We’ve played this song before, and after almost 50 summers here on earth I realize there are more repeats than new treads at this point. Still, like a good Christmas song that only gets brought out once a year, I love a song that is as timely as it is fleeting. Like summer.
The first night of summer always seems surreal, like that moment you’ve waited for for so long that when it arrives you can’t actually feel it. To counteract that mischief of the mind, I ask that we take a moment to inhabit the moment. Pause whatever you are doing and make a memory with me. Walk to the nearest door and step outside into the evening air. Breathe it in deeply, slowly, intentionally. Focus on everything you are feeling, everything you are observing, everything you are experiencing.
Now let your eyes close, and imagine you are on some beautiful secluded island, safe and protected, perhaps in a doorway looking out toward the ocean. You hear the distant waves, you feel the gentle breeze, you can almost smell the salty seaspray. Once, your feet slipped into the ocean, once you became one with the sea, once you felt the sand between the toes and the sun on your face and the water lapping at your ankles.
If it happened in the past, somewhere it’s still happening there – a loop of time that you can bring to mind whenever you want it. A temporal trick of the brain that humans have to transport and transform as desired, and a key component to imagination and escapism. Never underestimate the power of both.
On this first night of summer, let it wash over you: the season, the start, the sultry promise of more. There is peace here if you let yourself find it. Calm and tranquility too, along with the gentle pull of the proverbial sea, coaxing us to restful unforced slumber.
Tropical the island breeze, All of nature wild and free, This is where I long to be… ~ La Isla Bonita ~
From the House that brought you Coquette, this summer aims to transport you to a whole new realm: ISLAND. While our Coquette theme was practically Victorian in its formalized fashion parameters and rigidly-defined construct, ISLAND is all about freedom and fun and escapism. No underlying melancholy, no shifting moodiness, no darker undertones – it’s summer and the living is about to be easy.
Coquette was an aesthetic; ISLAND is a state of mind. It is mood and atmosphere and vibe – the very best bit of escapism and fantasy, imperative in today’s darkening world, designed to be accessible no matter how landlocked you might be. ISLAND frees the mind, its music frees the soul, and its attitude frees the heart. No matter how far you might be from an actual island, no matter how distant a body of water may be, the idea of a metaphorical island allows you to escape to a summer of carefree ease and languor.
In some ways, that’s how I’ve always thought of my home with Andy: our own little island for two, where we’ve created a cozy environment all the year round, with summer expanding into the backyard with its gardens and pool, and friends stopping by for dinner grilling or pampered attic loft sleepovers. This summer we have a trio of official Island Gatherings scheduled, with an open invitation to all friends and family to stop by, stay for a spell, lounge by the pool, set up camp in the attic loft, or simply say hello.
The Island of Ilagan is open for the summer – join us… you’ll like it here.
Most summers begin with a celebratory bang – an explosion of color and sound, vibrant and brash, bold and brilliant – heralding the season of fun in the sun. Last summer’s Coquette theme was an instant classic, one that could never be duplicated. It was perfectly of the moment, and like all perfect moments, it wasn’t destined to last. Summer is like that.
This summer is decidedly quieter, with a much more loose and laid-back theme: Island. It begins with a delicate piano version of Bob Marley’s ‘No Woman, No Cry’ which concludes with a Bach Prelude, signaling an end and a beginning at once – the way summer sometimes demands two things at the same time, tugging at the heart while wreaking havoc with the head.
It sets the tone and the atmosphere for our Island theme – which is fluid, languid, and free. It is relief and release, the way you once felt after the last day of school, when you could throw your binders and pencils away and pretend summer was going to last forever, because it felt like it could. There’s also an adventurous aspect to it, with the mysteries that often accompany a summer’s duration. When I was in school, and summer finally arrived, I’d select one classic to read – something like ‘Treasure Island’ to take me out of the doldrums of Amsterdam, NY. When your mind is your passport, you can go absolutely anywhere. Won’t you come along for our island adventures?
“Before us, over the tree tops, we behold a great field of open sea to the East. Sheer above us rose single pines, black with precipices. There was no sound but that of the distant breakers, mounting from all around, and the chirp of countless insects in the brush. Not a man, not a sail upon the sea; the very largeness of the view increased the sense of solitude.” ~ Robert Louis Stevenson, ‘Treasure Island’
As the dearest lady once proclaimed to a room filled with men: “Don’t fuck with me fellas – this ain’t my first time at the rodeo!”
Just a little attitude I’m keeping in my back-pocket for a rainy day, as our slide into summer will be a quiet and soft one. This post gradually transitions us into the summer theme – a sepia, tropical tone, something simple and easy for the relaxed season. Shades of cream and white and beige – once decried as dull and lifeless, now embraced as classic and elegant and cool. Ideal for the hot season, when things get sticky and sweaty and we’re all looking for relief.
At the end of spring, a song for the moment:
Drama and portent, setting the stage for some sort of summer, with hopes it will be a contented one. Hope and possibility – the key tenets to the start of the season. Come back in a few hours to see the first summer post…
Mars just entered Virgo, which puts some of us directly into our ‘Reputation’ era, to speak in Taylor Swift terms. It will stay here until August 6, 2025 so the first part of this summer is going to be banging. I’ll be trying to focus on the positive aspect of this astrological placement – utilizing the influence to get things done quickly and efficiently, while not putting up with any bullshit.
The perfectionist tendencies of Virgos (guilty as charged) may also crescendo during this time, with critical attacks launched on others as much as on ourselves. Pugnacious perfection is certainly a place of comfort, but my goal is to limit both, embrace the imperfection of life, and go a little easier on myself, aligning with a planned summer of easy relaxation.
That said, this is not the time to mess with a Virgo, no matter how relaxed ad easygoing I may appear to be. There will be no bullshit tolerated, and if I have to say something that hurts, it’s only because it’s true. I’m about to turn fifty, and I will put up with absolutely no fuckery.
Mars is in me now, and I’m manifesting all the energy.
Did we even have a proper spring? I didn’t notice through all the rain.
No, that’s not entirely true. We had our spring moments, but they were very much afflicted by the rollercoaster of mostly-sour weather. I’ll recap only the sunnier moments, as there were several, and this place is about to head into summer fun, where only the joyful will be celebrated.
It’s almost time for summer barbecues, summer parties, summer gatherings, and summer fun. While I’m always on the lookout for mosquito repellant success stories, I offer this helpful meme for those looking to throw off the other stinging bugs.
It’s all about distraction and false leads. Get them off your scent by offering something sweeter, and chase the kids away in the process. Win-win.
This is probably the second egg I’ve broken in the past few months, which is not a happy thing considering the price of eggs these days. It is, however, a lesson in going with the flow and not letting a broken egg ruin the day that follows. The past perfectionist in me would have thrown a conniption fit over such a thing, railing against the injustice of the world and whining to any and all within earshot (sorry Andy) until I made some small sense of it.
The relatively-new non-perfectionist in me takes it in stride, quickly wipes up the mess with a few paper towels, and carries on with the day. Not the biggest deal in the world, probably not even worth a blog post, but there is magic in making something out of nothing, and accepting the nonsensical side of the world is integral to being at peace in this place.
The last time I smelled lilies was when a large bouquet of them took pride of place on my mother’s dining room table when my Dad died in the summer of 2023. Knowing how powerfully a scent could conjure a memory, I’ve semi-subconsciously avoided them in any bouquets for that reason. The other day, however, I happened upon some lovely lilies in the market. Emi had just been telling me that lilies were her favorite flower, and I was looking for a bouquet for Andy as he has been so supportive over the last few stressful weeks. With a soft pink shading, the lilies matched the roses in the bouquet I was assembling, and I took a chance with whatever memory might be brought back to life.
It took them a day to open up, and then they filled the room with their heavenly perfume. It brought me back to that sorrowful summer, to all those sad days, but it wasn’t sadness I felt, it was comfort. It reminded me that as upsetting as it was, there was also something very beautiful about my Dad’s graceful exit from this world, and in the way we said goodbye to him. There was peace in those days – sadness, yes, but peace too – and there was beauty in those weeks. Beauty in the flowers that appeared from friends, in the flowers that were tumbling out of the gardens in that gorgeous summer, beauty in the white circle of flowers that surrounded his urn in the church, in that moment when the family I had known all my life would be in the same place for the last time. Or so I thought.
It would turn out that we would be together again – in every family dinner where Dad came up in conversation, in every moment I struggled and turned to the idea of him for protection, and in the scent of these lilies that brought it all back.
This is it – the week when summer officially arrives, and it looks to be – wait for it! – filled with RAIN!!! I’ve reached the crazed and exasperated point of ALL-CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!! As Andy will unhappily attest, this is decidedly NOT the time to fuck with me. Let’s get this weekly blog recap over with and dive back into the stormy weather before summer truly begins or I take a hostage…
Our day of white flowers comes to a close, as does our second Father’s Day without Dad. At the bottom of the hill where my father rests, a stand of wild white roses has rambled along the edge of the wood. Wild roses remind me of the rose shrub that stood at the edge of my childhood home. It only bloomed once a year – around this time – when it was covered in single yellow flowers, scented with the softest perfume. The extremely thorny stems made this a maddening rose, not even worth growing in my eyes, but every year it had a week or two of glory, and it signaled the happy arrival of summer, and my youth, where my Dad stood sentinel and guardian of all ills.
Father’s Day almost eluded me – I didn’t really feel much this time, and quite frankly almost forgot all about it until the social media posts started cropping up. I also understand why some people avoid the internet during such holidays after they’ve lost someone. Loss grants a certain humility and patience with other people, something you don’t fully fathom until you go through it yourself.
Dad has actually been subtly on my mind the past few weeks, almost subliminally so. It’s more of a gentle presence, something reassuring when I’ve had some moments of doubt and worry and stress. I found myself walking to the church during a recent lunch hour, the place where I’d go in a panicked state during his final weeks. It’s still a refuge, and I stepped into the hushed space grateful for the shadowy coolness, the possibility of something greater at work in a world that felt so messed up. I spoke silently to my father there, before I even spoke to God, and I think He understood.
This year our dogwood trees have been especially floriferous, and our indoor scene benefits from some overdue pruning at this particular time of the season. I’m not sure why I don’t see more bouquets using Chinese dogwood blooms (the American version is seen more often) – when captured early they can last for a couple of weeks, the leaves even longer, and a single branch can make for an entire elaborate bouquet. Life is difficult and ugly enough – we need more beauty, we need more art, we need more flowers… and this is my contribution.
Ensconced in the attic for yet another rainy weekend, we focused on white florals in the form of a small vase of dogwood and peony blooms. Frederic Malle’s ‘Carnal Flower’ provided olfactory enchantment, and the monochromatic white palette of our attic room made for a bright escape from the literal and proverbial darkness of the rest of the world.
Escapism may be the survival mode of this summer, as our elected leaders seem intent on throwing all of us to the wolves, as the ultra rich pull their strings and get richer, and no one in the Republican Party has the fortitude to speak truth and suffering to power. Alas, this won’t be turning into a political blog anytime soon – I’m spent. I didn’t make the mess, and I’m not cleaning it up. There’s a big difference between selfishness and self-protection.
All I have to offer is an attempt at grace, beauty, truth, acceptance and love. One has a formidable moral blueprint at hand when those tenets are embraced.
