Category Archives: General

Careening toward the shortest day of the year, light will be fleeting and elusive for most of our waking hours now. When it’s out and about, I try to take advantage of it, at least once a day. It’s easy to get bogged down in a work day, or any day for that matter, when we sink into familiar ruts and dim passageways, finding our way in the dark because was are so accustomed to it. That’s how I usually pass through winter. But to find or make the time for a little light appreciation is important. 

I find myself very affected by the dwindling light, and so I compensate in other ways – with lots of candles and electric lights thrown on at all times of the day. A little utility splurge for mental health is warranted these days, and if it eases the pain of winter to come, let us have the indulgence. 

Soon all these leaves will be gone, even the last few tenacious stragglers on the mighty oak, always the last to leave, and then all will be barren until the spring. There will be beauty then too, stark and bare, but beautiful still. 

Andy’s been hearing and seeing the cardinals around the backyard the past couple of weeks, but I have been missing them. The other day, however, I was sitting at the dining room table working when a small spot of red appeared in my peripheral vision, and I found this cardinal sitting in the dogwood tree outside our front window. It stayed there, perched quietly on its branch, looking around and surveying the surround area. There was a strong wind that day, but it stayed stoically there, its feathers slightly ruffled in the moving air, but otherwise entirely unbothered. 

It was such a happy scene, and I immediately thought of Dad, who hasn’t been on my mind as much lately, but whose presence seems to be returning for the run-up to the holidays. Maybe he’s sensing my disconnect from family, and this is his way of saying he’s still here. Watching the cardinal, I feel a sense of peace in this discontented world. The cardinal turns and looks at me for a moment, then is gone. 

This weekend marks a planned Friendsgiving celebration with Kira, kicking off our holiday festivities with one of my favorite events. We started this little tradition a few years ago, on a whim, the way we start our best traditions. Back then, as now, we convene in Boston and do one night at home, then one night out for a fancy dinner. It’s usually a toss-up as to which I like better. Here’s a look back at some previous outings of thanks.

Friendsgiving 2023: 

   – Part One

    – Part Two

       – Part Three

          – Part Four

             – Part Five

                 – Part Six

                     – Part Seven

Friendsgiving 2021:

– Part One

   – Part Two

Friendsgiving 2019:

    – Just One Part

Mentally preparing for the holidays is a marathon of sorts for anyone with social anxiety. I’m much better at defining boundaries, opting out when necessary, and maintaining a calm composure when faced with people at their worst and best. This year especially, I’m good with simply saying no and spending a quiet evening with Andy. 

That said, I know there are a lot of people encounters ahead, and I’m girding the loins for barreling through the next two months. Practicing patience and compassion is but a branch off of mindfulness, and though it’s not my comfort zone, it will be good to embrace a challenge. I won’t wholly isolate; I will work to share moments with loved ones. Joining in humanity for all of its workings is part of the ‘shades of gray’ project from twenty years ago (and currently being posted in bits and pieces) – it’s filled with observations of others rather than an interior introspection that often characterizes my writing.

I still feel a love for people, even when they make it especially difficult. 

My naked ass was definitely going to cause a commotion if I posted it on Facebook, so I preemptively censored it as seen below. A big ‘Bleeped’ sticker hides my bare butt in practically its entirety, so I thought it would be ok as there are much more revealing items on social media, especially Facebook. I’ve been down this road before, and while it’s always fun to get a few more clicks (that’s what censorship does for nude posts) it’s still a pain in the, well, you know. 

So I censored it with the sticker as seen below:

A minute after it went up, the FB bots took it down, putting restrictions on my account in some form (I don’t make any money from this site through FB, or any other way for that matter) – and it just annoyed me, so I submitted an appeal for review. Usually those appeals result in no change, and in this case I assumed they would stick to their original judgment that this sticker-clad shot violated the ‘no nudity or sexual activity‘ provision. I carried on with the morning, turning it into some clickbait for people to visit the original post to see what was censored again (thanks for the bump in traffic, FB!) About twenty minutes later, they changed their mind. 

Meanwhile, people can threaten my life, call me ‘faggot’, and tell me my time is limited here on earth. Now that the election has emboldened and empowered the hateful people again, this is just the beginning. There’s a difference the time around, though: the last time this goon got into office, I toned down my posts out of concern for the attacks. This time, I’m going in the opposite direction. 

As Gregory Maguire so presciently wrote: “When the times are a crucible, when the air is full of crisis… those who are most themselves are the victims.”

I’ve never been a victim, and I’m not about to begin. I’m going to be more myself than ever, and put it all up here on the daily. So when you see Facebook shut me down for good, and Instagram soon follows, you know where I’ll be – right here. The same place I was when Facebook and social media as we knew it were born. 

Do not be afraid.

Be yourself. 

Be yourself more than you have ever been before. 

Following a stretch of black and white entries, and all sorts of ‘shades of gray’, this post feels like Dorothy entering Oz from the sepia-toned doldrums of Kansas. Even if it’s less gloriously-shaded than late spring or early summer posts, it manages its own magnificence. Fall thrills differently than spring and summer. It’s strange to see the blue of the pool echo the blue of the sky at such a late date, but our world is sick, and this is one symptom of its slow-burning-up. We’ll get there soon enough, and for those too young to realize it yet, hope you can stay cool. 

The lotus is born amid mess and muck. I try to remember that when stirring up the still waters of the past. The muddy murkiness that results often gets me into trouble for making such a mess, but sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. Or some bullshit we tell ourselves to make sense of the hurtful. 

Lately I’ve been analyzing things, questions that have arisen over decades of patterns that I’ve only recently seen with a keener sense of such long-range arcs. 

Why have I always felt so uncomfortable around my family? 

Why have I always sought out mother figures?

Why did my most consistent drinking happen during family events? 

Why does the both-sides framing of things trigger me so much?

Why does injustice feel so personal? 

I’m beginning to detect answers as I look over my family history, and see the ways in which we have established, confirmed and exacerbated dysfunctional patterns. I’ve seen where the problem child gets the help and aid, and felt the cool shadow of neglect for doing what is right and expected. I’ve returned rebellious behavior thinking it will turn things in other ways. I’ve brought things up to burn them down and only ever gotten hurt in the telling of truths. 

After some extensive talking in therapy, I see that perhaps stepping back a bit is best for my own self-preservation, and when I look over the past I see that all my behavior has been done with an instinct for survival. Whenever there have been moments of confusion, when things didn’t make sense or felt off, I usually attributed it to me, rather than the systems in place that may have resulted in my predicaments. My default was self-blame, reinforced by guilt and generations of family tradition. Maybe we all fell into those patterns, and took up those roles because they were all we knew. I don’t ever believe anything was intentionally malicious; that doesn’t negate the fact that I’ve been the one consistently hurt, over and over and over again. 

Untangling decades of such confusion isn’t going to happen overnight. It’s also likely to be a one-man-show, as this hasn’t seemed to bother anyone else. Another sign of confirmation, as the only journey over which I have any sense of control is my own. 

While the previous post went back twenty years, this one skirts a little closer and looks back to where this blog was at ten years ago. A lot can happen in a decade, but seeing where November began then puts it closer to where we are now than might be apparent. Still, we have profoundly changed, even if it doesn’t look like it. 

Back then, it sounded like I was losing my mind. Same today. Check.

Back then I needed bifocals. Same today. Check.

Back then I enjoyed an avocado. Same today. Check.

Back then I was already looking back ten years. Same today. Check.

Back then Ben Cohen was an ally. Same today. Check.

Back then I was enamored of ‘Evita’. Same today. Check.

Back then Cafe Madeleine had just opened. Not the same today – it closed a while ago. 

Back then ‘Like A Virgin’ was thirty years old. Not the same today – it’s forty.

Back then I was in love with words. Same today. Check.

Back then I didn’t have a clue about keeping score for a basketball game. Same today. Check. 

Back then I had a party in my pants. Same today. Check. 

Back then I simply didn’t give a fuck. Same today. Check.

Who knew that 2004 would feel like such a quaint time? I don’t think we’ll look back at 2024 with quite the same fondness. While we continue along the corridors of my ‘shades of gray’ project, I am pausing to recall a party we had to celebrate its release – a photo from that night fronts this previous blog post – the featured photo for this post is simply from around that time.

It was a fall night in October, and though we usually saved our big gathering for the holidays, that year we were ambitious and had a party in the fall as well. I don’t remember much from it – other than a good time was had by all, and I had made sausage cheddar meatballs for an appetizer. It was designed to be a cozy night – and I wore an old three-piece gray suit that once belonged to Andy. (Today neither of us could fit into that thing.) 

Outside, fall raged and darkened, but inside there was warmth and light, music and laughter, friends and bonhomie. We created our own coziness, we made our own merriment. The outside world may have seen itself as black and white, but our inner world was all these beautiful shades of gray…

~SHADES OF GRAY~

Midway Through Life

Gray Ghost 1

A Bagel in Boston

At the Mall

Gray Ghost 2

Squirrelly

Brother 1

Andy’s Mom

This day began in usual fashion. I signed on early to the work laptop and began sorting through e-mails. Andy padded out to the living room, put on his classical music, then turned on the coffee-maker. I went outside for a minute and took these pictures of the sky and the remaining leaves in the early sunlight. They would fall off soon enough. The air was warm – warmer than it should be for November, a little blessing when the mornings have recently been so cold. 

I wondered why it didn’t feel like I was in proper mourning. Maybe when you’ve mourned things that really matter, you no longer feel so affected by world events. Then I realized: I’ve already mourned.

I mourned when Donald Trump got elected the first time.

I mourned when his administration separated children from their families. 

I mourned when he incited an insurrection, his followers trashed our Capitol, and he tried to overthrow an election. 

I mourned when he stole classified documents and got away with it. 

I mourned when he was convicted of sexual assault and didn’t serve jail time.

I mourned when he appointed Supreme Court Justices who promptly took away reproductive freedom from women. 

I mourned when he allowed a pandemic to ravage our people by downplaying it and giving out misinformation. 

I mourned when he embraced racism and homophobia and sexism.

I mourned when the media presented both candidates as relatively equal, and then people who didn’t really follow politics assumed they must be, so any little thing could sway them one way or another rather than presenting the clear and present danger one candidate was. 

I mourned when I saw interviews with young people who said they were voting for Trump and when pressed why didn’t have any answer whatsoever, and didn’t even seem to care. 

I mourned when this country even considered that someone who spoke like that man would be a fit President. 

Mostly, I mourned for the people who suffered the most under his policies and didn’t even realize it until it was too late. 

So for me, I’ve already mourned what has happened, and what is about to happen. I’m not mourning this again. 

Outside, I watch the sun move a little higher in the sky. Feathery seed heads of fountain grass sway gently in the breeze, and every now and then an oak leaf spins slowly to the ground. It truly is a beautiful morning. Our little world, of beauty and love and compassion, is still intact. Find me here. 

We jumped the gun on thinking we had our last swim of the season, as Andy and I both went into the pool yesterday – November 5 – which marks our very latest to be in the water. It was quite a different experience, even more-so than last time. Where the late spring swims were perfumed by lilacs and lilies-of-the-valley, this time the air was seasoned with the earthy scent of fallen leaves – it was the smell of rust and brown and gray, a tinge of rot, a dollop of decay – fall upon the fallen.

There was also a restless wind, a playful wind, that reminded me of Dad, somewhere still watching over me. I wonder what he would make of things now. What would he make of this world, of the world he once knew, so wholly transformed into something likely unrecognizable to him? I shudder in the air, so cool after the warm water. 

The yard about us is changed, leveled by the frosts, laid bare and barren by the onslaught of fall in the nights. Grasses have spilled over the pool ladder, pots of tomato plants have fallen onto their side. This will be the disheveled scene until we clean it all up in the spring. Winter snows will offer some reprieve. The focus turns to the interior. It’s time, but both of us will miss the pool. On that November afternoon, before we know what this country was capable of doing, it offered healing and calm – one last chance at floating away.

PS – Don’t take this as the definitive last swim – perhaps we’ll be in again when snow is in the air. Like it used to cover the roses…

When you’ve grown up in this country as part of a marginalized community, you see and feel enough hate to not have much faith in other Americans. While a small part of me had hope that this country was better than that, deep down I doubted it. And with a media machine that kept people woefully misled and uninformed, electing a black woman was just too difficult for many people to do. So no, I’m not surprised, just profoundly disappointed. Again. 

And I’m sad – mostly for my niece Emi – and all the young girls – because they saw so many of their fellow citizens choose a convicted felon over a capable and competent woman… again. She texted me early this morning, writing, “How awful today is… We can only hope and pray.”

She then followed it up with, “I can vote next election!”

I hope she’s right. 

Saving some daylight, night comes early now, increasing its hold and sway for the next two months. This post concludes our intended day of peace and calm, with a cozy glimpse of candlelight. I used this candle to light a stick of Palo Santo incense, then sat in the early evening doing my daily meditation. 

A very long, slow, deep breath in…

a very long, slow, controlled breath out…

and again… and again… slowly, calmly, deliberately. 

When all else fails, and you feel like you’re been left with nothing, you always have your breath, right up until the day you die. It’s one of the few constants in a world where everything we once thought we could count on has slowly dissolved away. The older I get, the more I realize that. At first it was sad, as most of the changes had to do with loss – of health, of loved ones, of youth – but then it was jubilant, as it meant a certain freedom. Some days, all we have is our breath – and it is enough. When I focus on breathing – when I slow it down and let it occupy my mind – it pushes the silly things out of the way – the grievances, the hurt, the offenses. In their place I can plant swaths of peace and cultivated calm. Weeds will always pop up in the neglected patches of our minds – the trick is to fill the space with mindfulness. 

On this night, of all the nights, I burrow into that mindfulness, and by the light of this candle I begin the deep breathing. 

This day feels large and important, and slightly dangerous too, so to act as counter-programming, I’m going back to the main premise of this blog, to the atmosphere I attempted to create over twenty one years ago. Back then, and for all the ensuing years, I have tried to foster a place where calm and beauty came together for a thoughtful, whimsical, and sometimes trifling exploration of escapism. While it’s also been a diary of sorts, I’ve done my best to make things palatable and engaging, without being too off-putting and challenging. Sarcasm and snakiness often run through my daily existence, but this space has been a reminder to me to be gentle – not only on myself, but on what I present to the world. 

To that end, I am filling this day with hope and light and a little bit of whimsy. We begin with the very first Thanksgiving/Christmas/Easter cactus bloom, just in time for the early start of another holiday season. Just as the outside gardens are finishing up (a few last blooms a little later) this stunner of a color called to me from the guest room in which it quietly resides. I’d noticed the swelling of the buds a couple of weeks ago, and the cuttings that I took of it earlier this year have begun setting buds themselves – the circle of life finds a new generation of epiphytes taking gentle root. 

Yes, I’ve given in and begun the acknowledgment that we are already in holiday season. I’ve started my Christmas shopping, even if it’s too late to start that damn Christmas club everyone was talking about. Come back for a late-season look at some more pink flowers. 

For anyone looking for a bit of escapism this week (hello to the possible end of democracy as we know it) this site may offer you a way out with the online debut of my ‘shades of gray’ project – which marks its 20th anniversary this fall. I’ve been wanting to post it for a while, and since we are two decades into its existence, it felt like the right time at last. There were other things going on this past week, so let’s take a look with at weekly recap – and then you can go back to worrying about whether this country still believes in its original founding principles. PS – Don’t vote a convicted, lying felon.

It began with a charming trip to New York with my person. 

The way Maggie Smith says ‘fork’ in ‘The First Wives Club’.

A detour post.

Mid-life crisis or mid-life meditation?

When a witch turns their back…

Who’s afraid of little old me?

Bewitchery becoming: a witch’s playlist.

Sound the siren.

All-too-brief visit.

Think about this.

A bad and cruel place.

A villain re-emerges.

It’s Ben Cohen calendar time.

A November surprise twenty years in the making.

Midway through life.

Gray ghost.

Summer storm, Part 1.

Dazzlers of the Day included Christopher Sieber and Cooper Koch.