‘A Garden after the Monsoon’ is an exquisite fragrance from Hermes, crafted by the brilliant Jean-Claude Ellena. I reach for it whenever we’ve had a tropical storm, as it eases the pain of the rain – olfactory beauty as a balm. After the wild maneuverings of the weather these past few days, I ventured out into the garden on a sunny morning and surveyed the wet remains of the storm that came before. There is often joy in the remnants of rain, sparkling as they do under the promise of a sunny day.
The hosta plants have begun their blooming season. It feels early, when so many other things (our patio plants for instance) are so far behind (a banana tree that I overwintered in the garage has only just started poking its timid leaves from the ground – just in time, as I was about to toss it out). Now I’m getting sidetracked by tales of woe and disappointment, and the point of this post was to appreciate the pretty aftermath of a summer storm. Back to that in this last photo from the morning.
I usually describe myself as a hot-house flower, but a hot-house flower would always appreciate heat and humidity, so I only mean it in the sense of being temperamental. Enjoy this glimpse of an electric pink Monarda – just a little extra in the best possible way, not unlike the writer of these words, and a step away from what we once enjoyed as Coquette.
This is a somewhat pink moment in the garden, which makes for a lovely echo of last summer’s Coquette theme. Pink will always be welcome in these parts, especially when the heat begins ramping up and the humidity starts lashing out. There’s something soothing about the softer color palette that pink provides – the same way that blues or purples cool the mind’s eye.
It’s a good place – a pretty place – to pause at the midpoint of a hot day. This is the butterfly weed flower – one that happened to seed itself from some bird or rodent that dropped it into the garden, as I’ve only ever grown the orange version. Magic happens if you let it grow. With that, we fondly remember Coquette…
A storm blew through the afternoon, just as I was getting home from work yesterday. Storms are best for sleeping, and meditating. I’ve already done the latter, and the former is up just as soon as I finish writing this post. It’s summer, but it’s still new. We haven’t had a rain-free stretch to really feel the season yet. Our recent weekend in Boston – a long and lovely relaxing break – will be shared in a few. For now, I’m coasting a bit, breathing slowly and deliberately, somewhere between meditation and sleep, and carrying elements of relaxation into the middle of the week.
A few bare branches add extra drama to the already-dramatic sky behind them, because summer is often a soap opera, even if it’s just bubbles floating in the sky.
We are less than two months out from my 50th birthday, so if you want to look into loans and shit, now is the time. This may be an evolving post, as tastes and whims shift so often around here, so bookmark it and revise for the most up-to-date wishes. To be honest, I don’t feel like punching up the typical fanfare and hoopla that something like a 50th birthday might typically inspire. My first idea was to ask my Mom and Andy for a single birthday night at the relatively-new Raffles hotel in Boston in one of their Emerald Suites – as an experience and a memory are priceless. (I spent my 40th birthday in the Judy Garland suite at the Lenox, and it remains one of the most magical birthdays I’ve had, and our stays for our wedding and 15th anniversary in Boston were equally enchanting.)
But then I realized I’d probably have to be the one to do all the planning and reserving and logistical maneuvering and it just exhausted me, so here’s a different set of asks. They’re a lot, and I’m a lot, and the world is a lot right now – in addition, a lot of people don’t say what they want and that’s why they don’t get what they want. Here’s wishing…
With my anniversary request to Andy already in (‘Pacific Chill’ by Louis Vuitton), I thought another LV option might be nice to round out my 50th, but on a recent cologne sampling at the Copley Place location, there was nothing worthy of that price point, despite going through an exhaustive trial. Instead, the number 50 would be whispered from a different house – the House of Amouage – esteemed fragrance house that has only barely skirted my periphery up until now. They have an exquisite fragrance in the form of their bottle of ‘Purpose’ here – a great name as I embark upon the second half of a century, still searching for some purpose in the world. When I sampled it, I found it challenging and scary, but this is the time to conquer my fears. More enchanting is their newest extrait version of it, named ‘Purpose 50’, which seems almost too perfect for a 50th birthday gift, and has the crazy-expensive price-tag to go with it. Either ‘Purpose’ will suit a gentleman about to turn 50.
Vibrato by Sospiro is a new fragrance to me, but it sounds like a more-lasting take on the beloved Tygar by Bulgari (which is, at $460, too much for me to request for a second fragrance after Purpose, even if it is a 50th birthday – see, I have reason!) The notes of Vibrato are grapefruit and ginger, two of my favorite notes ever, and it’s said to have some staying power – rare in a grapefruit fragrance. It’s also available at a markdown here from one of my favorite sites.
For a more reasonable sniff-see for the Le Labo collection, a line which I’ve neglected for no good reason, here’s a little sample box of their current offerings, and who doesn’t love a sample, especially when trying things out for the holiday season 2025. (If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.)
The promised ‘Celebration Tour‘ release, the promised ‘Bedtime Stories‘ re-release, the promised ‘Veronica Electronica’ release, the promised ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor 2′ album… which of these is actually happening anymore? Does anything mean anything, or have we as a culture just accepted promises and lies and decided to collectively shrug and move on with nary a shred of accountability? I speak as a disappointed fan, and as a disappointed human, and only about half-seriously. Because why hold myself accountable in a world that no longer values, well, anything?
Anyway, here’s a relatively new photo of Madonna for… Instagram I guess.
It is not typical of me to approach someone I think I recognize, because there’s a good chance I recognize them for all the wrong reasons, or, worse, they may recognize me for all the wrong reasons. On a recent morning at Hannaford however, as I loaded Andy up with pudding and coffee before Skip and I departed for Boston, I saw a man whom I was fairly sure I worked with years ago at the Department of State. Intrigued, and on a Bette Davis/’Now, Voyager’-inspired intention to be interested in everything and everybody, I asked if he used to work for the State. His eyes gave a smile of reluctant bemusement, as if unsure whether his answer would be good or bad for whatever might follow. He said yes slowly, then I asked him which agency and he said a few. I asked if one was the Department of State, where I started. He affirmed it was, and then we placed the year at 2001, which confirmed it.
My memory bank flooded open, releasing thoughts of that very late summer of 2001, when I started my first state job on the verge of 9/11, at the bottom of State Street in downtown Albany. I remembered the name of the awful woman who ran that office, and he remembered her as well. He told me the rest of his state career story, involving Spitzer and the end of his time as governor, and then left me with some golden advice that seemed to be a message from the universe: “The first day you are able to retire… do it.”
Mentioning that I have about six years until I’m eligible, I pointed to my gray hair and said I definitely was feeling it. He said it will fly by, and I am certain it will. Until then, I will be interested in everything, and everybody, and do the best job I can do, listening to the whispers of the universe, and going with the flow.
How we have already reached the end of June makes no sense to me, other than that summer tends to move quickly. Here’s a weekly recap, a bit later in the day thanks to a fun long weekend that we shall recap in another post…
Seeing someone who just turned 50 blossom into the prime of his life is an inspiration for those of us about to turn 50 in two months, so I’m very happy to witness this year of success for Pedro Pascal. He first came to my attention with his villainous turn in a ‘Wonder Woman’ sequel, but really sealed the deal with his work on ‘The Last of Us‘.
The day opened and closed, almost precisely 13 hours apart, with a double-dip in the pool. It’s been a very long time – years probably – since I’ve taken a swim before work, but on a day scheduled to up to 98 degrees, I thought it best to start off as cool as possible, and take that loveliness with me through the day.
A cat bird joined me for the morning dip, silently perched on the wooden fence beneath the seven sons’ flower tree. I recognized its silhouette, the jaunty way its back feathers turned up and the inquisitive tilting of its head. It didn’t sing so early in the morning, perhaps enjoying the hushed early hour as much as me.
Rise up this morning, smiled with the rising sun Three little birds pitch by my doorstep Singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true Saying, “This is my message to you”
Already into the 80’s, the day looked to be an impossibly hot one, and the only way to trudge through it would be to take it slow, and keep this cool moment in mind. At some point in the summer, the heat will seep so deeply into everything – every place and every space – that it will be impossible to escape other than in one’s mind.
We were not yet there, and I will not complain at this early stage.
Singing, “Don’t worry about a thing ‘Cause every little thing gonna be alright” Singing, “Don’t worry about a thing” (Don’t worry) “‘Cause every little thing gonna be alright”
I was led to believe that marigolds were rabbit-resistant, and often planted in vegetable gardens to keep the unwelcome guests out of such space. It turns out that’s not necessarily true, as our legion of rabbits quickly ate up the bulk of marigolds I planted in less than two days.
I couldn’t be mad about it, however, as the baby bunnies that Andy and I have been watching are too cute not to feed. Early on a recent morning I looked out the window and right there, between the oregano and sage, this little creature was sitting, happily munching on some grass. I watched it stand up and take a gander at the oregano, which it promptly left alone. Same with the sage. The dill was another story, as it disappeared down to the ground after only a few days.
Hello Summer! We wished and you delivered and now it’s going to be 97 degrees for the next two days, followed by another week of rain, so I’ll be crashing out and taking a hostage before the weekend arrives again. Here are a couple of poppy pics to ease the whiplash of our seasonal rollercoaster. And here’s the weekly recap…
The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale resumes its online posting schedule, twenty years after appearing in three-ring-binder form, fronted by lavender lace, backed by a rainbow tapestry of ribbons, and accented by a poof of ostrich feathers. Yes, I am using poof as a noun, because when you know the rules you can break them.
This entry begins as a black and white study in gay eroticism, with hints of sadomasochism and an underlying tension of possible bondage – the classic hallmarks of divinity. The photos will speak for themselves – previous divine links further below, in case you get cold-feet scrolling…
