We have made it to the last full month of winter, and this recap straddles the only months that contain winter in their entirety – next month contains the first few days of spring, so let that inspire you to carry on through the next couple of weeks. Yesterday brought a Full Snow Moon, which I and several friends and family have been feeling for longer than a day. Let’s push forward through this winter – on with the recap.
Several years ago I was introduced to the music of Max Richter, and since then it has enriched my more contemplative moments, providing an extension of the miraculous sense of stillness somehow rife with movement. Not unlike the gorgeousness of the work of Philip Glass, its richness is in its layers and motifs, holding the breath and soul still when all the world wants to do is rush and rattle. The title of this post gets its name from the piece below, which was used to sublime effect in that heartbreaking episode of ‘The Last of Us’ that everyone is talking about.
The repetitive undulation at work here works in a meditative fashion, lulling the listener into a sense of peace, and calming the restless wanderings of the mind. It’s more difficult to tame the heart, but this can work on that as well if we let it. Some people take issue with the repetition – I find it comforting, and the ultimate illustration of the human spirit: no matter how many times we get beaten down, no matter how many times we get disappointed, we keep coming back for more, we keep getting up and trying again. There is nothing more human than that, and in our efforts I find grace and humility and love.
There have been moments when I’ve wanted to give up on us as a species, when I watch the news and see how awful humans can be to one another, but eventually and always they are supplanted by a story or a thread of hope in some small act of goodness one of us has done for another, and I find the fight to keep going, to keep trying, to keep living and doing some little bit of goodness in return.
The unexamined life is not worth living, or so some say. At this point, for those of us who may have lived out at least half of our lives, we might feel as if we’ve examined things enough. There comes a time when one must take a chance and simply live – in and for the moment, without consideration of danger or risk or worry. A moment of pause, in a sense, without planning or plotting or considering every possible outcome. There are certainly situations when those actions are vital, but not all the time. I’m looking into letting things go and existing in the moment, something that never came easy for my Virgo nature. Some of us are simply more comfortable with a schedule and a plan, but there are things we miss in the minute-to-minute planning, and these last few years I’ve been working on finding the magic missed.
It coincides with allowing imperfection and the idea of ‘good-enough’ into my mode of living, and letting go of the need to seek perfection and the unattainable goal of ‘just right’. To those ends, some progress has been made. The terror and discomfort I felt at first has been supplanted by an ease and joy that has helped make up for the wretched awfulness that real life has thrown at all of us in these last couple of years. Aging parents, a worldwide pandemic, and the financial strains we’re all facing have conspired to challenge many of us. Maybe it’s just the typical move into crotchety-old-man territory, but I don’t remember when I’ve felt so disheartened or disappointed with the world as a whole. Thankfully, my friends and family lift and buoy my spirits whenever I veer too cynical or pessimistic. I also assume this is what getting older does to everyone – it reveals the ugly truth about things that we could afford to ignore or pretend away in our youth. If we were very lucky, and I believe I have been, we may not have even had to ignore it – it simply was, in our ignorant appraisal, a better and easier time. Still, I wouldn’t trade what little I know now for all my ignorant bliss before.
And so I work to embrace the downward slope that cresting over the hump of middle-age is bringing into accelerated view. Taking breaks from the intensive self-analysis and reflection that has typically populated this site should make for more interesting posts and varied content. After twenty years, it’s about damn time.
If ever the weather cried out for a moment of hygge, this is that ever. While I was at the office yesterday, I watched the temperature slowly tick down through the single digits. Outside the sun was strong, but I wasn’t falling for it; you could hear the wind rushing by the windows. As the afternoon progressed, the wind chill temperature tumbled further. This, at long last, was the proper upstate NY winter we’d not yet had. No one asked for it, no one wanted it, but I can’t complain if it chose to wait until February to arrive. So long as it doesn’t linger…
It puts me in the mind for hygge – so I have stayed close to home today, lighting candles and cooking some kimchi fried rice for tomorrow. Writing blog posts like this, and doing some reading (currently I’m enjoying ‘Braiding Sweetgrass’ by Robin Wall Kimmerer, comprised the bulk of the day, in between cups of hot tea and a meditation at some point. This is winter – harsh outside, soft inside.
This is my winter song to you. The storm is coming soon, It rolls in from the sea
My voice; a beacon in the night. My words will be your light, To carry you to me.
This is a cute one, with a cute video. As much as I’ve been trying to make a certain peace with winter, there are still days, when the morning is especially dim and frigid, that it gets to me, and brings me down a bit. Shivering in our attic loft, I look out the window and down into our little side-yard. It is my secret space in summer – hidden from the main backyard patio and pool area by an archway of coral-bark maple and the papery, peeling trunks of the seven sons’ flower tree, and blocked off from the front yard by a wooden fence and arbor covered in a climbing hydrangea.
I remember that scene now, as I look onto the top of our grill covered in snow, and a pair of chairs equally obscured. It is only slightly sad, because I know what’s underneath it all; I remember. In a few months, the spikes of the fountain bamboo will slowly appear, and if we’re lucky, and the rabbits haven’t eaten them again, the stems that carried over from last year will leaf out and begin their graceful arching. The fiddleheads of the Dixie fern will unravel their hairy coils, joined soon by the more delicate unfurling of the Japanese painted ferns. A lilac tree – offspring of a plant that Andy’s Mom left him over twenty years ago – will lift up its branches and offer bouquets of heavy and fragrant blooms, bringing them almost to the window of the attic, from which I lean out and breathe in, hoping to catch some of the perfume on the wind. All of this will come again, I remind myself.
I still believe in summer days. The seasons always change And life will find a way.
I’ll be your harvester of light And send it out tonight So we can start again.
Thoughts of summer days are good, especially if one can merge them with an appreciation of winter as it unfolds around us. I’m working on enjoying the moment, while holding the sunny thoughts in my head. Somewhere far ahead a sense of Zen barely looms – happily, elusively, tantalizingly out of reach – ever out of reach, and may it remain that way so the journey never ends.
This is my winter song to you. The storm is coming soon It rolls in from the sea.
My love a beacon in the night. My words will be your light To carry you to me.
When good co-workers become good friends, it makes work, and socializing after work, that much more fun. I’ve been lucky enough to have known Lorie, Sue, and Doris for years, and in that time they have become friends outside of work. That bodes well for me, since they are all retired and I’m still going to the office. Last night we had one of our regular dinners, since we missed out on getting together over the holidays.
As the temperatures outside plummeted, I lit candles and Andy helped me set the table for a pasta dinner (with some chicken, thank you Doris), a beautiful salad (thank you Lorie) and a delicious tres leches dessert (thank you Sue). Andy assembled his meatballs and sausage and sauce, and we sat down to a winter tablescape courtesy of the junipers and yews from the yard.
Rather than plop some incongruous bouquet of hothouse flowers on the table, I decided to use small vases of ever-greenery only – giving the table a rustic but cozy feel, which was the intention of the evening. The joy and success of a dinner party is entirely dependent upon the goodness of the guests, and when you are lucky enough to have the wonderful people we call friends with us, every dinner is a pre-destined good time.
We will try to do one more of these before winter ends – and what a lovely thought to think we are racing against the end of winter.
The tweens and teens in my world have successfully indoctrinated me into the unexpectedly-vast world of nail polish, and as everyone expected would happen sooner or later (my first manicure was my first dip in this pretty pond), I am now officially obsessed. Well, as obsessed as I get about things these days, which is markedly more reserved than it has ever been. Age mellows all of us in some way. Still, it’s nice to feel that exuberance and excitement about something silly and frivolous again – such a little thing yet how much happiness those little things can bring us if we allow it. I am allowing all of it because we need joy more than ever.
And so I’ve been practicing my nail polish skills (which are already more advanced than certain nieces who shall remain nameless) for certain outfits and gatherings, such as this lavender-hued spectrum that went with a lavender coat and pants for Landrie’s birthday dinner.
Andy already loves it – at least, that’s how I’m taking his “What’s wrong with your nails?” comment. Thankfully I know how to translate.
Fast-forwarding through February goes back to my childhood in the 80’s, when I’d hurry through whatever filler was on the latest Madonna cassette tape to get to the good stuff, much like how we raced through this month to get to spring leaping in like a lion. That’s still a way off, but not a far way – and a land faraway comes into view when one least expects it. February fucks with the mind like this. Winter does too.
This random assortment of fruit was rather awkwardly contained (just barely) in a bowl, and made for a colorful still-life – the sort of random thing that February demands. When the snow keeps dumping and the hits keep coming, one tends to lose their mind in winter madness. This year hasn’t been that bad, but it’s far from over. Hoods and guards up, scarves and gloves at the ready, and button that coat! Full-steam ahead, we charge into February – the final full month of winter for 2023. Here’s a dip into some former Februarys that we survived.
February 2011~ Madonna timelines mostly, but worth a peek as it includes her timely ‘Sooner or Later’ Oscars performance.
February 2012 ~ David Beckham’s bulging briefs and the secret I kept for 20 years.
February 2013 ~ Daffodils, jonquils and Narcissus, oh my!
February 2014 ~ Shirtless male models and gratuitous male nudity – our stock in trade.
February 2015 ~ Tom Daley’s Speedo and some other floral and fashion moments.
February 2016 ~ Oscar glory, for real pho, and floral ruins.
February 2017 ~ Delectable chocolates, icy beauty, and brotherly love.
February 2018 ~ Olympic butts, naked social media synergy, and taking stock of day and night.
February 2019 ~ Petting the pussy, a Japanese hot-pot, and several insignificant tiny threads.
February 2020 ~ Winter contemplation, Madonna’s Dark Ballet, and Maluma in his Calvins.
February 2021 ~Cake from Burma, full moon madness, and a parade of Dazzlers.
February 2022 ~More dazzlers, sweet heat, and signs of spring.
The longest month of the winter finishes up tomorrow, and for the most part it’s been relatively good to us. Embracing winter and all its gray glory, I’m snuggling into the idea of hygge when the days grow especially dim, but thanks to friends and family, even the dark days have had their fill of light. On with this recap, and turning the first page of the 2023 calendar…
A polarizing place since its inception (and many of the ensuing years since), the Amsterdam Mall, now called the Riverfront Center, was once the site of some of my childhood memories, and they were mostly happy ones. Now it’s mostly medical offices and a service center or two. I’d been meaning to revisit the space for a few years, and finally got around to stepping back inside its orange-carpeted glory yesterday, where I spent a few scant minutes before being escorted off the premises. But I’m jumping ahead…
Some of my earliest childhood memories took place at the Amsterdam Mall. I remember buying shoes at Buster Brown’s and lamenting when we would be dragged into Gabby’s for clothes. (Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t born this way: once upon a time I despised shopping for clothes.) I remember when the mall expanded, dividing a downtown and a city that was already known for its Division Street. Mr. B’s Best, Smile-A-While and The Carl Co. all vied for the attention of shoppers. It seems strange to think that the place was once bustling, but on a Friday night in the 80’s there was no other place to be.
When I planned returning and taking a few pictures of what the mall had become, I anticipated a warm and nostalgic look back, backed by a few photos of what I assumed were some of the same plants that had been slowly growing skyward for over the last three decades. I remembered these same draceana and ficus. The idea that they had lasted all these years, that somehow they had been tended and cared for enough to survive gave me a sense of reassurance, a sliver of hope that maybe some things could be sustained, if not carefully cultivated, and given enough attention they could still be reaching for the sky. That’s the story I wanted to write, even if I found the mall in a sadder state. I did not expect to find it in such a sorry shambles.
I entered on the second floor, near the site of what was once Cinema 4, where I saw the first movies of my life, and the ones that formed those first memories: ‘Return of the Jedi’, ‘The Goonies’, ‘Gremlins’, ‘Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure’ ‘Batman’ and ‘Truth or Dare’.
Snapping a few photos of the empty expanse, I noticed first one, then multiple five-gallon plastic buckets, placed sporadically around to catch what I assumed were leaks. They littered the vast empty place, while in one corner a security guard sat with his head down, perhaps half-asleep, as no one bothered me as I took a few more pictures.
Waking down the stationary escalators, I passed the towering plants – the dracaena and ficus that I remembered, beside which stood a few stands of peace lilies. They held their dark evergreen leaves in arching form, a bit tattered but still alive, still deep green. I passed the large store-front where McCrory’s once stood, then the space where The Carl Co. extended its elegant footprint. Heading into the small part of what was once the original mall, the structure changed, and above me the light-filled atrium provided perfect habitat for a few more potted ficus trees which stretched to the top of the ceiling.
Along the rafters of this section I heard a rustling and looked up, where I caught a pair of squirrels running along the length of the place, skirting between electrical wires and the deteriorating walls. I snapped a few photos of the trees and got a bit of video of one of the squirrels, it being relatively rare to catch a squirrel indoors these days. At that point I heard a shout from the darkness of the mall, and saw the security guard making his way toward me.
He asked me what I was doing and I said I had grown up here and was taking pictures for a blog post I was going to write. “Which blog?” he asked gruffly.
“ALANILAGAN.com,” I said, stifling the ‘duh’ I wanted to add at the end, and fully expecting him not to have a clue what it was. Of course, he didn’t, so I’m not sure why he asked. What blog would it have been ok for?
He said that someone came in the mall last week and took pictures then “tore the place up online” and that’s why the owner doesn’t want any pictures being taken as it was private property except for the offices. I said I was planning on writing a story of my memories here, with some photos to accompany it, but I would no longer include the photos, and the story would have a very different ending now. He then escorted me unceremoniously out of the building. (Not even a hint of ceremony!)
Full disclosure that should come as no surprise to anyone: this was not the first time I was reprimanded for taking photos inside the Amsterdam Mall. Back in the 90’s, there was a period when I took pictures of everything and everyone, including our weekend romps at the mall. I actually have a photo somewhere of a puffy guy in a security outfit extending his hand toward me as he was telling me no pics were allowed in the mall. That was in the early 90’s. Maybe I should be reassured that some things haven’t changed.
As for this blog post, I originally wanted to write something sweet and nostalgic, and I had a few plant photos that actually made the place seem halfway inhabitable. However, since they didn’t want me to post any, you’ll have to make do with this description, and wonder at the safety and cleanliness of a place that houses medical offices and has squirrels running rogue through its hallways and a dozen buckets scattered throughout to catch the leaks. And I suppose I should be grateful for the new blog post idea, because given the abysmal state of things, I don’t even think artful lighting and clever angles could hide what a dump that place has become.
As for the current owner of the Riverfront Center, this one’s for you.
“Making tea is a ritual that stops the world from falling in on you.” ~ Jonathan Stroud
Tea has formed a literal and symbolic baseline for what has gone on at this website over the last twenty years. From its inception, this little corner of the internet was intended and designed to be a place of whimsical distraction, devoid of the ads and intrusions and comments that so often plague and ruin other sites. I’ve aimed to keep this as enjoyable as possible while being somewhat interesting to visit, with interesting twists and turns along the way. Of course, over the course of two decades, the overall undulations have been relatively smooth and unremarkable, and there is comfort in that.
When so much of the world has grown volatile and tense, I have striven to make this place somewhat consistent and comfortable – likening it to a living room that is largely quiet except when a gathering or company is coming – a place where one can sit down for a spell and enjoy a light read with a cup of tea or coffee or something stronger should you so desire. It’s a room that can be whatever you need or want – a room of requirement, perhaps, but with a lot less clutter, unless that makes you happy. It changes with the seasons, with the day, with the hour – it can start off cool and gray in the hours before dawn, when the couch or chair begs for use with a blanket and pillow. It can become brilliantly lit with sunlight streaming in the bay window, pouring through the fronds of a Norfolk Island pine and an ancient fern. It transforms into an afternoon refuge, the last of the days light fading while one sits quietly on the floor in meditative contemplation. It closes in a bit on itself at the approach of night, as one by one the lamps come on and gently warm the space, lending it the coziness and comfort we may crave in the evening.
And so I welcome you here, whenever you may need or want a moment of quiet, apart from the mayhem of social media and the madness of what our world has become. I’ll put on a fresh pot of tea…
“There is something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life.” ~ Lin Yutang
Fog brings conflicting memories to my mind. My earliest recollection of it stems from walking to McNulty Elementary School as a child, and taking a shortcut by cutting across a field. On certain fall mornings, the fog would be thick, and if we took the shortcut too soon we risked being engulfed in the middle of a field with no discernible landmarks for direction. A certain panic would sometimes set in when that happened, as much as the fog otherwise felt like a comfort. The group of kids with whom I walked didn’t always listen to me, and there were bound to be arguments about which direction we should take. That’s the memory of consternation, but the worry was mostly because it was affiliated with school.
The other memory I have is of a holiday excursion with my brother through the backroads of Galway, where we made a lunch-time stop at the Cock & Bull around Christmas tree season. It was, from what I now only dimly recall, a casual, flippant trip – unplanned and on the fly, which is much more my brother’s style than mine, and on this day it was one of those happy perspective-altering events that illuminates my fallacy in thinking there are definitive right and wrong ways to do everything.
In winter, I welcome a fog. It usually indicates kinder temperatures, and hints of spring.
Sometimes I sip it, sometimes I spill it, but regardless of its outcome, the tea here is piping hot. That’s because I put it in the kettle and don’t take it off the stove until it whistles, all sputtering steam and screaming from painful heat. This is the way you get to the truth of the matter, the way you force it all out. Putting oneself on exhibition and show in a public website is treacherous business at best, especially when everyone is so ready with an opinion or critique. Dragging friends and family and former lovers into the storyline is risky too, even if their influence and import in my life is unquestioned. When tea gets spilled, it can be an awful mess – but a glorious one, steeped equally in history and histrionics.
My journey here hasn’t been all pretty poses and posies, as evidenced from these photos taken about two decades ago, in which I had a goatee for God’s sake. Mistakes have been made. Stumbles have been taken. Failure has become an art form. But so has living – and in a way this blog is a living and breathing work of its own art – a new form of expression in the time of social media. Sometimes messy, sometimes too emotional and personal, and sometimes just an utter disaster, all the foibles and fumbles of life’s imperfect zig-zagging have formed the backbone of its two-decade trajectory. Throughout it all, I’ve managed to document the days in regular fashion, treating this space as some sort of online diary, a repository of what has happened – the good, the bad, and the goatee-ugly.
Tea time has been held on the regular, and for a number of years I posted at least once a day for 364-days each year (we always went dark on 9/11). That sort of consistency takes discipline and effort, but this has been a labor of love, something I’d do for two or two million hits. In the end, it was more of an exercise in journal-like analysis – a place where I could seek out refuge or solace in words, in putting things down just to get them out of my head. To that end, it has and continues to serve a purpose in my life.
The beauty of it being a public place is that others have found something that resonates with them, and so my tea has become tea for at least two. Every once in a while I’ll hear from someone who wants to say hello and say that they too have felt what I expressed in a post or photograph. At those times, it feels like we have shared something, that we are not entirely alone.
It takes a singular sort of obsession to embark upon a search for self and then to do it for all the world to see for the last two decades, but such is the predicament in which I’ve placed myself since 2003. This year marks the 20th anniversary of my personal website, ALANILAGAN.com. The mundane happenings of a gay Filipino-American who got married to a police officer, worked through a career with the state of New York, and managed the shifting dynamics of a world increasingly besieged by atrocities has been as dull and unremarkable as it has been vital to providing the baseline of this website. Why have I done it for all these years? To leave a trail of breadcrumbs, I suppose, for anyone else looking for a way out, and maybe a way in.
Looking back over such a long period of time, I’m able to see the greater arcs of shifting perspectives and outlooks that comprises one’s online life. Comparing the 2013 Year in Review posts (here and here and here) with this past year’s reviews here and here, it’s startling to see how much has changed – and how much hasn’t.
Two decades of any website is an accomplishment, and given the typical shelf-life of a personal blog it’s an eternity. Keeping a small, loyal audience that has ebbed and flowed has proven an interesting exercise, and evolving in such a public forum while the social media world assembled itself and came into existence (then turned into a force greater than any of us could have imagined), is part of what keeps me doing this: it’s been a mainstay in an ever-changing online world.
This has been a search to find myself. A quest to find some meaning in a world that made less sense by the day. It’s been a journey to reach an understanding. I sought a better version of myself in all this HTML coding. I looked for me in all the poses and posies. I looked for me in the music that touched my soul, in the art that moved my heart, in the cadence and choice of words that I found to best express the person I needed to see – the person I needed to find.
When I think back to 2003, the world feels like a very different place. It was a time before social media as we know it. There was no FaceBook or Twitter or Instagram or Tik Tok. It was a time when blogs were taking off, and I rode that wave rather quietly and below the radar. Other sites seemed to burn as brightly as they did briefly, whereas I wanted to last. I wanted a little legacy. Today, that legacy is a website that’s been around for twenty years.
In many ways, I feel more lost than I did twenty years ago, but it makes more sense to be lost now – in the admission of that ignorance is the beginning of some kind of grace and understanding. A little closer to the truth, a little closer to the self. And so the work continues…
Officially, I opened the doors here in March of 2003, so the official celebration will be marked closer to that date. Until then, join me for a cup of hot tea…
Despite the fact that I walked circles around her and my nephew as we walked the entire Freedom Trail this summer, I knew that she wasn’t wrong. I was old, or at the very least, older – and I felt it. These days, it’s my eyesight that is deteriorating at the most rapid pace, requiring reading glasses of increasing strength in every room of the house, every drawer of the office, and every car in our garage. I’ve taken to wearing two pairs at once when my contacts aren’t in, and years of voguing have made the endless switching of spectacles just another choreographed hand-dance. The levity in that, and the opportunity for further accessorizing, doesn’t quite make up for the sadness I first felt when I noticed the advancing ocular degradation – because the first thing that became more difficult was one of my favorite things to do: reading. All the crystal-bejeweled eyeglass chains can’t make up for that.
My age group is going through such things – from blood-pressure medication to colonoscopies to gout – and it’s all a part of getting older. It hasn’t really bothered me, and I haven’t invested my existence with a dependence on physical appearance or youthful exuberance. In fact, it’s been more of a point of interest and study than worry, particularly as I’ve been diving deep into the archives of photos in anticipation of the 20th anniversary commemoration of this website.
The featured photo was taken almost twenty years ago, in Boston on a winter weekend, while the shot below was taken just a year or two ago on a similar winter day, but decades and miles apart. I don’t entirely mind the differences on the outside, because I’ve been working on the differences on the inside – but they’re worth noting, because as this site continues on its 20-year-and-counting journey, I’m starting to see the arcs and the long-range trajectories of life. Certain things sharpen, certain things decline, and certain things remain the same. The seeking and searching continue in earnest…
