My therapist once likened one of my perplexingly over-wrought responses to a relatively minor event to a bucket that had reached its maximum fill level: a single drop would set such a bucket splitting apart. These days I feel that proverbial bucket nearing its capacity, and more, I feel the little things about to start busting all its seams open.
I’ve explained to those around me that whatever grief I’ve been feeling has shifted into a general state of agitation and annoyance, mostly funneled into the bothered brusqueness of being rude to strangers, swearing at motorists, sighing at slow check-out lines, and other signs of dissatisfaction. I’m a little bit angry at a lot of the world, and lately I’ve felt it better to be by myself, holing up in the attic, steering clear of the news, and disengaging from social media aside from the regular blog links that keep this place bookmarked lest anyone forget. Having done so for twenty years, I can do such updates in my sleep, and much of my life feels like it’s on autopilot anyway.
This Thanksgiving post is about gathering the emotional and mental fortitude to find gratitude, as that is what will be more trying this year. Of course there is always something, often many things, to which we should offer gratitude and appreciation, and I’ve always been relatively decent about expressing that. This year, however, things feel a little off, as it’s our first holiday season without Dad, and out of our old home, and all the change is proving difficult. The holidays have, up until now, provided the one moment we usually managed to come together.
And so, a different sort of gratitude – and mostly this Thanksgiving is about giving thanks to all the years our family had in more or less intact form. It doesn’t end, it only changes and evolves. When I think about the upcoming holiday season, I expect it to be different, and sadder, and maybe all the other changes will do us some good. In many ways, I didn’t anticipate being bothered or upset by the holidays, because in truth my Dad didn’t play a big role in the mayhem of this most wonderful time of the year. I think he was sometimes more comfortable going to work or OTB than being home without those outlets being open for a few hours. Not that he didn’t enjoy his family, he simply didn’t know what to do with himself other than watch television or peruse his racing forms. In the last four or five years, his health was such that he didn’t participate much at all, which was just an exacerbated extension of the slight disengagement we all knew and accepted, and which I understand more and more the older I get.
For me, Thanksgiving hasn’t been the same since 1990, which is when our family and the Ko family spent the last holiday season with all of us still alive; Suzie’s Dad died the following spring, shifting our lives irrevocably.
In 2001, Andy’s Mom died on this day, adding another layer of loss to the holiday, and changing our lives again. The holidays grew a little sadder, a little lonelier then, especially for Andy.
But on Thanksgiving, we’d still get together, and my Dad would still carve the turkey, and it was the one thing that seemed to stay the same until a couple of years ago.
I will miss that, I will miss his perfectly-carved turkey, and I will be thankful for all those years we had, while looking for the ways our family might move forward.
Here’s wishing a Happy Thanksgiving to you – embrace your loved ones who are here, and hold tight to the memories of those who are no longer with us.
The most important post of the year is at last going up: my Christmas Wish List!
Just kidding.
After being ridiculed and lambasted for still posting a Christmas wish list this far into my forties, I’ve decided that maybe the cynical and the grown-up among us are right, and the idea of me being high-maintenance, exacting and hard-to-please needs no additional fuel. I used to think that making a list with the precise links and sizes and colors of things I wanted was the easiest way for people to figure me out, but it’s time to see how well my friends and family have been paying attention. Because gift-giving is relatively easy when one listens and engages with their loved ones.
I’m looking forward to all the pleasant surprises and unexpectedness that this season might bring, and seeing just how well people care to know me!
This evergreen stands in the yard of a neighbor, and is a focal point in our backyard view. It rises high above all fences and electrical lines, and it surpasses houses and antennae and weathervanes (yes, one of our neighbors has a weathervane). Its trunk and branches provide resting spaces and respite for all manner of creatures – squirrels, chipmunks, and birds of all kinds. I see them traveling along the wood like its some super-highway for critters.
Right now, it dangles pine cones like it’s decking itself purposefully out for Christmas, and in the early-afternoon light of a sunset (too early for my preference) they glow against a cloud-scattered sky. Nature’s own way of presenting herself will always best any tree-trimming we humans might attempt.
While things were kept sunny and cheery on the blog, this past week in real life was wretched. Across the board, it sucked, even while dinner and movie nights with Suzie and Skip respectively helped keep the tears at bay. Maybe it’s just the realization that with mid-November comes the irrefutable fact of winter up next, and after a summer that left such a chill in our hearts, I’m not sure I can handle what winter will bring.
Driving home from work the other day, just as the sun was going down (because that’s what pushing time back does to us) I saw this strange color variation in the sky. This is not, despite what it might look like, a picture of the sun and surrounding clouds – this section of sky was a good distance away from where the sun was shining, so I’m not sure what was going on in the atmosphere, or how this might be explained because I’m not Bill Nye the science guy. At any rate, it made me stop in my non-stop day, and in that brief arrested state I wanted to weep a little because some days feel dark no matter how bright the sky may be.
My grief of late seems to be taking a consistent and all-pervasive state of agitation and annoyance, when it doesn’t have me simply sleepwalking through the average day. The latter has always been worse than the former for me: I’d rather be agitated and annoyed than apathetic and completely devoid of engagement, but that’s where I’ve been finding myself. It’s not a pleasant place to be. When I was younger I would see people with the sort of vacant and unfocused stares I find myself giving out now, and back then I’d wonder at why they had given up. I can understand a little more these days, and that’s somewhat frightening. Maybe I am just getting old. Or older. More on that in one of the links below.
As for this upcoming entry to the holiday season proper, I may just decide to go full Ebenezer Scrooge without the redemptive ending. Not to worry, as the great Alexander Dumas once wrote, “I’ll bury my grief deep inside me and I’ll make it so secret and obscure that you won’t even have to take the trouble to sympathize with me.” On with the weekly recap, albeit abbreviated!
While the world burned, our Friendsgiving weekend in Boston (which now feels like it never even happened at all) filled the posts here, giving the impression that all was well. Those fun days got recapped in this post, so I won’t bother you with them all again.
I hate getting a haircut. Ever since my grandfather died on the day I got a haircut in high school I’ve had an aversion to it, which seems at odds with the high-maintenance/perfectionist persona I pretend to peddle. I also never take it too seriously, and thus far it has always grown back, so I’m perfectly content to run into Supercuts once a month and hope they do a quick ten-minute job just cleaning up the back and sides.
Yesterday morning, I worked up the courage to get a cut before the holiday season begins in earnest, and found an available stylist who eagerly took me into his chair, beginning with some small talk on what my weekend plans were.
“I hope my hair comes in like yours when I’m old.”
I managed to temper the shock with a bit of genuine laughter as he hurried to try to put it a better way.
“I meant the gray looks great! I just mean I hope my hair looks that good when…”
“When you’re old,” I finished when he paused. “Yeah, I got it.”
Out of shock, exasperation and the realization of reality staring at us both from the mirror, I laughed. Richly and genuinely. In self-defeat, self-acknowledgement, and self-effacement. After I paid for his services and unsolicited commentary, he had the audacity to give me his business card.
And that was the day there was blood on the barber shop floor.
Keeping a promise made in this shirtless teaser post, this marks Glen Powell’s official crowning as Dazzler of the Day, thanks to his bare-ass posing in Men’s Health. Brought to my attention by the magnificent Matt Rettenmund of ‘Boy Culture’ (which is basically the only blog I bother reading anymore, present company included) Powell drops trou while arguably at the height of his physical appeal. Time may be a thief, but it’s playing for Powell right now. With scene-shredding turns in ‘Top Gun: Maverick’, ‘Hidden Figures’, and the ‘Scream Queens’ series, Powell consistently makes his vehicles must-see events. His magazine spreads are similarly scintillating.
This past weekend marked a return to Boston, a reunion with Kira, and the unofficial kick-off to the holiday season with an early Friendsgiving. Allow me to enjoy this moment a little while longer… and then on with the weekly recap.
So I said, “Listen, I got…” And I said, uh, uh, somethin’ about, uh Goin’ to somebody’s funeral or something, she, I said, “Man, ” I said I said, “Bring my flowers now, while I’m living”
Bring my flowers now, while I’m livin’ I won’t need your love when I’m gone Don’t spend time, tears, or money on my old breathless body If your heart is in them flowers, bring ’em on…
When JoAnn proposed a visit to the Armour-Stiner Octagon House, it was late spring and the promise of summer laid before us in all its splendor and hope. Of course, summers don’t always go as planned, and this one prevented us from making our planned trip, as well as canceling our annual summer visit. We made up for it last weekend, transforming it into a lovely fall weekend visit, with a drive through the foliage that would have only been green had we done it when originally planned. A small bit of recompense for our disappointing summer.
All the miles cast a long shadow I’d take a couple back if I could I’d’ve learned to play guitar Told my daddy more I loved him But I believe, for the most part, I done good
The Armour-Stiner Octagon House, erected in the latter half of the 1800’s, is a marvel of artistry and wonder, and one of only about 1000 houses that were built in such a shape in that period. On this day we went back in time, a feat of magical movement that proved a balm for the soul, as did spending time with a friend I’ve had for a quarter of a century.
The house welcomed use with a double set of round stairs leading easily and comfortably up to the grand surrounding porch. I could have lived right there and been content, so marvelous were the surroundings and the view. Our day was sumptuously sunny too, and already in the 70’s by mid-morning.
There’s always sunrise and rainbows and babies And the little things I cherish on my way Even though one day They’ll bury me and Jessie Mae I just know we’re gonna ride again someday
Bring my flowers now, while I’m livin’ I won’t need your love when I’m gone Don’t spend time, tears, or money on my old breathless body Well, if your heart is in them flowers, bring ’em on
Inside was just as enchanting, and our guide told us tales of the previous owners, the renovation, and the present day functions of the eccentrically-shaped home. There was even a story of the ghostly Lady in White who was reported to occasionally haunt the space. Personally, I loved one of the triangular ‘solarium’ rooms, which was bathed in sunlight and provided a home for their outdoor palms and plants when the frosts arrived.
Glimpsing into the home of a family is always an intimate thing. It thrills us for various reasons – the notion of being let in behind the curtain, the understanding of someone’s home environment, the hints of their personality revealed in their living situation. In a house as grand as this, one seeks out little secrets of life, searching for parallels with their own.
The days are long but the years are lightning They’re bright and they will never strike again I wish I’d been a better friend, a better daughter to my mother There’s no goin’ back when your back’s against the wind
At this time of the year, they were capitalizing on the holidays, with a dining room decked out in the splendor you see here, along with some spooky touches for a haunted tour to take place later that day. The universal celebrations that we all experience in some way remind me that this circle of life is just that – a never-ending circle, repeating as it traces back upon itself. There was comfort in the thought, and comfort in the lovely surroundings.
Our beautiful exploration there felt like a visit to another time, and sharing it with a friend like JoAnn, who had been through so much in her life, was an exercise of healing, one that I didn’t fully understand how much I needed.
Generations of various families had walked and played around this majestic home, and through it all the house stood at various conditions, somehow surviving and living to whisper its tales and history through faded photos and passed-on stories. Its beauty carried on.
We listened to music on the long drive home – one of JoAnn’s greatest gifts to me has been sharing her musical tastes of the moment, and this song spoke of the moment. It was a very good moment.
Bring my flowers now, while I’m livin’ I won’t need your love when I’m gone Don’t spend time, tears, or money on my old breathless body If your heart is in them flowers, bring ’em on If your heart is in them flowers, bring ’em on
This fall marks the 25th anniversary of my friendship with Kira, and this weekend marks our reunion in Boston after over a year of not seeing each other. In many ways, this marks a new beginning – we’ve both been through a difficult year, and I have a feeling the weekend will be one of healing and catching up.
Twenty-five years ago we were both working at John Hancock, sharing lunch in the basement cafeteria of the tallest building in Boston, and finding our way into our early-to-mid-twenties. The picture here is from a couple years after that, when I returned to Boston in 2000, before each of us would move away to be with the men who would become our husbands. We were still so young, still so unsure of where we were headed, where we were meant to be. Something told us we were better off going through such uncertainty together.
This picture cracks me up for reasons known only to a select few – a private, inside joke among family that need not be explained or expounded upon here. A little mystery is good.
It was the dawn of the 1980’s, and I was but a wee lad, so I’m not sure how I had such a knowing crush on such a penal code kind of guy. While audiences were going wild for Erik Estrada in ‘CHiPs’, my sights were set on his partner, Larry Wilcox. As Ponch and Jon, they made for a team with great friendship and chemistry. I thought I just wanted a partner like that; I also felt a tingling that drew me to the blond-haired, blue-eyed police officer.
Posting a picture of Mr. Wilcox on my social media, I inquired as to who others had as their first celebrity crushes. The results were largely predictable and classic, with a few twists. A few of the names who stirred the earliest inklings of attraction for others:
Not to do November a disservice with this title, as we indeed in November proper, it still has the stench of being one of the more depressing months of the year – some might say the most. Any hope of holding onto one or two more days of lingering summer sun and warmth are largely lost, and this is the month that rips even the late leaves off all the trees, rendering them barren and spindly for the rest of the winter to come. And so it was that I had my first peppermint mocha drink of the Starbucks season. On with the weekly recap…
Twenty years ago ‘Wicked’ opened, and a few weeks afterward we had the lucky privilege of seeing the original Broadway cast perform the show.
Don’t forget to turn back your clocks an hour, since we as a country still can’t get our shit together to fix this time situation. I’m not mad about it – we can certainly use an extra hour, especially as I’m typing this out at 1:02 AM and my mind is shot, my body is spent, and I’m just not ready for another week just yet.
