Category Archives: General

The last weekend of January has arrived. Limping through it, I admit I’m a bit tired, and having difficulty finding motivation and inspiration to be excited over much. I’ve found myself going through the motions rather than being present and mindful – never a good thing, but understandable at this early point in winter. 

To make a small motion to turn things around, or gently feel the whispers of happiness and excitement, if only that means being open to the smallest glimpse of beauty in a day, I listen to a classic Madonna track or two (the exuberant ‘Open Your Heart‘ or the rollicking ‘Ray of Light‘), I clutch a bottle of Tom Ford’s ‘Fucking Fabulous’ before spraying some of that exquisite Private Blend onto my skin, and I go back out into the world, no matter the mood or weather. The day can be what you make it. Sometimes. 

A crescent moon winks at the dawn of dusk, if you can make much sense of that. It doesn’t come across clearly in these amateurish photos I attempted to take, but the idea is there, and during the winter an idea sometimes has to be enough. The idea that something could be cradled in the curve of a crescent moon is merely that – an idea. There is no empty space there – it’s filled with moon. We just can’t see it. Somewhere there’s an allegory to an iceberg in this, but it’s cold to delve into, and I’m not interested in following that path right now.

It’s Saturday night, I guess that makes it all right. (And anything is better than a full moon.)

Like many days since my Dad died, I spent the last few weeks in a bit of a haze, dazedly going about life’s daily routine on a sort of auto-pilot. After 48 years of living, sometimes you coast like that. It’s not my favored status. I’m not one for phoning things in (and not just because I hate talking in the phone). If I’m not wholly invested in something, I usually don’t do it. That’s not always possible with a job and mortgage and the basic responsibility of surviving.

And so I daze off, lost in a kind of soft focus, not totally or completely present. I can’t tell if anyone notices, and I’m not sure if that’s because I don’t want to know. The power of wishful thinking is a real thing. Rather than go too hard on myself, I’m accepting this, and waiting until I feel the stir of motivation. If it doesn’t come, it doesn’t come. The big chill is a real middle-aged issue, and there are good and bad things that come from it. A certain dulling and deadness to the world as it now stands isn’t entirely unwelcome. 

Andy had seen a fox in the backyard, spending a meaningful moment with it as it sat on the patio surrounding itself with its furry tail. Paths in the snow revealed a series of visits throughout our backyard, mostly nocturnal, and not only of foxes. Squirrels and rabbits make regular visits, often during the day. But the fox holds a special place in my heart, having been a totem animal for me at various times. (And ‘Foxy Lady’ is the song that Andy assigned to me when we first met, because there are no accidents in the universe.) 

Our front yard provides easier access for a wider variety of animals – everything from pheasants (our street’s namesake) to turkeys to deer – and whatever these paw prints might be. A neighbor’s cat, perhaps, or maybe something more interesting. Regardless, the mystery of visitors in the night remains to be solved, and I’m content if it stays a mystery, lost to the wilds of the weather. Footprints in the snow won’t last forever. 

Bear Grylls supplies the heat for this frigid Monday morning awfulness (and scroll through it all for some shirtless Zac Efron too). We are one month done with winter – about one-third of the way through the terrible season, and floating along in a mode of survival and not much else. Hunkering down, I lower my head against the wind, and offer you this weekly recap in the hopes that another winter week passes quickly and uneventfully. Stay warm, friends.

When a lightbulb goes off.

Staying calm amid the chaos.

The right track, baby.

Afterglow in Boston.

Flowers in winter.

The first snowfall of 2024.

Butt first, crack.

Glowing review of Madonna’s Celebration Tour as it hit Boston.

Tree of perspective.

Strange counter-fellows.

Aaron Taylor-Johnson walked so Jeremy Allen White could run – both in their CK underwear.

Hygge happening here.

Oscar Wilde is almost always accurate.

Even more Jeremy Allen White bulging in his underwear.

An old acquaintance, not forgot.

There is always a cup of iced coffee in this space.

The day the curtains came down.

A birthday post for my Mom.

I swear, I did not say this at work. Yet.

Winter’s steady tumult.

Practicing this makes for peace.

Light in a winter night.

It’s so not funny it’s funny.

Tea & sympathy.

Missing summer in a very naked way.

Dazzlers of the Day included such luminaries as Jonathan Bailey, Noah J. Ricketts, Paul Giamatti, Steven Romo, Sam Cushing, Bear Grylls and Ayo Edebiri.

“All you’re supposed to do is once in a while give the boys a little tea…” ~ Tea & Sympathy

Let us have this winter then, as if there was any other way to get around it other than going through it. Let us have our cups of steeped and steaming tea, anything to warm ourselves from the inside out. And let us have our lights, seeing us through the darkest nights. There are cold ones yet to come, but each will be a little shorter than the last, until finally the signs of spring will be upon us again. 

First, though, winter. 

Winter and an old film, based on an old play. 

“Manliness is not all swagger and mountain climbing. It’s also tenderness.” ~ Tea & Sympathy

Last night I watched ‘Tea & Sympathy’ for the first time, a cup of Earl Grey keeping me company, and the glow of a few candles lightly warming the air. It was the sort of Saturday night I’d been yearning for since I was a boy, believe it or not, and most will not. Despite the madness that has surrounded so many of my formative years – a madness I admittedly courted more often than not – all I ever really wanted was calm and comfort and peace. I just took a long and tumultuous path to get here. Being different can make for such difficult roads.

“Years from now when you talk about this – and you will – be kind.” ~ Tea & Sympathy 

Our little attic loft room provides a cozy respite from winter, and an ideal nook in which to read and pass a quiet evening. Andy found a room heater that works wonders, but on days where we try to conserve energy, when the cold from outside hasn’t entirely permeated the space, I find that a few candles lit throughout the day manage to keep things toasty enough. 

They also provide a warm glow that is easier on the eyes and countenance than all of the modern LED coolness. Outside the lone window of the space, I can spy snow nestled in the boughs of an old pine tree, and below in the yard there are the remnants of a summer not-quite-well-spent. There are seeds to next summer planted there as well, seeds of hope buried beneath the snow, waiting only for the right combination of light and warmth to ignite their new season. 

Winter was always the sad season, and as much as I have tried to learn to embrace it, it remains the season of somber sobriety. I’m not minding that as much this year. Finding the way to an acceptance of it is an important part of looking over the edge of middle age. If one’s life is divided into seasonal sections, mine is about to surrender summer to fall.

That is the only certain precursor to winter.

And so I hunker down, getting busy with the emotional tasks at hand, while outside the snow and wind rages, interspersed with brilliant bits of blue sky and white sun. Shadows elongate, yet so too does the daylight, growing a little longer with each passing week. Without hurry or rush, the days and weeks unfold as they will. With a deep breath, and a patient, measured exhalation, I lean into winter.  

Some people get a little sad when taking down the holiday decor they’ve amassed and assembled in the spirit of the season. By this point in the year, I’m grateful and welcoming of the fresh start and clean slate that instantly presents itself upon removing all the Christmas decorations. In our Boston place, that means taking down this wall of curtains that served to make things a little more cozy during our holiday gatherings. 

These colorful dividers created a little nook of a space between the living room and bedroom, right near the wooden, gas-lamp-bracketed wet bar and mirror, harkening to some lifetime and era long before my own. It lended an intimacy to the high-ceilings, and provided a little escapade for guests who wanted a quiet moment in semi-privacy. Such secrecy seems ideal for hushed holidays, but my mind is on spring, and as we approach that I want to open things back up again. 

Do ignore my random blue sneaker. Real life has a way of sneaking into the most fantastical moments of imagination and whimsy. 

Madonna has been indulging in a bit of nostalgia on her current Celebration Tour (which I finally got the chance to attend, and it was everything I wanted it to be and more). I find myself in the same headspace of looking back, especially with recent reunions with old friends from many, many years ago. The older I get, the more that tends to happen, as the majority of my life begins to fade into the rear-view window of this vehicle called existence. A weighty statement that is best left in that faded view, along with this weekly recap.

It began with this bit of trash talk.

All rose, no leather.

The month for meditation.

My grandmother’s waltz.

Flowers in the winter.

Silent snow, not at all secret snow.

My ass-crack deserves its own #TinyThreads post.

A glowing review of Madonna’s Celebration Tour – her greatest comeback thus far.

Tree of perspective.

Mundane life-shot.

Aaron Taylor-Johnson walked so Jeremy Allen White could run.

Oscar Wilde is almost always accurate.

Hygge happens here.

More of Jeremy Allen White in his underwear.

Nostalgia overload: old acquaintance, not forgot. 

Dazzlers of the Day included Da’Vine Joy Randolph, Katie Phang, Issa Rae, Paul Giamatti, and Steven Romo.

“It’s late and I’m very, very tired of youth and love and self-sacrifice.” ~ Kit Marlowe, ‘Old Acquaintance’

When my friend LeeMichael proposed seeing Madonna’s Celebration Tour together, I hesitated. First, I wanted to be sure that Andy wasn’t interested in seeing it with me, as he is my husband and we’ve enjoyed seeing her together in the past, though I did get the feeling he was only humoring me much of the time. When he said he didn’t mind if I went with LeeMichael, we got the tickets and planned to attend.

The August dates originally scheduled for Madonna’s Boston shows were soon scrapped as she delayed due to her scary hospital stint, then rescheduled for this month. That allowed for a couple of dinners to plan wardrobe for our attendance. These were the things one did when you were ride-or-die Team Madonna. They were also the flimsy trappings of an excuse to have dinner with an old acquaintance who had somehow grown into an old friend after all our years together. We occupy unique places in each other’s lives; I don’t know anyone else with whom I shared a single date, proceeded to stalk, and then somehow persisted in winning over as a friend. (And I’m pretty sure he has not become as close to any of his former stalkers either.)

Our unique history, after that awkward beginning, in many respects started its friendship phase in 2001 when we saw each other in the sea of people that was exiting Madonna’s ‘Drowned World Tour’ – so our attendance at her Celebration tour decades later felt like a full circle moment (something we’d been rather adept at creating as evidenced by this ‘Sunset Boulevard’ recollection). We reconnected then and have somehow kept in touch with annual and semi-annual dinners and shows through the years – often at pivotal moments, such as just after he met the man who would become his husband, then right around the time of our respective weddings, and every few months to catch up on where our lives were at. We shared one dinner around the time when I had just stopped drinking, and at a time in life when I needed to be around people who were supportive and safe, he fulfilled that role. 

My pessimism often gets the better of me, so whenever I send him a text out of the blue, I always expect him to decline and put it off, but he’s usually game for a night out. After knowing him for twenty-seven (eek!) years, some of them very difficult years, there is a new comfort in our friendship, one that wasn’t there before. 

As he dropped me off after the show, ‘Crazy For You’ played in the car, and I think he said it was kind of fitting, given the crazy years that came before – and, finally, I could truly laugh at it – laugh, and let it go. 

As I went to bed that night, I watched a bit of ‘Old Acquaintance’ – a Bette Davis film about a friendship that somehow survives a lifetime. The universe often winks like that when you need a little reassurance.  

Recent years have found me making the most of winter by embracing the concept of hygge – a Danish word and idea that loosely translates into the embrace of coziness and warmth in the simple joys that matter, especially when that involves sharing joy with family and friends. In my mind, it’s that cozy feeling produced when you step out of a hot shower in winter and into a plush robe, then pull on a pair of your fluffiest socks before snuggling into a favored nook on a couch beside a loved one. That’s a ridiculously specific description of a feeling of coziness, but it works for me. You might find hygge in the simple lighting of a candle on these dark winter nights, and a vase of evergreen sprigs seeing us through a snowy spell. Suzie finds it in listening to the Danish String Quartet, and there’s something to that if you’ll give them a listen. 

Hygge has found its way into a number of posts here, and is a wonderful way to wind our path along winter. You are invited to explore more of it in the links that follow, and to make your own customs and habits – whatever gets you through the darker seasons.

Breaking the morning in candlelight is kinder than clicking on any lamp or overhead light. 

Partaking of hygge before I even heard of the word in the decades-long crocheting of this blanket. A different kind of blanket can be found in the falling of snow. 

Setting a hygge scene can be as simple or as cheesy or as meaningful as you want it to be. 

Conjuring moments of coziness and pockets of peaceful comfort, hygge can be crafted and celebrated in numerous ways. 

Dancing in the hygge flames is one way of staying warm.

Much of hygge rightfully centers on family and friends, and this day with Dad will always be one of my favorite winter memories.

The heat of the kitchen makes for a few cozy moments to stave off winter cold and hunger, as do snow-covered winter weekends with visiting friends and family.

Through the bleak winter wilderness, there are ways of finding warmth and light. 

Holiday sparkle is largely made of hygge.

Hunker down here and we’ll make our way through this winter together.

Whenever I get bogged by the mundane details of life and the annoying minutiae of a troublesome moment, I move to any of the windows on the back-side of our home and look up to this evergreen in the distance. It must stand at around 100 feet tall, and be around 75 years old, give or take a couple of decades (the latter is most definitely a rough guesstimate). Its size and age immediately put things into perspective, and as I examine its snow-laden boughs I think of all the life it has sustained over its existence. You’ve probably seen this view before, as I often post it whenever there’s a need to be grounded.

When you think of everything that has happened in the last 75 years, this tree has stood through it all, unbothered and exceedingly unaffected by any of it. The only thing that may have troubled it is weather or disease, and neither looks to have scarred it in any way. It’s been putting forth pinecones for future trees ever since we’ve been here, and though they are largely raked away or pulled out of the manicured surroundings, its lineage could be easily continued if the neighbors allowed so. 

For now, and likely for the remainder of my life, it will stand in such stead, a lesson and reminder of how transient our human lives really are – a reminder of how silly our trifling worries are in the great map of our earth. 

We haven’t had much snow over the last couple of years, and that hasn’t bothered me. (I’m still smarting from a winter of 70-plus inches of snow that kept me from Boston for three months straight a number of years ago.) I don’t ski or snowboard – well, aside from that one time which took me an hour to get down the bunny slope while my brother and Suzie passed me at least three times. 

Still, I have a soft spot for a little bit of snow, especially at the start of winter. For those of us who live in the Northeast, this is how life should be at this point in the year. If you don’t like it, move somewhere that better suits your climate preferences. 

On the fallen mop-heads of an ‘Endless Summer’ hydrangea, winter dresses up what we thought autumn took away. That magic of snow is what makes it worth all the problematic aspects it presents worth the work. Winter is like that too, and in the last few years I’ve come to slowly appreciate and ultimately embrace its hold.