Mercury remains very much in retrograde motion, as the past week of rollercoaster emotions will attest. A few entirely unwarranted attacks had me both hysterical and hurt, but family and friends saw me through it, which is the best way to make it through the Mercurial madness. Just about one week to go before this particularly-sticky episode comes to a close. Until then, hold onto the nights, hold onto the memories… and delve into this weekly recap.

It was a week of haunted memories.

A memory of a musical desert rose.

Sometimes being right is a lonely business.

A purple floral mystery curtain.

Gaslighting 101.

Warm summer pinks.

My newest fragrance: ‘Pacific Chill’ by Louis Vuitton.

Just swallow.

A fine-feathered friend.

It’s been two years since Dad departed.

The saddest turn of summer.

The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale resumed its online posting schedule, with a post that had me feeling all sorts of pretty, oh so pretty.

Throw in a couple of waves of amber vain, and it’s an all-American LGBTQ+ explosion.

My one and only toxic trait.

Red of bud and leaf.

Mr. Russell gives good shirtless face.

On Sunday, the Speedo comes off…

Everybody in the pool!

Let’s get soaking wet!

Speedos off, attitudes on!

Summer fun, and done!

Happy August!

One more exclamation point and I am out of here!

Our household is obsessed with ‘The Gilded Age’, and while I’ll always be Team Bertha, Mr. Russell deserves praise of his own for this sort of photo shoot. Morgan Spector is the man (and body) beneath those finely-tailored period suits, and as we enter the final episodes of this season, we can celebrate that it’s just been renewed for Season 4. Here’s hoping the Russell family can keep it together until then.

The redbud is one of my favorite trees – as much for its flaming spring floral show, as for its handsome foliage. Newer varieties incorporate a striking red into their new leaves, extending the season of interest. Something about these always refreshes the landscape in my eyes – the foliage stays delicate rather than hardening off as many do, but also manages to remain intact.

The heart-shaped leaves add whimsy to their beauty, as does the shifting veining as the leaf matures. Some things get better with age. May that hold true for me this month…

As if there was just the one… HA!

If this is toxic, then I’m slipping under…

Happy Saturday Night!

It was never the actual last day of summer that had me mourning – that officially came after we were already well into the school year anyway. It was those first few days when you could feel the shift in atmosphere indicating the turn – a morning that was suddenly breezy and lacking in heat and warmth which suddenly felt like fall. These days sadly came in early August – when our last full month of summer was beginning. It was a reminder that fall would follow soon enough – and in these hasty last days of my 40’s, I feel time moving even quicker.

The gardens have just begun the shift. I’ve been watering the ostrich ferns almost daily in the hope of keeping them green for as long a possible, but this is the month when I stop trying. Nature will govern the decline and inevitable arrival of slumber for the plants; in August I put down the sword and let the battle go. The ferns have put on a lovely show, even if it feels shorter than usual, and I’m sure they are worn out from sticking it out in the glorious heat and sun we’ve had. There comes a point when you must accept the fact that nothing in the garden lasts forever, that there is a season for everything, and the season of slumber, while still a ways out, is coming eventually. It’s a tragic waste to allow that outcome to shade the summer that remains, but I’m not quite evolved enough not to be bothered by it.

Sitting in the church where I sat during the last few weeks of Dad’s life, I recalled the days of that sorrowful summer. I cried a lot then. It was an intentional outpouring of grief and sadness and gratitude all at once, a necessary part of mourning that I finally, after years of suppressing such emotions, allowed myself to feel and experience and inhabit. Somehow I understood that if I didn’t allow it out then, it would remain with me much longer, growing into an ache that might be dull, but would never dissipate. So I cried. In the church. Out on the street. In my car. Out in the backyard. In the shower. Wherever and whenever grief would rear its head, I would face it and acknowledge it and feel it, letting it wash over me, sometimes overwhelming me, and knowing that it was necessary. More than that, it was welcome – it made me realize that though Dad had gone, his love remained – how else to explain such intense feelings of loss and sadness?

Today, exactly two years after he died, I’m not forlorn or destroyed by it. I miss him, of course, but there is a sense of peace and beauty that I felt in his last weeks here that still remains. In so many ways, I still feel my father with me, and it has been a comfort making that happen and keeping him as part of my life.

When I’ve had a rough day at work, I feel him with me.

When I feel attacked by strangers or people I’ve known my entire life, I feel him with me.

When I feel elated and joyous and busting with excitement over something, I feel him with me.

When I talk to Mom or spend time with the family, I feel him with me.

When I sit down to my daily meditation, part of my mantra is still this: breathing in, I know am alive – breathing out, I know my Dad is alive within me.

Two years after he departed this world, I still feel him with me.

One of our favorite visitors – the yellow finch – has been frequenting the stands of our cup plant, as its flowers are already ripening into seeds. These seem to be happy birds, if I may get all anthropomorphic on your ass, and they always bring us joy at seeing them this time of the year. They’ll stay until the fall, picking away at the towering seed pods until there are none left.

I like how their striking yellow color matches that of the cup plant’s flowers – a doubly-cheery explosion of sun-like glory. It’s the ideal color palette for the end of July, just as summer will begin its own ripening.

Our first swallowtail of the season appeared a few days ago, gloriously fluttering its pretty wings about the majestic cup plant stand, where it was joined by several buzzing bumblebees.

These beautiful creatures are a sign that we have reached the zenith of summer.

Enjoy the moment.

Feverishly warm, the shades of these flowers shift when the evening light departs and the warm artificial bulbs glow deeper into the night. Summer burns at both ends, inside and out. It is worth a look rather than a lot of words.