For well over a decade, a sweet Autumn clematis formed the green archway that framed the entrance to our side yard. It grew twenty to thirty feet each year, and was a reliable foundation element. One year it simply gave up, inexplicably deciding not to return after a winter. Happily, around that same time, the slower-growing climbing hydrangea had taken over the other side of the archway, and now it more than covers the area. It is right below our attic window, making for a happy view especially when spring is in the air.
Before the clematis departed, however, it seeded several other areas with its progeny, which have been slowly creeping in accordance with its accompanying adage: the first year it sleeps, the second year it creeps, the third year it leaps. One of them must be in its third year, as I found this bunch of blooms in the pine boughs of the side yard, sweetly scenting the warm air of the sunny, almost-autumn day.
The objects were made of stone, heavy and substantial and seemingly immovable.
Yet when I closed my eyes, and breathed in deeply, I could immediately move them in my mind.
Was this some sort of Jedi trick that only a few select lucky individuals could master? Not at all – it was simple mindfulness. With some practice, and a proper shift of perspective, anyone can defy the laws of physics and the limits of this physical realm. I’ve only just begun my mindfulness journey, and at six years into the practice I feel like I might know even less than when I began. Some would say that means it’s working.
As an over-thinker, my mind was accustomed to burdening itself with over-analysis and runaway thoughts. When I began meditating, it became necessary to face those thoughts and acknowledge their presence in order to let them go. That was easier when I worked myself into a state of mindfulness – when the focus is on the present moment and what precisely is going on at a very basic level.
The cadence of my breathing – slow and deep or quick and shallow.
The sensations of my skin – cool with goosebumps or warm from the day’s sun.
The light of the room – filled with sunlight of morning and mid-day or dim with the descent of evening.
The scent of the air – a savory wafting of home-cooked dinner on the way or the sweet lingering tickle of a soapy shower.
The observations can change by the minute – they are but a few among a vast multitude, varying and infinite as the boundless world. The purpose is to notice them, to be aware of them, to let them occupy your mind and push the more bothersome and harmful thoughts away for a while. Only when my mind is calm and uncluttered can I make some bit sense of everything.
That’s the start of mindfulness – noticing and observing the here and now.
Very few people are so uniquely talented and celebrated to be known by a single name, but Richarlison enters the vaunted realm of Madonna and Cher thanks to his impressive plays on the soccer field, and an even more impressive embrace of therapy and publicly addressing depression and mental illness. Taken together, Richarlison earns his first Dazzler of the Day honor as we begin our road to World Cup glory.
Suzie and I celebrated my 50th birthday in Boston this past weekend – the last of my half-century celebrations – and it was the sort of charming and enchanting weekend at the end of summer that only Suzie could pull off. It began with an afternoon entry into the city, whereupon we procured provisions for dinner from Eataly and Trader Joe’s. As has been my wont these last few years, an opening charcuterie dinner at the condo is the easiest and most economical ways of starting things off for a Boston weekend. When the weather cooperates, and the breeze is divine, we open up the windows and listen to the fountain of Braddock Park send soothing sounds of water, accenting the dreamy soundtrack of a summer’s afternoon.
The summer wind came blowin’ in from across the sea It lingered there to touch your hair and walk with me All summer long, we sang a song And then we strolled that golden sand Two sweethearts and the summer wind
Boston was still very much in bloom – the roses giving an impressive second showing after their first flush of color in June – and the skies would remain blue through Sunday. We assembled a dinner platter, dined looking out over the street, then took an evening stroll to a matcha ice cream place that Skip and I had tried a while back. We chose the matcha and ube twist, and I took mine in an ube cone.
We took our time walking back and making the most of a beautiful night at summer’s lush end. Suzie is a game walking partner, and if the weather is decent I’d always rather walk than take the T, even if the journey would constitute several stops. Summer nights will be done within the week – make the most of them while they’re here.
The next morning, we traveled to Beacon Hill for brunch at The Paramount. It was my very first time at that institution, as I’m usually not out early enough to get there before the line begins. We timed it perfectly, snagging a table just as the rush began in earnest. After that, our main purpose was to peruse the Beacon Hill Book & Cafe, another popular stop I’d never bothered to visit, and one which I’ll definitely be visiting again.
The definition of charming, it was made for the small of stature and the whimsical of mind, and the magical environs reminded us that there was still enchantment in this world. I was introduced to the story of Paige the Squirrel, and her friends proved a happy motif for books and decor and all flights of fancy. It segued nicely into our walk back through the Boston Public Garden.
Like painted kites Those days and nights they went flyin’ by The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky Then softer than a piper man One day it called to you I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind
Beacon Hill has always been one of those sections that I don’t often frequent – in part because I don’t want to exhaust or run through it so much that it becomes commonplace. For now, it holds a special allure because I save it for a treat – a holiday stroll or a singular summer visit – but if I spend more time in Boston (and the light of retirement’s door has finally begun to glow in the grand distance) I’d like to make this area a regular part of my daily habits.
We would return for a birthday dinner at 1928 – another Beacon Hill first for me – and the meal and atmosphere matched the winsome weekend vibes. Spending time in my favorite city with one of my favorite people is one of my favorite birthday gifts this year – and the very best way to close out a summer season.
After a meandering search for a post-dinner sweet treat, we took the long way home along the Charles River, which held its own bewitching allure. That day we walked over 11 miles, according to Suzie’s fit-bit calculations, and the happy exhaustion indicated a day well spent.
A quick breakfast at Charlie’s finished our time in Boston, and it was so lovely we ate outside, where the bees barely bothered us. I didn’t want to leave, but this kind of perfect weekend wouldn’t be perfect if it lasted too long – and summer is the same way.
The autumn wind and the winter winds They have come and gone And still the days, those lonely days, they go on and on And guess who sighs his lullabies Through nights that never end My fickle friend, the summer wind
At last he realized that his entire life could be summed up as the quest to normalize the word ‘no’ as a possibility, a sentence, and an answer to life’s most confoundingly annoying problems.
Andy and I are always sad to see the summer go, especially when we haven’t had as much pool time as usual. The season began later, peaked with a few solid weeks of hot weather, then retreated into the cooler nights. In a large part, this summer was a wash for any number of reasons – maybe one day we’ll get into all the messiness of it – in the meantime I reserve the right to return to all that happened should things refuse to improve.
This weekend, Suzie and I are traveling to Boston for a belated birthday dinner – the last of my close-friend celebrations for fifty – and a launching pad for the fall about to arrive.
When we return, I hope that Andy and I get a few more days in the pool before the season comes to a close. That’s the only to-do-list we need to complete.
Tomorrow would have marked my Dad’s 95th birthday, had he lived that long, but 92 was a good run, and we remember and celebrate him a little bit each day since he left. As tomorrow is 9/11, and this site has always gone dark on that day, I’m writing this little tribute a day early, and posting it just before the midnight hour.
An impromptu and unplanned visit to the cemetery revealed the beauty of a September afternoon. Dad was born on what has typically been a beautiful day – a day when summer’s warmth still lingers, but the comforting coolness of fall has seeped into the night to take the edge off. Like me, Dad was a true-blue Virgo – organized, punctual, perfectionist, exacting, critical, and grounded. It served him well, and I learned a great deal from such order, because I saw how easier things could be when executed properly and done well.
At the top of the hill where he rests, a cool breeze blows beneath the afternoon sun. Clouds roll dramatically across the sky and stalks of goldenrod nod in the distance. A patch of wilderness on the edge of the cemetery is littered with wildflowers still in bloom. While the roses have gone, leaving their hips and thorny warnings, purple and pink blooms have taken their place, gorgeously placed against foliage about to fade from chartreuse to yellow – a reverse return to spring’s original color scheme. Nature loves a full circle.
The wind has grown colder, and I don’t mind it. It feels fitting, like a gentle initiation into the fall to come. When I reach down to place my hand on Dad’s name, the dark stone is still quite warm from the sun. It surprises me – I expected it to be cool to the touch. The unlikely heat reminds me that there is still life here, and that Dad is still with me.
While it came out eight years ago, this song is the song that Noah has proclaimed the song of the summer, and since Emi chose the theme to begin the season, it seems fitting that Noah should choose the song as we near the end. The visuals from the video perfectly correspond to our Island Summer, even if it’s been somewhat of a dud. Lyrically, I don’t know about this one… scary what the kids are hearing these days, but maybe every fifty-year-old uncle says that when they’ve rounded the mid-section of life and there is more behind them than ahead.
All this jewelry ain’t no use when it’s this dark It’s my favorite part, we see the lights, they got so far It went too fast, we couldn’t reach it with our arms Wrist on a wrist, a link of charms, yeah Laying, we’re still a link apart It’s like we could die here all young Like we could dye hair all blonde If we could see in twenty twin Twice we could see it ’til the end
This summer definitely had a melancholy vibe to it – transitions, transformations, realizations, reconciliations, resignations – and there’s still a few more weeks of it. For one of the few times, I’m not sorry to see it go, and I’ve already been focused on fall because what’s ahead always has the possibility of being better.
Another possibility exists too, I’m aware. We shall see what we shall see.
A transitional week that somehow managed to be free of tumult, the past septet of days held a rollercoaster of blog posts, and if you happened to have missed any of it, here’s your weekly recap:
After being chewed down to their very roots, these marigolds are a portrait in resilience and courage, coming back from their rodent-inflicted wounds to begin blooming this late in the season. Any new color is appreciated at this point in the garden’s year. Marigolds signify the height of summer – all happiness and bright bonhomie.
I thought I was ready to welcome fall, but if summer wants to linger, who am I to rush her out the door?
“Be silent and listen: have you recognized your madness and do you admit it? Have you noticed that all your foundations are completely mired in madness? Do you not want to recognize your madness and welcome it in a friendly manner? You wanted to accept everything. So accept madness too. Let the light of your madness shine, and it will suddenly dawn on you. Madness is not to be despised and not to be feared, but instead you should give it life…If you want to find paths, you should also not spurn madness, since it makes up such a great part of your nature…Be glad that you can recognize it, for you will thus avoid becoming its victim. Madness is a special form of the spirit and clings to all teachings and philosophies, but even more to daily life, since life itself is full of craziness and at bottom utterly illogical. Man strives toward reason only so that he can make rules for himself. Life itself has no rules. That is its mystery and its unknown law. What you call knowledge is an attempt to impose something comprehensible on life.” ~ Carl Jung
“The first half of life is devoted to forming a healthy ego, the second half is going inward and letting go of it.” ~ Carl Jung
“It is often tragic to see how blatantly a man bungles his own life and the lives of others yet remains totally incapable of seeing how much the whole tragedy originates in himself, and how he continually feeds it and keeps it going.” ~Carl Jung
