Category Archives: General

The best sort of guest houses and gatherings are those where it is just as easy to be alone as it is to be surrounded by loved ones. This is the ideal sort of stomping ground for an extroverted introvert who swings wildly between the worlds of wanting company and wanting solitude at a moment’s whim or whirl. While Anu, Kristen, George and the kids worked on dinner preparations, and Suzie and Cormac squeezed the last bit of light from the sky for their suddenly-dangerous shucking efforts, I found my way down to the dock just as the sun was setting.

This was the moment of calm and beauty I’d envisioned when contemplating the nine-hour car ride. My mind quieted from its oyster excitement and I settled gratefully into the silence. The light moved magically now, every minute revealing some wondrous shift of shade and shadow. Any silly concerns had dissipated earlier, and I felt my head happily clear of its clutter.

In calm and beauty, that which truly matters rises to the surface, like the little splashes of fish stealing their dinner from the space between water and air. As I sat on the edge of the dock, dangling my legs over the water like some version of the kid I never quite allowed myself to be, I thought of the people I loved, and some of those I’d lost. I realized then that all of our adult friends who were gathered there at the River House no longer had our fathers. A sad little club we all must join at some point. The beauty of our time with our fathers – however long or short – would always make up for the sadness of having to bid them goodbye.

I felt tears surprisingly swell in my eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness or loss. They were tears of gratitude – to sit amid such beauty, to be with such dear friends, to feel so alive, to have such memories.

I didn’t want to let the light go, even as I understood that the sun waits for no man.

SEE ALSO:

Part 1: Driving South with Suzie

Part 2: A Loveliness By the River

Part 3: November Sweeps in Virginia

Part 4: Shuck Off, Mutha-Shuckers!

This old house is falling down around my ears
I’m drowning in the fountain of my tears
When all my will is gone, you hold me sway
I need you at the dimming of the day

You pull me like the moon pulls on the tide
You know just where I keep my better side

What days have come to keep us far apart
A broken promise or a broken heart
Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away
I need you at the dimming of the day

When they see that you genuinely don’t care, and they realize that they’re not going to get a rise out of you, people tend to either up the ante and go for the jugular, implode in their own zeal for a reaction of some sort, or confusedly retreat in awkward motions of apology or pretend. Whatever the result, I’m already beyond the bitterness or bother, and it still seems to flummox those who have found great sport with agitating me to the point of retaliation. 

There was a time when fighting back would have given me just as much satisfaction as it gave them – my own thirst for being right a  perfect match for their thirst for forcing my hand. The unhealthiest sort of symbiosis set in perpetual motion. Staying in that merry-go-round would have gotten me more than dizzy, and almost ended up grinding me to a halt. Mixing metaphors like the jumbled mess of a mind during Mercury in retrograde is the province of mad genius. Surely I’m onto something here, even if I can’t quite make total sense of it. I feel an ease in this new view, a freedom, and a sense of renewed purpose. It pours out of me creatively, and instead of directing energy and effort to those who seem hellbent in fucking with me, I can put it into more productive endeavors, such as a new project, and these daily blog entries – a mini-project, sometimes, unto themselves. 

These brave azaleas, tricked by the twists of weather this month, as seems to be a new trend, have decided to bloom now rather than wait for spring – which means less flowers then, but a little more cheer now. I’m not sure which is the better decision anymore. I used to believe in delaying the gratification, but with all that’s happened in the past five years I’m leaning toward getting our joy as soon as we can get it and making the most of it then. Tomorrow is not promised to anyone.

That’s a serious sea change in how I view the world, one which has been a few years in the making and shifting. It started with COVID and has been re-enforced and impelled by all that’s happened since. And it’s a good thing, I think. Planning only gets you so far – you have to be wiling to go with the flow and adapt and change as things unfurl differently from what you may have imagined. This is a good life lesson, and I feel it in the blooming of these beautiful azaleas – yes, their petals are crinkled with cold, and true, they may be frozen into wilted oblivion, but for a gray day in November, they made things beautiful, they gave us a peek of spring, they did their best even if I would have done things differently – and who’s to say they’re wrong?

The first time Andy met my parents he was wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Get Wicked Tonight‘ – and we’ve had many wonderfully wicked date nights since then – including this past Monday’s advance screening of ‘Wicked: For Good’. One of our favorites was the night we saw the original cast of ‘Wicked’ very early on in its run – it had opened around Halloween, and we had tickets for a night in November 2003. It was as magical as you might imagine, and since then the show has held a special place in our hearts.

For those wondering whether the sequel to the first ‘Wicked’ movie measures up, rest assured it does, especially for fans. While Andy thought the first third took a while to get going (after an exhilarating opening sequence, and I don’t entirely disagree) the bulk of it rises to the promise of the first round, with a darker and more potent emotional bite as the witches leave the innocence and safety of school behind and make their way in an adult world.

I won’t go into specifics – as this should be seen without being prepped or shaded – but I can say that this powerfully concludes a story that was always centered around friendship, and the possibility that being good – truly good – might be its own sort of magic.

It’s ‘Auntie Mame’ season, and this year watching the movie will substitute for all the parties we once held.

#TinyThreads

A new moon and Mercury in retrograde have the heavenly bodies wreaking a wreck of havoc for certain signs, and unfortunately Virgo is one of them. I’ve felt that this week, and have been doing my damnedest to lay low, remain calm, and carry on with the least bit of provocation possible. That’s not always easy for me, especially in the face of wild injustice in so many ways, but I’ve evolved new methods of dealing with such issues.

While my not-so-distant past antics tended toward the fiery, especially when facts aligned to unfairly malign me, I no longer go through the trouble of screaming and yelling and throwing fits to make my points. When you have truth on your side, it’s not necessary to be so bombastic, and yelling into voids is entirely pointless. I’m not sure why I ever decided to huff and puff so much in the first place. Let everyone else live in their own mess and deal with their own entanglements; they will or they won’t work it out in their own way.

That makes for a much calmer living, a much quieter atmosphere, and a more peaceful existence. It also allows me to be better company as I don’t allow myself to get riled up or bothered by all the nonsense. A delightful way of dealing with the holidays to come, and a new lease on life – perhaps courtesy of a new moon and a new way of letting go.

A new rule for myself at this ripe old age: do not put anything down if you will need it within the next hour. You will forget where you put it ten seconds after you turn your back.

Repeat: do not put that down if you are going to need it in the next hour. You will not find it again.

Cases in point:

• Notebook on the pile of towels atop the dryer
• Keys on the blind-spot section of the bathroom counter, the only space that can’t be seen from the hallway
• Glasses on the arm of a couch
• Glasses on the bed pillow
• Glasses on the [fill-in-the-blank] table

Just keep it in your hand. (Yes, you will still look for it in a minute, even in your hand, but there’s a better chance of finding it this way.)

Next week marks Thanksgiving – something that doesn’t quite feel possible but the calendar tells me it is so. I don’t recall turning my back long enough for this to have happened. That tricky, fickle hand of time. With any luck, this rushed acceleration of the fall season is not unwelcome, especially if it means a speedy rush through winter. All of this makes it sound like I’ve soured on the holiday season, which may very well be the case, but I don’t really want that out there (he said as he set the public post settings for this blog entry).

Rather than fight what is already at hand, this new box of tea is my way of welcoming the holidays for 2025 – a cup of decaf green tea with a peppermint accent. Simple, slightly festive, and just enough of a twist to set it apart from the rest of the days.

The artwork of the box, a whimsical Trader Joe’s creation, is a fun way to steer us into holiday territory without going too extreme into some overhyped Ralph Lauren Christmas vibe (also known as Basic Christmas for those of us who have been aware of Christmas decor for the past half-century).

Get busy to merry-making, my friends.

Our wonky and often-wayward Christmas/Thanksgiving/Easter/4th-of-July cactus, which always and never lives up to its common name (it’s technically an epiphyte, and rarely hits its bloom stride on any of its designated holidays), announces this year’s commencement of the high holiday season! That’s worthy of an exclamation point, no? Who else is ready to start the holiday slide? Hop on – it’s a long way down, and it begins with a day of gratitude, a very good place to start.

We’ll make the holidays colorful and saturated – to mirror the rich oud-like beauty of this fall’s website theme. Enjoy this now, as the winter looks to be bleak. In blooms may we find a balm…

The world moves closer to winter, and my time outside diminishes by the day. To combat that depressing shift, my visits to the local greenhouse will prove paramount in pushing us through the winter. On a recent trip there, these African violets brightened the green landscape. They came in other shades too – pink, maroon, white, and periwinkle – proof that not all violets must come in violet. A name is sometimes nothing more than a name – meaningless and void of context or designation, sometimes deceptively so.

For a Monday afternoon, it’s enough just to look, and end this blessedly-brief post.

A noirish weekend in New York many Novembers ago comes to mind on this mysterious day, more suited to an evening post than Sunday morning, but these fall where they will fall, like the words escaping from my fingers and appearing on the screen before you now. Originally, this was going to be the day I posted our recent Virginia adventures, but in writing them they have taken on an extended life of their own, so they’ll be here in a string of posts slated for next weekend.

For now, the mystery of a mask worn by the elusive Mr. Oud, who was last seen lighting a candle and whispering a prayer or a curse – and when you think about it those two seemingly-opposed items are just the same thing with a different perspective: a wish.

Mr. Oud will return in a bit, at least a brief glimpse of who we think he is, who we think he might be, who we think of when we think of him. He spins spirals of words, of prepositional clauses, of teasing and tantalizing ends that seem to be about to happen and then never do, and when they do it’s so far from where we thought we were heading, and so far from where it all began, that we’re left breathless in anticipation of a still-not-quite-there period.

…And watches it throw not tears but light upon the room.

Flickering flame, dancing name, playful and bleak and right up Mr. Oud’s alley.

The wording is different, the tone flippant, and the wonder whether this is Mr. Oud at all fully realized.

Perhaps that is his tell-tale calling card, if the trail of oud wasn’t enough.

Anyone can wear oud – few can pull it off with the style and panache of Mr. O himself.

The trails of others have come before him, and will remain long after him.

Legacies evolve, families diminish, friends fade…

Mr. Oud remains elusive to remain alive.

To be hidden is to be safe.

To be shrouded in candlelight is something else…

… and again, he is gone.

“Had to schedule an extra therapy session because of you fucks.”

Who said this?

(Just between me and you, it wasn’t you.)

#TinyThreads

The struggle of today’s teenage boy is real: how to obsess and drench oneself in cologne while maintaining the most offensively odiferous feet at the same time. These two things, seemingly and reasonably at complete odds with one another, inform the daily existence of the male teenager. Studies should commence on how to hold two such ideas and modes of living in one head at the exact same time.

Is it defiance?

A brilliant case of reconciliation?

A total shutdown and refusal of reality?

How does this happen? I need to know. Because my head cannot wrap itself two mildly-opposing ideas without hurting itself – and I have to start learning, for my own ease.

PS – This is not a foot fetish post – that can be found here.