“I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills.” – Emily Brontë

Heaths and heathers are coming into their own at this time of the year, and while I’ve never grown them, I see them here and there, and anything slightly green or flowering is a glorious sight. Like the hellebores, they are early bloomers, with foliage that is often evergreen – unfortunately when it’s not, they can look a little ragged and bedraggled, which is largely why I have avoided them in our own garden. 

That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy them in others, and on a recent stroll in Boston I came upon these beauties, defying the current winter-throwback cold spell and bravely blooming in the face of all the ill wind. 

63 days ago I started playing Wordle.

For 62 days I managed to guess the word correctly.

That streak came crashing down the same night that the Oscars chose violence, and thankfully I was too shook by that to care much about Wordle.

I’d been mentally dreading this day (and jokingly tell friends I’d tentatively scheduled an extra therapy session for when it finally happened) but maybe I’d prepared myself without even realizing it. To get four out of five letters on the first try seemed a good omen, but each and every try after that proved elusive. 

Still, it feels like a respectable loss, and the world needs to be better about losing. 

It also frees me up to miss a Wordle now and then – the beauty of breaking with tradition.

Skip texted me he wasn’t sure about watching the Oscars this year, and I had to agree. Both of us weren’t really aware of the nominees, had seen even fewer of the movies, and after two years of weaning ourselves off cinema thanks to COVID, we weren’t as obsessed as we once were. To poorly paraphrase Edith Wharton, the world we knew had crumbled and rebuilt itself without us even noticing. 

That said, when Serena and Venus Williams introduced Beyonce for a visually-stunning performance of her Oscar-nominated song, I perked up, paid attention, and settled in for a surprisingly enjoyable Academy Awards event. The usual notifications from JoAnn on her favorite dresses came in – an annual tradition – and I marveled at some stunning use of color in this year’s ensembles. 

Overall though, the weight and import of such events has been diminished. There is just too much happening in our real lives, and in the world at large, to be as concerned and invested as I once believed myself to be. That sort of interest feels somewhat silly, and very far away. 

That doesn’t mean I can’t and didn’t enjoy it. I felt the frisson of seeing our superstars decked out and giddy with the excitement of their night. Feasting my eyes upon the various frocks and ensembles still inspired and delighted my senses. Thrilling at the colors of those who went bold, and winking at the edgier choices by the likes of Timothée Chalamet and Kristen Stewart, it was a return to glamour in a whole new world. 

{UPDATE: Right after this post was written, Chris Rock made a G.I. Jane joke about Jada Pinkett-Smith’s hair, and Will Smith walked up on stage and smacked him. He then said, “Keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth.” So it seems that this year even the Oscars had to be traumatizing. Enjoyable return to glamour? Not quite. If there was one place I thought someone would be completely assured and safe in NOT getting hit, it would have been live on stage at the Academy Awards. And as triggering as this was for me to see, I’m not going to comment on it one way or another. This blog was never intended for a deep exploration of anything other than myself.}

Wicked winds and squalls of snow are no surprise at this early stage of things, but Kira and I managed to have our first Spring Stroll this past weekend, avoiding the rain and finding the sun. But before all that fun (and it will be worth a look in a few days) let’s go back over the past week, which is personified by this casual/exhausted robe look. It’s Monday, let’s go easy on each other. 

Just put your hands together and pray.

A very prim spring.

Just say gay. 

Rising like Oz in downtown Albany. 

A cheer for spring.

A tea cup of contemplation. 

A baby seal in bed. 

The new ‘it’ girl… and she’s green.

Abba & Andy.

The return of the fig.

When it’s ok to have hope.

Zac Efron, gratuitously shirtless. 

Our duo of Dazzlers of the Day consisted of Congressman Paul Tonko and Sebastian Yatra.

When I was at therapy earlier this week, I was explaining how I was having difficulty finding the joy I once did in planning and preparing for events because so many have been canceled. My therapist said that was to be expected, and everyone was in the same situation. In a meditation book I’m reading, there was some advice on not worrying about things that may or may not come to pass, as it takes up mind space with worry and concern over things that we have no control over, and that may not even end up happening. 

This is a conundrum I’ve been tackling for years – the tension between wanting and trying to enjoy the moment, to indulge in the hope and happiness I’ve always found in planning things, with the reality of the likelihood of disappointment in today’s disappointing world. My therapist said it was ok to hope that things pan out as planned, and I realized in the last few years I’ve lost that hope, and stopped enjoying what I once did because I was so worried about everything. 

Hearing her say that it was ok to hope, especially if I understood that it would be ok if things didn’t always work out, has already made a difference. 

I thought of that as I assembled the makings of a dinner party, set to take place this coming week with some good friends. I’m planning a Filipino dinner, and a tablescape of items made in the Philippines. The shell hurricane pictured here will be our centerpiece, and while I’ve learned to keep expectations low, I’m also enjoying the sense of hope that’s suddenly in the air, even if it’s fleeting, even if it proves elusive and cagey as spring.