I was lost for you to find. And now I’m yours and you are mine

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve written before about working at Bennigan’s. It was my first “real” serving job. I started there in the fall of 1987 about three months after I moved to Atlanta. I lied to get the job, saying that I had experience. I don’t think anyone ever figured it out.

What I do remember is that the staff had all been there for a while and were pretty friendly with each other.

The story I’m going to tell is about Diane. She was older than me, probably in her late 20’s. About five minutes after I started she discovered she was pregnant. From the moment she knew she was pregnant she wore maternity clothes. Well, a baggy polo and she carried herself like she was 15 months pregnant.

The larger she got, the more she embraced it, as she realized it was good for the pocket book. She embraced the belly and would do anything she could to encourage people to ask her about being pregnant.

Eventually, she had the baby. I couldn’t tell you 40 years later if it was a boy or a girl. What I do know, is that when she came back to work after giving birth, she still looked pregnant. And she continued to look pregnant for another six months. Eventually, it became so ridiculous that the manager told her it was time to have the baby, once and for all and stop being pregnant.

So she did. And from that point on, a photo of her baby, was taped to her tips trays that she presented her checks on. I have no idea, how long this went on.

It has always made me laugh to remember her waddling around the dining room, up and down the stairs six months after she gave birth.

But a girls got to do, what a girls got to do.

Oh, the stories, I still have to do share.

Snow, It won’t be long before we’ll all be there with snow. SnowI wanna wash my hands, my face, and hair with snow. SnowI long to clear a path and lift a spade of snow. Oh to see a great big man entirely made of snow.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

The official weather report from tonight on Channel 6 says that Cape Elizabeth got 14” of snow on Sunday and Monday.  That’s a lot for one storm, even for us.  Although, the most we’ve had since we’ve lived in Maine is just shy of 32” in one storm.  That was intense.  

I really don’t mind the snow.  Especially now that we live in Maine.  For the most part, the cities we live in are excellent at snow removal.  Our street has a thin layer of snow packed on it, but the main roads are all clear, less than 24 hours later.   

You do have to be careful walking around town, as someone at some point decided that brick sidewalks were cool.  They are pretty.  But they are horrible to walk on when they are wet.  They are even worse in the snow.  I highly recommend not having brick sidewalks.  

I also don’t mind the cold.  In fact, I never wear a coat.  It’s in the car just in case I’m in an accident or have car trouble, but I always leave it there.  I did use it a couple of weeks ago, when I knew I had to walk about 10 blocks from the restaurant we were eating at, to the music venue we were going to.  But even then, I took it off the minute I got into the car.  

However.  

With all the photos online of the expansive snow storm, there have been a lot of pictures of sledding.  I haven’t been sledding since 1993.  It’s one of those weird things I know, simply because there is photographic evidence of it. 

There was a huge snowstorm that closed the University of Kentucky campus for the day.   At least five or six of the tech students ended up in the show and we made makeshift sleds.  I can’t remember if we were using plastic, cardboard or metal.  What I do know is that it was great for sledding.  

We hit the hills outside of the theater building.  Fun was had by all.  

I was wearing my big red winter coat that I loved.  And my boyfriend, Sam and I were taking turns going down the hill.  At one point, we went down the hill together, and unbeknownst to us a photographer from the Lexington Herald-Leader took a photo of us. 

The next day we were in the paper.  

We were newspaper famous the next day, as we all got back to our regularly scheduled programming.  

Also, unbeknownst to me, Sam had reached out the newspaper and gotten a copy of the photo.  For my birthday, the next month, I got the framed photo of us sledding on campus.  It’s been displayed prominently; in every apartment I’ve had since. 

I’m way too old to go sledding now.  I’d end up breaking a hip and you know what they say.  But, the photo is a reminder here in Maine that I don’t mind the winter.  We put up with the intense cold and snow so that we can have the most beautiful summers and falls anyone as ever seen.  

I got ssssteam heat, but I need your love to keep away the cold

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It’s currently 6* in Portland.  That’s very cold.  Even for us. 

I talk about Maine winters a lot.  And while yes, they’re long and cold.  It’s not ridiculously cold like it is in the Midwest.  And thanks to climate change, we get a lot less snow than we used to, although this weekend is going to challenge that statistic.  

And, even though we don’t get as much snow as we used to, the city and state, are well versed in snow removal.  The snow will start Sunday afternoon and by Monday morning, the roads should be drivable, if not clear depending on when the snow stops.  Within 24 of a total stop, the highways and main roads will look as though the snow never happened.  

That being said, it’s still cold.  Very cold. 

Adam and I are lucky that we live in a fairly warm house, and we have the ability to set the thermostat on a temperature than can be comfortable for both of us.  That has not always been the case for either of us.  

In NYC, the heat comes on in October and goes off in April.  And it’s set at a constant temperature of just a few degrees cooler than that sun.  Old school radiator heat, that is for the most part either on or off.  If it’s on, you are sweating the moment you walk into the house.  Off is a little trickier.  If the valve works you can turn off the radiator, but you chance it never coming back on again.  Thus, your heat is on, your windows are open, and the a/c is running in the middle of January.  

Growing up, we lived in an old farm house, heated by a fuel oil stove in the dining room and a wood stove in the living room.  It was either cold, or slightly more cold, depending on the weather.  I always said, that when I was an adult, I’d never be hot in the summer or cold in the winter and we are lucky that that is true now.  

My favorite thermostat story, is when I lived in Lexington, going to school at UK.  My boyfriend and I rented the downstairs of an old four-square house.  It was beautiful, with tall ceilings, hardwood floors and lots of windows.  Beautiful, but very cold.  It was always freezing.  

To make matters worse the landlord had locked the thermostat so that we couldn’t adjust the heat.  We suffered through this for about a month, when my boyfriend came up with a solution.  We took the freezable plastic blocks that you use in a cooler instead of ice, and put them in a plastic grocery bag.  We then nailed the bag so that it would hang on top of the thermostat.  Instant heat.  

I lived there two winters and we did this the whole time.  Not a perfect solution but a work around all the same.  

Another fun story about that house, was that it had three separate apartments in the house.  One on the first floor, one on the second floor and another on the third floor.  However, the basement is where all the utilities were, including heat, hot water and electric breakers.  

At the beginning of our second year, we got new upstairs neighbors.  And from day one, they had parties, late into the night every Thursday.  The first couple of times we asked them to be a little quieter and they basically just ignored us.  We were about a month into the school year, when I’d had enough.  

During the next late-night party, I went downstairs to the basement, and turned off the breakers to their apartment.  The music and noise stopped.  I went back upstairs to bed.  When my alarm went off at 8:00, I returned their power.  It only took doing this two times, for the Thursday night parties to stop. 

They never complained and I started being able to sleep.  

I have so many wonderful stories about the house on Stone Avenue.  But those will have to wait for another day.  

The water is wide and I can’t cross over, Neither have I wings that I could fly. Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row my love and I.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Now I lay me down to sleep.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake.
I pray the lord my soul to take.

This poem scared the fuck out of me as a child. Seriously.

I was convinced that the poem was for kids. And as a result, kids only died while they were asleep. I was sure that one night I was going to go to sleep and never wake up.

In fact, in 5th grade, I tried to measure my breathing to the point that I couldn’t catch my breath. I was hyperventilating and finally left my bed to tell my parents that I couldn’t breathe. My mom immediately called our doctor. I don’t know what they said to each other, but she told me to go back to bed. I did and fell asleep a little while later.

I’m less afraid of dying in 2026, than I was in 1975. I’m supposing that getting old does that to a person. The closer I get to that day, the less afraid I am. It’s a fact of life. Something that all of us have to go through. Whether we like it or not.

It doesn’t scare me either to think that I don’t believe in god. I’m not sure what happens after we die, but I’m convinced there aren’t angels on high singing, while I sit on a puffy white cloud.

Years ago, I came up with the idea that life as we know it is but a dream. A very vivid, realistic dream. And when we die, we awake in another reality. One were life is different yet the same.

I don’t know if I believe this now, but it’s easy to hold on to. I think now, we just pass into another plain. Wrapping my head around how complicated this existence is, makes it even harder to wrap my head around the next.

And I can’t believe in god. Not the almighty god that was preached to me in my youth and during my formative years. There is no way, an all caring loving god would let the shit that happens in our world happen. And I have no interest in a cruel god that created the trauma in the first place.

So, I live in my bubble. Try to do the right things. Try to love with all my heart. And hope for the best.

Meanwhile, if you are a parent, read your kids a story and for the love of all things do NOT teach them this prayer. It’s scary. And it’s not nice.

Amen.

Stuck all week on a lady’s lap, nothing to do but yawn and nap. Can you blame me if I yap?

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Family pets.  

We all have them.  Most of us grew up with them.  

A few people I know had sociopaths for parents and weren’t allowed to love an animal.  Not even a hamster. 

In my childhood, we had many pets.  Pedro is the first pet I can truly remember, although I know he was not the first.  He was a tiny, tiny chihuahua.   He loved my mother unconditionally.  And he would lose his mind when my Aunt Debbie, would tell my little brother to cry.  Something she enjoyed doing.  He would cry, and Pedro would get mad.  

As is with the case of a lot of chihuahuas, Pedro could also be mean.  If he didn’t like you, he had no use for you.  I don’t know that he ever bit anyone, but he certainly tried. 

The first real tragedy of my childhood, was sitting on the front steps of my house in Paynes Depot, Kentucky and watching a car squish our little 5-pound Pedro.  My Aunt pulled him from the road, and I stood next to her watching him die.  

Now you might ask, why was little Pedro in the road, well I wish I could tell you.  But I can’t.  I do know that I cried for several days.  

Cindy came next.  

I remember this perfectly well.  

I yelled at my mother that Pedro was fighting with the dog next door.  He belonged to my aunt and uncle.  What I didn’t realize till later was that they weren’t fighting.  My mom tossed water on them to “break” it up.  

We got puppies for Thanksgiving.   

We got Cindy.  My Aunt Doo got Toji, and I’m not sure what happened to the others.  

Cindy was special.  She loved us all, but once again, was attached to my mom.  She lived until she was 17 or so.  She was euthanized while I was at college, and my parents didn’t tell me until I came home for Christmas.  Of course, by that time, she was mostly blind, had no teeth, and had long stopped going outside for bathroom breaks.  

When I was in sixth grade we got Fiesty.  She was Cindy’s puppy and I have no idea who the father was.  She was the runt of the litter.  Hyper and funny.  And sweet as could be.  She also lived a nice long life.  

That was not true of all of our pets.  

When I was in first grade we had a white dog.  I don’t remember his name.  I’m not even sure he was a he.  I don’t remember a lot about him at all.  

What I do remember, is that it was summer, and I was spending the day with my stepfather, on the horse farm he worked on.  

It was a beautiful day.  The sun was shining.  The sky was blue.  We took his blue VW Beetle up the hill to go to work.  When we left, the dog was running around in the field next to our trailer, tied to the fence.  

Fast forward about four hours.  We take the tractor and wagon, down the hill to the trailer we lived in.  

I saw it first.  The dog wasn’t running anymore.  He was hanging from the fence post.  He had jumped over the fence and when he did so, the chain caught on the fence.  He’d been strangled to death.  

My stepfather, never said a word.  We went into the house and had lunch.  And when we finished lunch, we went back to the tractor and wagon.  I sat there and watched has he unhooked the chain and then tossed the dog on the back of the wagon.  

Without speaking, we drove to the back of the 80-acre farm and he tossed the dog onto a rock wall.  It was unceremonious.  It was not spoken of.  He just tossed the dog on the wall and we drove away.  

I’ve thought about that day a lot over the years.  What I was supposed to to think?   Would I do the same thing as an adult.  

What I do know is the dog deserved better.  I deserved better.  

And that’s not even the worst of the pet stories.  

Fame, I’m gonna live for ever!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Thirty years ago, I taught lighting D]design at the Cincinnati School for Creative and Performing Arts.  I started there in the fall of 1995 and left at the end of the 1998 school year.  

I learned more from my students and co-workers than I ever dreamed about teaching.  That being said, it was a great experience and I value the friendships of the people I met during that three-year period of my life. 

It was an interesting time to be there, as the school was going through a transition.  The founders of the school had just left, for an array of different reasons, and a new principal, artistic director and slew of teachers were being brought in.  

Myself, and the scenery design teacher both started at the same time.  We were tossed into the fire together, and both worked to make the program the best it could be.  He is still doing a great job there, by the way.  

I can’t speak to things now, but in 1995, I spent the morning teaching 7th and 8th graders intro to lighting.  And I spent the afternoon teaching 9th – 12th graders lighting design.  Everything from how to change a lamp in a lighting instrument and how to hang a light, then to how to create a design and implement it.  

As I said, we taught each other a lot.  

The thing I found most interesting was that while we were a performing arts high school, not everyone embraced this fact.  I remember going to the 12th grade English teacher to propose a combined unit on Macbeth, where we taught in tandem her focusing on the literary importance and me on the design components.  I was emphatically told no.  

Our principal at the time was also a piece of work.  I don’t remember the year, but myself and the scenery design teacher came to work one morning to find that the principal had ordered the custodians to empty the prop room.  To her it was a disorganized mess, and she felt it looked badly on her.  When we got there that morning all the props from storage were in the dumpster. 

I kid you not.  

With out asking we salvaged what we thought was important.

I discovered a set of mid-century dishes in the trash.  Franciscan Starburst Stoneware.  With the help of my students, we pulled it out of the trash and I took it home with me.  It was the start of a life time of collecting Franciscan stoneware.  

Fun fact about the Starburst pattern, 30 years later it would be worth hundreds of dollars.  It’s a serious collector’s item as we moved in the 21st century.  I still have those dishes, and have supplemented them when I have found them in various antique stores along the way.  

Adam and I use our Franciscan dishware all the time.  For all the major holidays.  Our cat’s food bowls are starburst and Ferndel dishes.  His mother gave us her wedding dishware which was the Desert Rose Franciscan pattern .  And we bought Indian Summer dishes 13 years ago.  

I have a friend whose mother gave him a complete 10 piece place setting array of Starburst dishware.  On eBay it would easily be worth several thousand dollars.  He jokes that it’s his retirement plan.  

For us, it’s our daily lives.  It goes in the dishwasher.  It’s durable.  And we love it.  

The best part of the principal cleaning out the prop room, was that I claimed it as my office for a year.  It had a loft and tons of book shelves.  For my students it was  a kind of  clubhouse for a year.  Complete with a sofa, a lava lamp that a student eventually broke. (It’s hard to clean up the liquid from a lava lamp) and hours of bonding with kids who needed a grown up to pay attention to them.  

My students have followed different paths.  It’s crazy to think they are in the late 40’s now.  And I’m proud to say, several went on to be successful theater professionals. 

I will never know how I affected their lives, but for those reading this, you changed my life for good, to quote Wicked.  

Start spreading the news!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Happy New Year!

For five years I worked at the Hard Rock Café in Times Square NYC.  It was a very lucrative job, and it afforded me the ability to pay my rent, as well as take time off to design shows that came my way.  

There were 120+ servers on the schedule, and 75% of them all had side gigs going on.  Artists, models, musicians, actors, comedians, and the list goes on.  On any given busy night there would be 40+ servers on the floor.  The restaurant sat around 800 people at one time and was often on a 2 hour wait.  There were nights that you’d run into a co-worker in the dish pit that you didn’t even know was working that shift.  

The Hard Rock was known for doing lots of events throughout the year, but the big event was New Year’s Eve.  We were closed to the public and did a private party for one of the sponsors for the Times Square ball drop.  It was a very all hands on deck kind of event, and I was scheduled almost every year.  

As a manager, I love working events.  As a server, I’d rather get a root canal.  Every year, I’d scheme to get out of the shift, and it never happened.  In 2009, my first New Year’s Eve with Adam, I paid a co-worker 50 bucks to work my shift so that I could spend the evening with him.

The next year, we were in Texas, and I managed to be off.  

The years preceding Adam, I always took the cut.  Around 11:00 they’d ask for volunteers to go home and I’d always say yes.  I hated being there, and I hated being in the crowd trying to get home.  

However, in 2011, Adam and I had just gotten back from Maine, where we’d spent Christmas.  On Christmas Day, my friend’s Lisa and Michelle, along with myself, sat Adam down and did an intervention.  We explained to him that he was moving to Maine the followiong summer, and just to embrace it.  After about 30 minutes he craved, and the plan was put into motion that got us moved to the northeast.  

When we got home, I was of course scheduled to work New Year’s Eve.  This year was different.  Although, I’d not yet given my notice, I knew that this would be my last New Year’s Eve in NYC.  And although, I hated working events I was excited to work New Year’s Eve 2011.  Because the Hard Rock Café is at the base of the building where the ball drops.  And for all my years in NYC, I’d never been in Times Square to watch the ball drop.  

So in 2011, when volunteers were asked to speak up, I didn’t volunteer.  At 11:45 for the first time ever, I was present, when the staff gathered on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.  And at 11:59:59, I watched the ball being to descend, I experienced the playing of New York, New York, I saw the confetti fly, as all of my co-workers hugged each other. 

Somewhere on this laptop, I have the video of that night saved.  It is buried in files and files of photos off lots of different phones and cameras I’ve had since grad school.  I have looked for the last three days, but have yet to be able to find it.  I’ve found lots of other fun surpriseds, but not the video.  

I’m glad that I worked that night.  I’m glad before I left the city for good that I got to see the ball drop.  It’s one of those New York City memories that I will always cherish.  

Oh, Holy Night.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!

Christmas.

Tis the season.

I’m a non-believer.

But I subscribe to all things Christmas.

I love the weather. The gift giving. The cheer. The scary ghost stories.

Especially, the music.

Although Hard Candy Christmas is NOT a Christmas song. Neither is Halleluiah.

I even love the origin story. The belief in a world that can be better than the one we live in.

That if we put our faith in something bigger than ourselves, we can make a difference.

Long after I stopped believing in the end result, when I was in Kentucky, I’d go to Christmas Eve church services. It was the church my mom and her sisters had gone to on Russell Cave Road just outside Lexington. It was a small church that was quaint and beautiful.

It was called Old Union Christian Church and I don’t know much about its history, other the fact that they celebrated their 200th anniversary in 2023, and they’ll celebrater the 100th anniversary of being in their current building in 2027.

I also don’t know much about their beliefs. For example, if they hate gays or not. I only went for the Christmas Eve event.

It was very sweet. The service was at midnight. And the church was lit only by candle light. It was breathtaking to step in from the frigid December air into the warmth of a room only lit by flame. It was quiet. It was serene. And it invited the participants to get lost in the beauty of the night.

At midnight, on the nose, the young minister, would step out of the back and begin the service. He told the story of Christ’s birth, with the congregation supplying the narrative through song to expand on the story. Hark the Herald Angels Sing. Away in a Manager. Silent Night. By 12:45 we had welcomed the birth of the baby Jesus and we were on our way.

I attended this service many times until I stopped coming home for Christmas.

It was beautiful, every time.

The last time I went was the most memorable.

I was sitting in the back, minding my own business and the service started. Behind me were several teenagers who were obviously there at their parent’s instance. They wouldn’t stop talking. Finally, I turned around and said, “I didn’t come here to listen to you all bitch about being here.”

They immediately stopped talking. I went back to the service.

After it was over, I quickly headed toward my car.

A man rushed toward me, as I was opening my rental car door. I was taken aback not knowing what to expect. He asked me if I was the person who yelled at his kids during church.

I wasn’t backing down and said yes.

He stuck out his hand and said, “I want to apologize. My kids know better and they’ll get a talking to at home. We are all here for the same reason, and I’m sorry they interrupted you.”

I thanked him for saying so. I assured him it was okay, and to remember it was Christmas and not to be too upset at his kids.

I got in my car and drove home.

I just looked at Old Union’s Facebook page and it doesn’t appear that they still do the midnight service. But I can assure you, that if they do, and I find myself at home in Kentucky on Christmas Eve again, Adam and I will be going.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Growing up poor is an adventure in restraint.  Especially, when you are a child who’s wiser than his years, and knows that his parents struggle financially.  I learned at a very early age, to hide my disappointment when I didn’t get exactly what I wanted.  If I got it at all.  

Brands that were off.  Colors that were wrong.  The K-Mart version rather than the name brand version. 

To be fair, sometimes I’d be surprised and get exactly what I wanted.  The year we got our pong game, followed a few years later by an Atari console.  These were great years.  

Still, I learned to feign excitement.  I learned to smile through the disappointment.  

It’s a great gift to have learned as a child that is very useful as an adult.  Smiling through the disappointment when the bonus is less than you thought it would be.  When the role you auditioned for was not the one you got.  When your boyfriend buys tickets to the musical you want to see, but buys partial view tickets to save money.  

Or.  

In the mid 90’s I moved to NYC.  My mother asked what I wanted for Christmas.  And by then I’d learned to set the bar low, and to be very specific.  I really didn’t need anything so I asked for white bath towels.  

Easy right?  

The reason I mention that I was living in NYC, was that I was living on my own and only needed a couple of towels.  

The catch was, that anyone who was going to buy me a present that year for Christmas asked my mom what they should get me.  And she replied every time, white bath towels.  

And Christmas comes, and I go home, and we gather on Christmas morning to open gifts.  My cousins pass out the gifts.  I had more packages than I thought I would.  

We are a go around and open one gift at a time family, so the opening commenced.  I open my first gift and it’s a white bath towel.  The opening continues and it gets back to me.  

It’s a white bath towel. 

And this goes on for several rounds.  When it’s all said and done, I think I have seven or eight towels.  Nothing else.  Just towels.  

And I think to myself,  I got what I asked for, but what does a single man going to do with 8 white bath towels.  Plus, I live in NYC, I have one closet, that’s the size of a shoe box.  

I’m very grateful, and not disappointed at all.  I didn’t really need anything and I got what I asked for.  

But wait.  It’s gets better.  

Fast forward 365 days. 

Christmas is here again.  I’ve flown home and am about to start opening gifts again.  They get to me, and what would you know, the first package contains white bath towels.  Two more circles around and now I’m up to 6 more white bath towels.  

When I got back to NYC I had enough towels to open a hotel.  

But wait.  

Yes, the following year, I got two more white bath towels.  

After we opened gifts that year, I said to my mom, “Please for the love of god, can I NOT get bath towels again next year.”  

And I didn’t.  

Soon after, we stopped exchanging gifts, but I’m pretty sure I still had these same towels when I moved in with Adam.  

I’m not my father’s son

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

My friend LC, is a therapist who among other things, specializes in working with folks who are adopted, were in foster care, or don’t know their bio parents.

She reached out a couple of months ago to ask the following:

“I am hosting an event at Novel on Nov 14th, it’s called Voices Unheard. Its an event where people who are either adopted, were in foster care, are a NPE (having the shock of a DNA surprise), or grew up without knowing a biological parent can share about their experience on the stage. If you are interested in submitting to this, I would LOVE to have you.”

I immediately said yes, although it did give me some fear. I have never read something I’ve written aloud before and it’s been 20 years since I’ve spoken in front of any size group.

Well the event was held on Friday night and I did my thing. I asked a couple of people to record it for me and well here it is.

Before you watch, I was the only speaker who was not adopted. And I was only one of two men speaking. All of the speakers were powerful in their own way, all with different stories to share. It was a small space and there were around 60 people in attendance.

PS: I wrote the intro/bio at the beginning. Everyone else was super academic about their writing, recovery etc. I was nervous when they go to me, because I wrote about Adam and my cats. The most important things in my life.

Enjoy!