Month: August 2026

And I will always love you!!!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Dolly died yesterday. 

I read the news post just as I was getting up.  To say that I gasped was an understatement.  We’ve all known it was coming, but even forty years from now would have been too soon.  She is the best Christian that I have ever known.  Accepting of everyone.  Honoring her roots and yet using her riches for good.  

To quote Spiderman, “With great power, come great responsibility.”  

She spent her life making things easier for those around her.  She donated money in her very poor town in Tennessee.  She donated books to kids around the country.  And in the last four or five hours I’ve read countless posts about her generosity. 

I have loved her since her Porter Wagoner days.  My family watched his show when I was a munchkin and I can still remember his shiny costumes and her big wigs.  I don’t know that I was a fan back then, but by the late 70’s and early 80’s I was sold. 

I have had the lucky occasion to see her in concert twice.  Most recently in Bangor, Maine with Adam.  The show was amazing.  And to quote Adam, “I’m so glad that we saw her when we had the chance.”

But the first time was in 1989 in Atlanta at Chastain Park.  I had gone out on a date or two with a boy name Tony Giatras.  Two would be exaggerating probably.  I liked him a lot, but he came on way too strong and was a bit pushy.  That being said, after it was clear we weren’t going to work as a couple, we remained friends. 

He called me up one night, back when you left messages on answering machines and told me he had a surprise for me.  His surprise.  Tickets to see Dolly.  I was ecstatic, but also a little annoyed as he wasn’t taking no for an answer.  But fuck it, I was not going to turn down Dolly tickets to prove a point.  

A few weeks later, we went to the concert.  We sat in the back of the amphitheater.  We drank the bottle of wine we brought.  And we enjoyed it immensely.  So many costumes changes.  So much energy.  

I focus on this because about two months later, I moved back to Kentucky to attend grad school at the University of Kentucky.  Tony and I stayed in touch, talking often on the phone.  

This would have been the summer of 1989. It’s funny.  I remember, this concert plain as day.  I remember the year. I remember the summer.  But according to AI, there is no recorded concert by Dolly in 1989.  But I know that I’m not wrong.  

All of this is important to me, because three years later, on a random day, I called Tony’s number.  His roommate answered and I asked for Tony.  There was a pause, and in that pause, I knew what he was about to say.  

Tony was HIV+ and had been since I knew him.  Well, I didn’t know it when I first met him, but I learned it not long after.  In 1990, being HIV+ was a death sentence, but I held out hope.  He’d just started AZT and the few times I visited when I went to Atlanta he seemed fine. 

Fast forward to 1992.  I called Tony, and his roommate answered.  There was the pause I mentioned and I knew before he said a word.  He’d passed about a month before.  They had been unable to find my number, so they couldn’t let me know.  I missed his final moments, I missed his memorial service, I missed it all.  

He filled me in on his final days.  His family had relented and finally come to Atlanta to be with him.  He’d gone blind about 48 hours before he passed, but I was told he seemed to be at peace with what was happening.  

I was devastated.  

But.  

Because I didn’t have any sort of closure, I’ve spent the last 35 years just believing that like many people from my past, we just lost touch.  He’s still driving his beat up tiny pick-up truck listening to Skinny Puppy cassettes.  I continue to hope that he’ll call and let me know he is okay.  

Our moment in time, was brief.  Maybe 4 four months total, before I moved back to Kentucky.  When we met, I was living with my friend Shelley, with my stuff in storage, trying to figure out what came next.  

One of my favorite memories, is coming home to discover a vase of daisies in front of our door.  The note was an apology for coming on too strong.  Daisies are still one of my favorite flowers because of that note.  

This is not the first time I’ve written about Tony.  Years ago I wrote about him, and a friend of his found the post and contacted me.  I was so touched.  I miss him.  And will love him forever. He was a bright spot in a moment in time for me.  

And this is my Dolly story.   

Wishing you were somehow here again.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

My latest writing prompt:

Write about a door you’ve walked through that you can’t go back through.

I got this suggestion a week ago and I’ve thought about it a lot, but I keep coming back to the same story. Every time.

In 2007, I spent the summer in Tulsa, Oklahoma designing the lights for The Music Man, Naughty Marietta, and Sweeney Todd. It was an adventure to say the least. I was sleeping in a dorm room, with a roommate, and at 42, it was weird as fuck.

I was doing summer stock, 20 years after I should have been doing summer stock. That being said, as everyone I’ve ever spoken to about summer theater, it was wonderful and terrible all at the same time.

The lead actors in the shows, that played in rep, were all professionals. They were all incredibly talented. The choruses were mostly made up of college kids, who were doing their first professional gigs. I can say that a lot of the people I worked with there have gone on to bigger careers, whether performing, directing or designing.

Eric who ran the theater company, and directed the show, was very creative, and the shows were always a little outside the norm, which made them fun to do. For example, for Sweeney, we pulled all the masking, and upstage soft goods and performed the show on scaffolding in front of a dramatic upstage concrete wall.

The work was fast and furious. The rehearsal period short, tech even shorter. I wrote 400 cues for Sweeney in about 4 hours. At the end of every break, it was like someone fired a starter pistol, and I was now sprinting toward the finish line. Looking back, there are lots of things I would change, but it in the moment, it just felt good to get it where we got it.

The highlight of my summer there was meeting Kelly Irwin. She was the production stage manager, and we became fast friends. Probably because, well not probably, we were the adults in the room. All of the lead actors were housed in donor homes, while the chorus, crew and designers were housed in a dorm. It was Kelly who reminded people to stop drinking and go to bed. It was Kelly, who demanded we all hide in the bathroom during the torrential thunderstorms we got that summer when the tornado sirens were sounding.

Kelly and I spent many nights hiding in her dorm room decompressing from the day. Sometimes this involved drinking. Sometimes vodka.

Fun fact: The evening I’m about to describe, was the second to last night I ever drank vodka. It was bad news. The last time was even worse, a year later. I NEVER drink it now.

On the night in question, Kelly and I hid. And in the process, we began to talk. About our lives. About our professions. About the summer. At one point, it turned to families, and then death and dying.

And then something clicked and we began to talk about become a member of the dead parent club. My father had died four summers prior, her mom the summer before. And we went down a deep, melancholy rabbit hole, and stayed there until around 4:00 a.m.

Ultimately, what we decided was that it’s a door no one wants to walk thru, but that most of us will walk thru at some point in our lives. We don’t think about the mortality of our parents when we are young. They are fixtures in our lives, fixtures that will be there forever.

Then your grandparents fade away. And one day you wake up and realize that when you thought your parents were old, they weren’t. Now that you are in your 40’s they are getting older and much frailer. The summer of my 20-year high school reunion, I had at least three friends, including myself who lost parents that summer.

I can still remember getting the call that my dad had passed. It was quick. It was sudden. One minute he was there. Next minute he wasn’t.

And this is what Kelly and I delved into that fateful night. It was a club that no one wants to belong to, but is inevitable, if you make it yourself. Looking back, I don’t remember for sure, but it might have been the night of the one year anniversary of Kelly’s mom dying.

It’s been almost 20 years since that summer. I’m in the orphan stage now. Both of my parents are gone. That’s even weirder door to walk thru. There is no one to call on Sunday night to talk about the weather. There is no one to call who can update you on the family drama. And suddenly you are alone in keeping the family stories alive.

I know all of this is life. It’s the reality of growing old, for those of us lucky enough to grow old. Once you get that phone call, saying “they’re gone,” there is no going back. It changes you forever, regardless of your relationship with said parent.

So I sit here, reminiscing about that summer. Pete. Travis. Eric. Ron. Brian. Supreet. Jenna. Kyle. Andrea. So many memories. I signed up for Facebook that summer. My first photo was of a bar that we’d been in earlier in the night. I had no idea what Facebook was, but I was able to sign up since my UCSD email address was still valid. We all stayed in touch for a while after that summer. Kelly moved to NYC and we hung out. Others I’d text. Most of them I followed on Facebook, till they moved on or my political posts drove them away. I still like to see what those that remain are up to. Some getting married. Buying houses. Directing shows. Performing on well-regarded stages. Designing beautiful shows. It’s still nice to know they are out there. They were a great group of people.

The two summers that I spent there changed my life. All for the better, although I might not have said that at the time. I’m proud of my work there, and the friends that I made. And the talk filled night with Kelly, is still one of the special nights of my life.

Pump, pop here comes a hill!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

What is something in your life, literal or metaphorical, that you wish would miraculously last for a much longer time than it was meant to? What would you do with that extra time?

Continued from last night:

In the early spring of 2001, I was living in the financial district of NYC. I was five blocks from the World Trade Center, no more than a ten-minute walk. We were 6 months in front of another event that would come to define my life.

I was working out every day, and between the Gold’s Gym a few blocks from my apartment that I sometimes went to, and the New York Sports Club that I also went to, I had lots of options.

At the NYSC, there was a trainer who took a liking to me. His name was Rich, he was super cute, partially deaf, in amazing shape, and he offered to train me for free. We began to work out together, and went out a few times. We both liked each other a lot, but we both realized we’d be better friends than lovers. We continued to work out together, and still hung out.

In early spring, Rich invited me to a gathering at his apartment. It was an informal meeting of people who might be interested in doing the Pallotta TeamWorks AIDS ride from Boston to NYC. I went and had a great time, and met a lot of great people. At the meeting, there was a short presentation about the ride, where the money went, how to approach fundraising, and how the logistics worked.

I listened, promised to support Rich in the fundraising, and left with little else to offer.

Within a month, Rich let me know he wasn’t going to do the ride.

I let him know that I WAS going to do the ride.

It was April. I had three months to train. And I had three months to raise 2,000 dollars.

You had to raise that much to help cover the costs of the logistics of the ride. Basically, you showed up with a bike, and a bag and you were in charge of the bike, and they were in charge of the bag. They’d make sure it got to your campsite, where a tent would be waiting for you. They also provided breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as hot showers, restrooms, and physical therapy pros. It was a well-oiled machine.

Within a week, I’d sent out form letters to all of my friends. I sent emails to all of my colleagues at work. And slowly the money trickled in. $20 here. $50 there. One friend wrote me a check for $1,000, that put me very close to my goal.

Meanwhile, I should say I was training. But I was NOT. NOT at all. I was riding my bike, but NYC is pretty flat, and I’d say all in all I probably trained 10 days. However, I was in the best shape of my life. I was running every day. I was lifting. I weighed 180 pounds.

The smartest thing I did to prepare for the ride was to borrow my friend Mike’s road bike. I had a dirt bike and it would have not been good.

The days passed. When all was said and done, I raised about $2,700. From lots of donors.

The day before the ride, I rode my bike to Lincoln Center. There, I dropped off my bike, so that it could be transported for the start.

Oh. Did I mention, this was the first year they were riding from NYC to Boston. I was not excited about that, but nobody asked me. The start of the ride was at Bear Mountain about 60 minutes outside the city.

The day of the ride, I wake, grab my bag, and hail a cab. I was to go to a pick-up point where I’d take a bus to Bear Mountain. The most significant thing about that day, was that I left my cell phone in the taxi. I would be communication free for the next four days. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I get on the bus, grab a seat, and chat with the people around me. We are all excited. Did I mention that it’s 6:00 in the morning. Once we were there, we have to sign in and turn in our collections, to prove that we raised enough money. If you didn’t meet the minimum you have to pay out of pocket to participate.

I get there with my surplus, and because I didn’t break any records, I end up donating my excess to others to keep them from paying. It was the perfect start to my four-day ride.

Once everyone is signed in, there is an assembly and then we climb on our bikes and start.

And this is where things got weirdly wonderful.

From the moment we started, to the moment I rode my bike into Boston, the experience was perfection. There was no competition. No one cared if they were first. Or last. No one cared if they had to walk up a hill. No one cared if they had to have a car drive them to the next rest area. No one judged you if you took a break.

On the big hills, bikers would climb the hill, then walk halfway down, to cheer on those that were struggling. On the way into camp, there were people who’d finished hours earlier who instead of showering and eating, hung out at the entrance to cheer people on.

At meals, everyone sat with everyone. There were no cliques. I sat with different people every day. We all laughed, shared storied of the road, and chatted about the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I only saw my tent mate at bedtime. I don’t even know his name. I’m not sure I’d have recognized him two weeks later. But still life was perfect.

Things that stand out:

The first day was the toughest. The hills getting us to lunch were horrible.

I did not own bike shorts. Why would I? I wasn’t a biker. The chaffing at the end of the first day was horrendous. I bought one pair, and wore them every day till the end of the ride.

Being phoneless was scary, but people let me use their phones, and I knew enough numbers by heart to be able to call people.

The people cheering you on, was wonderful. Just like in a marathon, citizens gathered along the route to offer snacks and water. They held signs and encouraged you to get up that hill.

I rode my (Mike’s) bike the whole way. There were a couple of times I wanted to walk up a hill, but I didn’t. I rested at the top, but I never walked.

I was hit on several times, and was invited to spend the night in tents that weren’t mine. I did not. I wanted the ride to be about what it was, and not about casual sex.

I got my one and only chiropractic treatment in my life, because my back was killing me. I wanted a massage, but they were all booked. Chiropractor it was. I haven’t really had a problem with my back since.

Riding into Boston was the most glorious thing ever. I still wish it had been Eighth Avenue in NYC, but alas it was not. I found my friend Michelle, and my friend Louis , in the crowd waiting for me. There were hugs all around. Congratulations. I said goodbye to the people I knew, dropped my bike (Mike’s) at the pick-up place and we were off.

We did a bit of site seeing, dropped by the Cheers bar, and then went to dinner.

And I wish, that the experience could have lasted longer. I wish that I could have held on to the perfection that was that experience. To this day, it’s probably the closest I’ve been to four perfect days. I’ve had lots of good days, but these were perfect.

Even with the chaffing, and the bad back.

From the web:

In July 2001, roughly 2,002 people rode bicycles 330 miles from Bear Mountain, New York, to Boston for the Northeast AIDS Ride. The four-day event raised about $6 million total, with $3 million going directly to HIV and AIDS health centers in New York and Boston.

You left me lists, everything in lists, well, your little lists, aren’t very helpful, I fear

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

A friend of mine and Adam’s is friends with someone who teaches writing. During our last trip to NYC we had a quick meet up and we chatted about my Manager Posts. I mentioned that Adam had been giving me prompts as sometimes I had a difficult time coming up with a subject matter, especially since I don’t write much about the restaurant business anymore, although let me tell you, the things I could write about keep coming.

This is the latest prompt from her.

What is something in your life, literal or metaphorical, that you wish would miraculously last for a much longer time than it was meant to? What would you do with that extra time?

This one has stumped me for a couple of months. For several reasons.

First, my work schedule, as well as my personal schedule, have not allowed me much time to write.

Second, I’ve not been able to wrap my head around what the prompt actually means.

However, I told myself when I went to bed last night, I was going to write tonight, so here I am.

What is something in your life, literal or metaphorical, that you wish would miraculously last for a much longer time than it was meant to? What would you do with that extra time?

There are so many ways to go with this.

For example, I’ve always been allergic to cats. ALWAYS. My face would swell. My nose would twitch. And then I met Adam. BUT with Adam came Harper. And well, Harper taught me that I could love a cat, take a daily allergy pill and be okay. I was lucky enough to get to spend 2 years with Harper. She let me hold her. She would lay next to me after Adam got up in the morning. And when we she realized she was dying she didn’t bother Adam with her crying. She paced on my side of the bed the last night of her life and I comforted her as best I could.

The next day Adam and I took her to the vet and did one of the hardest things either of us has ever done. He held her while I stroked her back as she took her last breaths. We were both inconsolable.

I wish that I had come in to Adam’s life 5 years prior so that I could have that time with Harper. Well. And Adam too.

In my 61 years on this earth, I have lived a dozen or more lifetimes.

1. My childhood.
2. High School
3. College
4. Atlanta.
5. The University of Kentucky.
6. Cincinnati.
7. NYC.
8. Grad School.
9. NYC.
10. NYC w/ Adam
11. Maine the first year.
12. Maine the next few years.
13. Maine since we bought our house.
14. My senior years.

There has also been love and loss during that time.

1. The death of my grandmother.
2. The death of my father.
3. The death of my mother.
4. The death of my Aunt Doo.
5. My first real boyfriend Jim.
6. My second real boyfriend Sam.
7. My third boyfriend Keith.
8. My fourth “friend” Louis.
9. My fifth boyfriend Sam.
10. My 10th boyfriend Curtis.
11. My 11th and last boyfriend Adam.

There have also been so many jobs!

1. Day’s Inn.
2. Wendy’s.
3. The College Bookstore.
4. Martin’s Printing Press
5. J.C. Penney
6. Bennigan’s.
7. Daryl’s.
8. The Italian Oven.
9. Grad Assistant.
10. High School Teacher.
11. Hard Rock Café.
12. College Teacher.
13. Grad Assistant.
14. Lighting Designer.
15. Restaurant Manager.
16. Office Manager.

There has also been trips.
1. New Mexico with the family.
2. NYC in high school
3. Florida for Spring Break
4. Kansas City
5. Myrle Beach
6. Savanah, Georgia
7. New Orleans
8. Miami
9. London.
10. Paris.
11. London, Paris, Barcelona.
12. Drive across the country.
13. Drive across the country.
14. Drive across the country.
15. Maine
16. Texas.
17. California.
18. NYC.
19. Buenos Aires
20. Ireland

I could keep making lists. But I think I’m using them as a way of not deciding on one thing.

I do think though there are a few things that would really make the top three.

1. Grad School at UCSD. It was three of the most perfect years possible.
2. My 10 day spur of the moment trip to Paris with my friend Michelle.
3. My four day bike ride from NYC to Boston to raise money for AIDS research.

And I think #3 it is.

Tune in tomorrow for the actual post.