibitionist statement and bluster my way out of things. The image charges into the crowded room and disarms before I even have to step a foot inside. It’s worked surprisingly well, outwardly. And maybe even a bit inwardly as well. There’s something to be said for faking it until you make it.

Now it’s time to turn inside and see if we can’t renovate some of the interior as well. The bones are there. The foundation is sound. A few wrinkles and cracks are the signs of a life well-lived. There is still work to be done.

The last time our niece Emi came over to dinner she left Andy and I a surprise gift. It was this note, written to her uncles, which included a drawing. Its title will be somewhat of a mystery until we get to ask her about it. Our best guess is something along the lines of ‘The Star Spark’ or ‘The Star Ship’ – and we are leaning toward the latter given the clear illustration of a boat on the sea. I love the drama of it all – see that tumultuous sky! Watch for those rising rocks! Be careful of all that hair! 

Many thanks to Emi Lu for the little gift – it was a lovely surprise after a family dinner. 

In the aftermath of the Oscars, we have our usual Monday recap, and while it will be relatively Oscar-free, there is some gold in the featured photos here. In certain sections of the world, some narcissus, aptly named ‘February Gold’ begin their blooming season now. That means spring is around the corner, and though the corridor getting there may seem dark, I’m finding my way. On with the briefest of recaps in the briefest of weeks, and then into the future, unflinching and undaunted. 

Prick of the Rose. 

Back to the bamboo in the backyard.

A naked Pietro Boselli.

The frivolity of love. 

Making mistakes in my underwear.

And taking my underwear off.

Check out these shower shots because they’re hot. Mindfully hot. 

Hunks of the Day included James Lovell, Radzi Chinyanganya, Cameron Dallas, Sebastian Stan, Leif Erik Offerdahl, Keegan Hirst, and Christian Siriano. 

What decade this scene depicts is anyone’s guess. If I had to place the influence and surroundings, I’d go with somewhere between the 70’s and 80’s – right in that neat niche in which I was born and raised. There wasn’t much to be said for taste or elegance, yet there was a raw, wooden-paneling kind of incandescent warmth that seems to be missing from the memories made today.

I feel old now.

At least, older.

The passing of time is a palpable thing.

The space between the ticks and tocks feels smaller.

There is no longer the expanse of a year or a month or even a week – it all rushes by so quickly. Where once a season seemed to last a lifetime, now it’s the quick turning of a calendar page. Sometimes I forget to flip the month until we are a week or more in, and then it feels like I’ve lost the bulk of it anyway.

Pockets of timelessness are still to be found, often in the night and in the relative solitude of a stay in Boston. Loneliness doesn’t usually reach me there, even if I find myself missing Andy and the comfort of our bed. One grows accustomed to company after almost twenty years. The company of oneself doesn’t count.

You don’t always see the movement of years in the mirror. We give too many looks in a given day to sense the change. Only in photos and timehops do we notice the ravages of time. Oddly enough, I’ve never much minded getting older. I was an old soul from the day I was born. 

That’s not to say that my vanity hasn’t fought against it, in fittingly vain fashion. There’s no point in fighting the inevitable – the best you can do is delay. At this point I’d rather face these things head-on. Charge into the future with the wisdom we’ve gained, the gray hairs we’ve grown, and every wrinkle we’ve earned.

Shedding the vile traits of perfectionism is no easy feat. It takes work and energy and repetition to undo years of self-inflicted damage, and mental gymnastics to switch up a train of thought that long ago left the station. Yet that’s precisely what I’ve been learning to do, and a major part of that is owning up to mistakes, learning from them, accepting they will happen, and not letting them completely derail the day.

“I am glad that I paid so little attention to good advice; had I abided by it I might have been saved from some of my most valuable mistakes.” ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

To err is human, and before I even get to forgiveness, I have to learn to be a better human. One thing at a time. This is challenging enough on its own. To sit with your missteps, and to be ok with what you have done takes time and practice. I’ve only been working on this stuff for a couple of months, but I’ve felt a change already. It’s not always comfortable, and some days I think I’ve tried to do too much, but still I keep going, still I hang on and do my best. I fail a little, and then I try to do better. The overall arc is upward.

“It is a mistake to look too far ahead. Only one link of the chain of destiny can be handled at a time.” ~ Winston Churchill

No one is right all of the time. No one is perfect. Humans are messy creatures – mentally, emotionally, physically – we stumble through our lives barely keeping our shit together. Even the most seemingly flawless person has their faults and imperfections. Usually we love them more for it, as it’s difficult to relate to someone who comes close to perfect.

“It is always a mistake to be plain-spoken.” ~ Gertrude Stein

So let this post be a reminder, mostly to myself, that we are all no more than human. We will not achieve the perfection that is unattainable based on our inherent natures. We were not designed to be without flaws. They make us who we are – and they make us better.

“Some of the worst mistakes in my life were haircuts.” ~ Jim Morrison