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You are the wind beneath my wings.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 6:

Today was a fairly boring day for Adam and Jeff.  Until it wasn’t.  

I’ll start with the fun stories for those who only read a paragraph or so.  

Adam and I were meeting an old work friend of his.  We were going to have a very quick dinner at Legasea, at the Moxy Hotel.  It was near her work, and since she got off late and we had a show to get to it had to be quick.  

We were running late, and my right knee was being a pain in the ass, so when I saw the long flight of stairs to the second floor, I requested the elevator.  We pushed the button and waited.  It came pretty quickly.  We entered first, followed by two couples and a single man.  The single man pressed the buttons we needed and the elevator began to move.  

The elevator lifted about a foot, then dropped suddenly about a foot, then the screen you used for buttons went dark.  We waited.  Nothing.  The single man pressed the screen but nothing was happening.  At first we were all joking and laughing, until we realized that we were stuck.  

I lived in NYC for a long time, and I’ve used elevators all my life, even in some questionable buildings, but I’ve never gotten stuck.  It was true for everyone in the elevator.  

The man standing behind me announced that we all should stay calm.  No one was panicking, but okay.  The man on the other side of me popped open a can containing a margarita.  I jokingly asked if he had another and he showed me he did.  Still no one was panicking.  

Soon the single guy, who was next to the screen took control.  First, he tried calling for help on the elevator system.  No one answered.  At my new job, if you call on the elevator it goes to 911.  He tried again.  Still no answer.  

He then pressed the alarm.  Now a loud alarm was going off.  Still, no one was responding.  Eventually, he pried open the door enough to realize we were still on the first floor.  He ended up prying them open about 6 inches and suggested we call for help, at which point the woman behind Adam on the other side of the elevator let out a blood curdling scream.  Like something you’d hear on Friday the 13th.  The man in charge announced, no more of that, why don’t you let me call for help.  So he stood next to the doors and began to call for help.  

Here’s the fucked-up part.  We could see people walking by, but no one was interested in helping.  The alarm is still going off.  He’s calling for help.  And after what seemed like forever, maintenance showed up, pried the doors open from the outside and let us out.  In all it was ten minutes at the most, but it’s a long time to be stuck, when you don’t know the outcome.  

Adam was very sweet when we got out.  He said, “I was just upset we weren’t standing together so I could hold your hand.” 

Once we were out, we walked up the stairs, had dinner and caught up with our friend.  

As for the rest of the day:

We had bagels again.

We saw The Outsiders again.  With NINE high school groups.  (There was a print out of the schools inserted in the Playbill).  The show was great.  And it’s a great first Broadway experience for kids, as there is fire, and rain, and the sets and lighting are wonderful.  And it really is a great score.  I cried again, even though I knew how it ended.  

After the show we grabbed a snack at Shake Shack, and NYC institution at this point.  

After dinner, we saw Beaches.  

On the way home we stopped at Dante Apertivo for a night cap.  I had the best boulevardier I’ve had all week.  The only thing that would have made it better would have been if they’d had Rittenhouse as the base spirit.  

Now it’s approaching midnight.  I’m sleeping, so I’m going to shower and go to bed.  

Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Day 3:

The best part of being on vacation is getting to sleep late.  We typically have such late nights that we rarely start the day early.  It felt nice at 8:30 to turn over and go back to sleep.  

We finally got our day started at 11:30. We had a 1:00 lunch reservation so we needed to get up, to have time to stop for coffee and club soda.  There is a Starbucks and a McDonald’s about 20 feet from our hotel.  What more could a person want.  

We got our morning libations and headed south in a cab to SOHO to have lunch at Balthazar.  Balthazar is the restaurant Adam and I ever went to that wasn’t a diner in our neighborhood.  One that first trip, we got chicken liver mousse, and steak tartare.  Both are part of our restaurant favorites whenever we eat out.  We also have them at home occasionally when Adam is feeling adventurous when he cooks.  His version of both are great.  

Balthazar is great, but the tables are SUPER close together.  The kind where you have to pull your table out so that one of us can go in.  I always sit on the outside, since I usually don’t fit in the tight space and I get super claustrophobic.  We got lucky today, we were on the outside table, next to the window.  However, it was still tight.  Tight enough to admire the gentleman’s Rolex next to us.  I love watches, and I have to admit, it was very pretty.  And the table that replaced them one of the girls had an engagement ring the size of Texas.  The tables were also so close that I felt like I was getting intimate with the super cute server, who kept reaching around me to pour water and wine.  

Lunch consisted of chicken liver mousse, shrimp cocktail, frisée salad, and French onion soup for me.  We then split a chicken club with fries for our entrée.   I have to admit, that by the time the club came, I was stuffed so I picked at the fries and enjoyed the last of the wine.  

After lunch we walked across to Hudson Street.  It was a perfect day in NYC.  Bright blue sky, and warm, but not hot.  Not quite perhaps warm enough for shorts, but you definitely didn’t need a jacket.  

We took our time walking as my right knee is in the throws of needing surgery.  It’s not quite there yet, but the time is fast approaching.  I have to take it slow, and not push it.  I’d like to keep away from the doctor for at least another year.  

When we got to Hudson, we hailed a cab and headed up town to the Whitney Museum of American Art.  Neither Adam, nor myself had ever been and we thought it would be a great way to spend the afternoon.  We started on the top floor with, as we were instructed to do, with a stop at the coffee shop, for a soda water.  We grabbed a table outside on the patio to enjoy the view of the city scape.  

We were sitting there, when we were approached to take a photo of a man with a very big, very expensive camera.  I stood up to do and he kept speaking to me in a very thick German accent.  I had no idea what he was saying.  After he handed the camera back to me, he back to talk to us.  I could only make out about every third word, but I did understand that before he retired he worked as a gas man installing pipes.  He was concerned about the fact that NYC infrastructure is over 100 years old.  He then perched his leg up on the railing so his crotch was somewhat in Adam’s face and begin to talk about how you need to have big hands if you want work with pipes.  

I was sitting there watching the interaction Adam and the old man (probably in his mid 70’s) and I could see Adam getting more and more uncomfortable.  I kind of found of funny, because Adam hates talking to strangers.  When the man left to grab his glasses Adam turned to me and tersely said, “Save me.”  I laughed and stood up.  And we told the man to have a great afternoon and we started our tour of the museum.  

It’s a wide variety of modern American Art, with Warhol, Jasper Johns, Edward Hopper, Basquiat, Georgia O’Keefe, moving to really modern art with artists who were born in the 50’s that I do not know.  I have to admit that I like the older stuff more than the more modern stuff, but it was amazing to see the political overtones about race, war, etc. in the creation of the different pieces.  

After the Whitney, we walked The High Line.  For those of you not familiar, NYC took an old elevated railway line on the west side of the city and turned it a park, that wanders up the west side.  It’s full of plants and art, and many times you are walking by buildings that you can see into.  There are places to sit and in the summer, people sell wares and food etc along the way.  It’s a great way to get from The Village north through Chelsea.  

When we got to 23rd Street, we grabbed another cab to go up to Times Square.  

In Times Square, we went to The View in the Marriot Marquis.  It’s the revolving restaurant and bar on the top floor.  We’ve been before and what it lacks in quality it makes up for in scenery.  

We took the elevator up to the 47th floor and got seated at a nice table next to the window. 

Do you remember how I mentioned that Adam doesn’t like to chat with strangers.  Our server was a chatty Kathy.  She asked about his tattoo.  She asked where we were from.  She would not stop talking.  Even when we were ready to order.  

Finally, we ordered, and she disappeared.  Adam went to wash his hands and she delivered our drinks while he was gone. Thus began a conversation about our drink choices, whether he was a chef, and what brought us to New York.  We also learned that she lived in California, Las Vegas, Boston, where she would drive up to Vermont.  

Finally, we were on our own to enjoy the view and look at our phones.   At which point I asked Adam if he would order a club soda, since she’d conveniently forgotten the one I ordered with my drink.  He did and she brought it.  

15 minutes later she reappeared to ask if we wanted another drink.  We ordered and at which point she cleared our empty glasses.  Including the soda water she’d brought that I’d take one sip from.  I was soda waterless again.  

It really makes me laugh when the soda water shenanigans start.  

We finally paid our check, said thank you and left to go thte theater.  

Tonight was Titanique.  An amazing show about Celine Dion actually being on the Titanic when it sank.  It’s a laugh riot.   We saw it Off Broadway three or four years ago, and it’s bigger and better on Broadway.  Once again, the audience was involved right from the beginning and they never stopped laughing or engaging till curtain call.  

After the show, we grabbed a cab, headed back to our hotel and now Adam is watching TV and looking at his phone and I’m about to post this and take a shower.  

Tomorrow is another two show day.  

I put a little more mascara on!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Adam and I went to Boston yesterday to see a play.  Not a musical.  But a play.  Miracle of miracles.  We went down early, had dinner at The Cheesecake Factory, which we had not done in years, then walked from The Prudential Center, the Four Seasons, where we had a drink in the lobby.  

It’s fun to go to places that focus so much energy on hospitality.  The doors were held open for us when we entered.  The front desk agent walked us to the bar.  The host walked us to the table.  The server was warm and friends and brought our drinks which were delicious.  The host checked back in on us.  We paid, and were thanked by at least six people as we exited.  

We then made our way to Huntington Stage, which was about a 10 minute walk away.  We arrived early, took our seats and took in the room.  It was closing night for When Playwrights Kill, and there was a buzz in the room.  There almost always is on closing nights as often there are a large number of friends and colleagues in the room.

We did see Laura Bell Bundy during intermission who I assume was there to see here Legally Blonde co-star Marissa.  The show was a lot of fun, loosely based on the experience the playwright had years ago when he wrote a show staring a well-known movie actress.  The show had lots of inside theater jokes, the cast was insanely good and the audience had a great time.  

Now to the meat of the story.  

I am a man of a certain age.   We’ll call me old.  There was a time when I was not old, much thinner, and much more mobile when I might turn a head or two, but those days are long past.  

So imagine my surprise, when I’m outside the restroom, during intermission, waiting for Adam, when I look up the stairs to see a man gazing at me.  I think to myself, he must be looking at someone behind me and turn, but nope.  He’s looking at me.  I divert my eyes and pretend not to have noticed.  When I look back, he’s looking at his phone, and for a moment, I think he’s with the kids in front of him.  But nope.  He sees me looking and gazes at me again.  

I divert my eyes again.  I think to myself, WOW, this hasn’t happened in a long time.  I don’t even know how to respond.  It actually makes me self-conscious and nervous more than anything.  

I look again, and he’s still gazing at me.  Perhaps he thinks I’m someone he knows, but I swear I’ve never seen him before.  This time I smile, and he smiles back.  Now I’m even more nervous.  

Finally, the line he is in moves down the stairs and he’s past me.  However, he keeps looking over his shoulder at me.  

Then Adam arrives.  

He grabs my hand, and say, “Don’t look, but I think my next boyfriend is line for the restroom.”  He looks behind him and sees the guy who finally has his back to me.  

Adam goes, he’s cute.  And he was.  Probably late 30’s early 40’s.  Nice building.  Sandy blonde hair.  Blue eyes.  He’s also about 6’ tall.  

Adam and I head back upstairs and watch the room.  There once again is energy in the room.  Lots of people moving about from group to group.  

We take our seats.  The second act starts.  We love it.  

The show ends, gets a rousing standing ovation. (What show doesn’t these days?”).

We have a two-hour drive in front of us so we make our way back down to the restrooms.  I finish first, I always do, and am waiting at the bottom of the stairs once again for Adam.   It’s still kind of crowded when I notice an older gay man waiting across the room.  And what would you know, my new boyfriend comes out and greets him. 

Fifteen seconds later, Adam walks out, has to maneuver between them and grabs my hand.  I say to Adam, “My new boyfriend has a type.”  And wants to know what that means and I reply, “Take a look, his boyfriend looks just like me only shorter.”

And he did.  He was older, with a bigger build and bright blue eyes.  Only shorter.  We were even dressed a like.  

Before anyone panics, I’m not looking for a new boyfriend.  But I do have to say, that it made my heart patter, to know someone, other than Adam might find me attractive.  It has been a long while since this has happened.  

As we exited the building, joining the crowd on the sidewalk, Adam grabbed my hand and we started toward our car back at the Prudential Center.  We waited the appropriate 500 feet before we really started to discussing the show.  

He loves me so, that funny honey of mine!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

This morning about six minutes after I got up, Adam’s alarm went off.  He’d snoozed it when it sounded at 8:30.   Both of our alarms go off at 8:30.  We both have I-phones, but his alarm sounds about 15 seconds before mine does, I have no idea why.  

I digress.  

I was getting ready to get in the shower, when I realized he had not shut his alarm off.  I waited.  And waited.  Finally, I went in and said Babe?  Babe?  He didn’t answer.  I then said, Adam?  Adam?  A little louder.  He still didn’t budge.  Adam is not a super hard sleeper, so I was surprised he didn’t respond.  I have to admit, for about 1/16th of a second I thought he might be dead.  Then I tapped him on the shoulder and he awoke with a start.  It’s one of the reasons I started out quietly; he is easily startled when he’s asleep. 

He had not heard the alarm at all.  He was surprised that it was going off, and he was surprised that I had to wake him. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and then went back to take a shower. 

As I was trying to wake up in the shower, I realized that calling Adam by his given name was not something I do often.  We hardly ever use each other’s names.  We both use “BABE” as a term of endearment.  In fact, he called me at work today and I said, “Hello, Babe” and my boss referred to him as Babe 30 seconds later.  

It always feels awkward when I say Adam, when speaking to Adam.  I say his name all the time at work.  They probably get sick of hearing about the meals he cooks for me, or the things he did for my birthday.  But to say, “Hey Adam, what’s for dinner?, just doesn’t flow.  

The only thing worse than using his name to address him is him calling me Jeff.  It’s like nails on a chalkboard. He does it so seldomly that I always think I must be in trouble, or something must be wrong.  Neither is usually true.  

Which brings me to the point of this story. 

When we first started dating, and it became clear that we were going to be something more than just a casual fling, he started calling me “Honey Bear.”  I don’t know why?  I don’t know where it came from.  I, however, loved it from the start.  At some point, we moved past Honey Bear to Babe.  He does usually write cards to me addressed as Honey Bear.  And it makes my heart grow three sizes.  It makes me smile. 

I’ve only ever called him Babe, that I remember.   

Which brings me to the question:  What do you call your significant other?  Your spouse?  Your boyfriend?  Your girlfriend?  Your lover? 

I have to go now, because a voice from the kitchen just said, “Babe, dinner will be ready in 5!”

The prompt today was honey.   

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I spend way too much time on Facebook.  Way too much.

Mostly it’s a way to waste time, while I’m waiting for Adam to get home.  Or waiting for a meeting to start at work.  Or waiting for dinner to be ready.  

Today’s Facebook is very different than the Facebook of my childhood.  Back when you could poke someone.  Or were reconnecting with friends you hadn’t seen for years.  

Obama changed that.  Suddenly, Facebook was political.  As a liberal, it brought out the worst of the worst.  When Adam and I first started dating, while I was waiting for dinner to be ready, I was battling it out with conservative “friends.”  Fun fact, when you point out that your friends are on the “dole” while voting against their own best interest, they unfriend you.  This happened several times.  

Fast forward 50 years and now it’s ALL politics except for a few posts from friends sharing their lives.  In between the political posts and the friends, you are bombarded with shirtless men (perhaps that’s just my algorithm) and Broadway shows.  

Today, I was sitting in my car wasting time, and was scrolling and came upon a post from a friend.  It’s a post that circulates every so often.  It harkens back to the old times, when there used to be lists of questions that you would share you answers with your friends.  

This particular post was about states you’ve visited, and states you’ve live in.  

It’s below:  

Mark an X by a state you’ve actually stepped foot in.  Mark XX for states you’ve lived in:

1Alabama XX

2 Alaska 

3 Arizona X

4 Arkansas X

5 California XX

6 Colorado X

7 Connecticut X

8 Delaware X

9 Florida X

10 Georgia XX

11 Hawaii 

12 Idaho X

13 Illinois X

14 Indiana X

15 Iowa XX

16 Kansas XX

17 Kentucky XX

18 Louisiana X

19 Maine XX

20 Maryland X

21 Massachusetts X

22 Michigan X

23 Minnesota X

24 Mississippi X

25 Missouri X

26 Montana 

27 Nebraska X

28 Nevada X

29 New Hampshire X

30 New Jersey X

31 New Mexico X

32 New York XX

33 North Carolina X

34 North Dakota 

35 Ohio XX

36 Oklahoma XX

37 Oregon 

38 Pennsylvania X

39 Rhode Island X

40 South Carolina X

41 South Dakota 

42 Tennessee X

43 Texas X

44 Utah 

45 Vermont X

46 Virginia X

47 Washington DC X

48 Washington 

49 West Virginia X

50 Wisconsin X

51 Wyoming X

Visited: 43

Lived in: 9

Wow.  Not bad.  It’s hard to believe that I’ve been to 43 states.  And in none of them, was it just stepping foot in an airport.  For all of them, it was visiting or at least driving through. 

Even more impressive is that I’ve lived in 9 different states for varying amounts of time.  

The longest I lived anywhere was in Kentucky.  The shortest I lived anywhere, was Tuscaloosa, Alabama where I rented an apartment, moved there, stayed three weeks and promptly moved back to Kentucky.  No one needs to live in Tuscaloosa, Alabama as a single gay man.  

I love that I got out of Kentucky.  I graduated from college and left.  There was not one part of me that thought I belonged there.  There was a big wide world to explore and I was going to explore it.  I knew that I was meant for adventures.  

Looking back on my life as a 60-year-old man, I love that I’ve had the adventures I’ve had. 

In Kansas, I learned that I could do any horrible job that was thrown at me, for at least a bit, to prove the naysayers wrong.  

In Georgia, I learned that it was okay to be gay.  That if people cared, you didn’t need them in your life.  It’s also the first time I realized that I was above average in looks.  

Back in Kentucky, I learned that I was a damn good lighting designer.  And once again, no one cared that I was gay.  

In Ohio, I learned that I was a pretty okay teacher.  Not great.  Not terrible, but pretty okay.  

In New York, I learned that it was better to be a big fish in a small pond, than a small fish in a big pond.  Also it takes too much effort to survive in the big apple.  And I’m a dam good slinging hash server.  Bring on the volume.  I also learned that after a lifetime of being a BAD boyfriend, that I could indeed, care for someone, love them and treat them in a way that fostered a loving relationship.  

In San Diego, I learned that I am a really good goddamned lighting designer, when put up against other eally good goddamned lighting designers.  

In Oklahoma, I learned that as you get older, comfort is king, and sleeping in two twin beds pushed together does not a queen size bed make.  Also, I can work really fast and still produce quality work.  

In Iowa, I learned that when you work with amazing people, your art is elevated.  To this day, the first show I designed there is still one I consider to be my best.  

In Maine.  I learned that I’m a good manager.  Not great.  Not bad.  But good.  Even on my worst day, I don’t micromanage.  I don’t yell.   And I don’t treat my co-workers badly.  

And now I’m 60.  On the downhill slope of life.  I don’t know how my friends from high school and college spend their time, but I often think of the choices I’ve made.  Would I have been better off to do this?  Would I have been better off to do that?  

For example:  

Should I have gone to graduate school at 30?  

Should I have focused on teaching more?  

Should I have stayed in Ohio, teaching, where I’d be on my way to retirement right now.  

Should I have stayed in NYC and started my restaurant management career earlier?  

Should I have applied at the Toyota Plant in Georgetown, that opened the year I graduated college and spent my time there, earning a pension and a reasonable retirement age.  

Should I have stayed in Atlanta, and been gay and fabulous and found a non-theater career to focus on?

Should I have stayed in Southern California and focused on my design work.  I was working a lot outside of school while I was there.  

Should I have stayed in Alabama, gone to the University of Alabama for grad school, and perhaps had a career as an academic? 

Should I have gone on a date with John instead of Adam and where would I be living if I had?  

Clearly, it’s easy to go down the rabbit hole.  I don’t get lost in this train of thought often, but sometimes when I can’t sleep, I get distracted with the what ifs.  

But at the end of the day, I truly don’t regret 99% of my decisions.  

They all worked together to make me the man I am today.  

They all worked together to help me find Adam, who I love more than I ever thought possible.  I have friends that love me dearly.  I have a house that I couldn’t have dreamt of ever having.  I have five cats who tolerate me.   I have a great life.   

And the moral of the story.  I’m not rich.  I’m not even close to retirement.  I have to work until I’m dead.  And, I wouldn’t trade my experiences for all the money in the world.  I have had an exciting, adventurous life.  And for that I’m grateful.  

My time spent gaining these experiences has not been wasted.  Even if some of my dreams have not come true.  I remind myself when I get down about the dreams, that I could have taken a job that I hated, gotten married, had two kids, been miserable and lived a lie, like so many gay men I know.  But instead, I got out.  

I lived.  

I explored.  

I had fun. 

My time and life have not been wasted.  

(Tonight’s prompt has been “time wasted.” 

Loadin’ up boats wid de bales of cotton, Gettin’ no rest till de Judgement Day.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I was actively involved in theater in high school.  The story of how I got involved is a good one.  

In 8th grade, a friend of mine asked me to go to the speech and drama club meeting with him, during our meeting time.  Back then, clubs met during school hours a few times a month.  I went, was intrigued and so I joined.  I became very active in the speech club competing at tournaments all through 8th grade up through my senior year in high school.  

I went on to studying lighting design and working for a bit in theater.  The friend that talked me into going to that first meeting now works for NASA.  Hmmm.  I have sometimes wondered what I’d have done if I hadn’t gone to that first meeting.  

My love of theater continued into high school.  Looking back, I was pretty bad as an actor and a speech tournament person.  But what I lacked in talent, I made up for with my determination.  I hardly ever missed a weekend of being up at the high school by 8:00, to car pool to high schools across the state.  I have lots of memories of these trips, that I suppose I might share someday.  

I was also involved with the school plays starting in 10th grade.  I was cast at Pop in the hit musical Gypsy.  I had lines, in the third scene of the show, and was never heard from again.  However, I loved the show and to this day, I see it every time I can.  I’ve seen it on Broadway three times.  Seen the national tour with Tyne Daly once.  She is my favorite Rose.  And I’ve seen too many amateur productions to count.  The start of the overture still gives me goosebumps.  

My senior year of high school, the theater club, of which I was an officer, held it’s end of year party.  I don’t remember whose home it was at.  I don’t remember much about it at all. 

Except.  

That it was a costume party.  Because why wouldn’t it be.  It’s a theater party.  

The theme was The Old South.  I may not remember this correctly, cut I’m pretty sure we watched “Gone With the Wind” that night.  But then again, maybe not, but for the life of me, I can’t imagine why else the theme would be the old south. 

I wracked my brain for weeks about what to do for a costume.  I didn’t have a lot of money.  And I didn’t consider myself very imaginative.  And I certainly didn’t want to spend money on a confederate soldier uniform.  (Of course I might have been able to borrow one from many of the Kappa Alphas on campus at our local college).  

Finally, I had an epiphany. 

I could go as a carpet bag. 

Not a carpet bagger.  But the bag itself. 

My stepfather, built a frame out of wood and the stretched blue shag carpet all around it.  We then added fabric straps that would go over my shoulders and a cardboard piece that went over my head to form the handle.  

It was not easy to move in.  And I had to be helped into the costume once we were there.  And I had to be helped into the house as well.  Everyone was super confused when they saw me, but they all laughed when I explained that I was a carpet bag.  

At the end of the night, little awards were given and I won the award for Best Costume.  The prize was a book about movie musicals that I still have to this day.  

Somewhere, in a box of photos, I have a picture of me, wearing the carpet bag.  I promise I will find it this summer and post it.  

Now.  

For tonight’s post the prompt was cotton.  I have no idea why?  I’m not sure Adam knows why.  

It’s a long shot, to connect my post with cotton, but as soon as he mentioned cotton, I started singing, I wish I was in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten. 

Of course, I could have written about my first visit to Texas to meet his family.  

He’s from Memphis, Texas, in the Panhandle about an hour from Amarillo.  As he drove me into town, from the highway, I remember passing miles and miles of plants with white stuff hanging off them.  I curiously asked him what that was and learned it was cotton. 

I don’t think I’d ever seen cotton plants before.  

However, after his prompt last night I googled whether Memphis, Texas produced cotton.  And fun fact, they are the known as being the cotton capital of the Panhandle.  The largest producer, has been in business for over 50 years.  

So my prompt is cotton. 

Why, it’s almost like being in love!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!

I was not in a great space after the 2024 presidential election.

I was in a worse space after the inauguration on January 20th.

Like most of my friends we all coped in different ways. I turned to alcohol and reading.

I kid, I kid. I’d already turned to alcohol.

The one thing I did do, was not look at my phone before bed. I limit my social media access to the 30 or so minutes that Adam takes to shower before bed. Once I’m in bed, I’ve gone back to reading fiction. I’m almost to the end of my 6th book since then.

Not as impressive as my friends who read 6 novels in a month. But I only get about 30 minutes before bed each night. The books are as varied as you can imagine. Gay love stories. Award winning fiction. Best sellers. Historical fiction.

All of this leads me to last night.

I’m currently re-reading Wally Lamb’s She’s Come Undone. It’s a disturbing book on many levels but I’m enjoying it again after reading it 20 or so years ago.

Last night the main character Deloris, is taking an English class at a community college. They are given a writing prompt to write about a daily activity that brings them pleasure.

I read the sentence. And stopped and thought to myself, what daily activity brings me pleasure. In fact I didn’t go back to reading till I made a decision.

For me it’s doing the dishes.

It’s not that I enjoy it. What I do enjoy, is that it brings Adam joy.

When we are home together, Adam almost always makes dinner.

It’s a several hour project. He cuts and chops. He bakes desserts. He preps for other projects.

It usually starts with a cocktail, and I cue up NBC nightly news. Then Wheel of Fortune. Then Jeopardy. Then I move to my computer to write. He piddles in the kitchen enjoying the process.

He uses all the pots and pans. All the measuring cups. He uses all the cutting boards and knives.

Around 10:00 he’ll announce “Five minutes.”

This is my cue to set the coffee table with cloth napkins and silverware. I get the wine glasses. Open the wine and pour. We toast and then he plates dinner, on par with a Michelin starred restaurant. The garnishes, the plating, all spectacular.

Then we head to the living room, cue up whatever show we are watching and before either of us takes a bite we toast and say we love each other.

This is our ritual.

We finish eating, sometimes finish our show, before Adam falls asleep on the couch.

I quietly get up and head to the kitchen, to do the dishes.

It never takes long, even though sometimes it’s a mess.

I get everything into the dishwasher that can go in it. I handwash the rest. I scrub down the counters and clean the stove top.

30 minutes to an hour later, I’m sitting back on the couch with a cat in my lap, a night cap on the tables, and I get to watch what I want for an hour.

60 minutes later, I tap him on the leg and tell him it’s time for bed. He’ll stir and come down to myside of the couch and sleep on my shoulder for another 20 minutes or so.

Eventually he gets up.

He goes to the kitchen and always calls out “Thanks for cleaning up, babe.”

It always makes me smile.

After almost 17 years I never mind.

Last week I even cleaned up for a dinner party that he had with friends that I didn’t attend.

Washing dishes, is the one task I do that gives me pleasure, because it makes Adam happy.

Drivin’ down the road, I get a feelin’ that I should’ve been home yesterday, yesterday!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’ve spent my entire adult restaurant career advocating for my young staff to go live their lives.

I say adult, which means management.

I say young staff, because I’m probably not going to give the same advice to a 50-year-old staff member.

The advice I have given over and over and over and over, is go forth and DON’T multiply.

In 2013, we hired a young kid named Nick, who was desperate to become a bartender. BUT. He’d never bartended in his life. We struck a deal with him. Work service bar for the summer, days only, and we’ll let you bartend. He got to learn how to make drinks. We got a service bartender who wasn’t going to wait on more than 5 or 6 guests a day. And his earnings were meager.

His dream was go get bartending experience and then go to Colorado and be a ski bum. Teaching skiing lessons during the day, bartending at night.

And he worked hard that summer. But alas, he also fell in love.

And at the end of the summer he was living with his girlfriend in Maine, and bartending for me, making no money.

I told him over and over, put your shit in your car and drive to Colorado. But he was in love and said he couldn’t.

Then Christmas came, and his girlfriend broke up with him on Christmas Eve. He came back after the new year heartbroken. He had no girlfriend, a job that didn’t pay well, and he felt it was too late to go west.

I asked him one day: What’s keeping you here? He said nothing. I asked if he was scared? And he said yes. I said, “Nick. Pack a couple of big bags. Put them in your car. And go. You don’t have to give notice to me. It’s winter, we’ll manage. Just go. And I’ll make you this promise. If you can’t find work, get homesick, or worse, I’ll have hire you the minute you get back.

Two days later he was gone.

I heard from him a couple of times, and he was living his best life in Colorado.

On Monday of this week, a sous chef, who left in September, came in to tell me he was going to Colorado to cook for the summer/winter. I congratulated him. He said he was flying out to get a place, meet his new team, and then flying home to drive back across the country.

I encouraged him to tell his new restaurant that he needed an extra week so that when he drove across country is wasn’t a trip to get from A to B but a chance to stop and see the country. Everyone needs to see the Bridges of Madison County. Everyone, should stop and go to Cedar Point and ride a roller coaster.

I can’t wait to hear about his adventures.

I love nothing more than watching young people I know fly and be free.

This is a long way of saying I’m very grateful for the number of lives I’ve lived. Not always perfectly. But I’ve had a blast. I’ve lived in the following states: Kentucky, Georgia, Ohio, Kansas, New York, Iowa, Alabama (for two weeks), California, Oklahoma, and Maine. Each adventure more exciting than the next.

I really only stressed about money a couple of times, and had to ask my parents for a favor a time or two, but I just went. And I didn’t move lightly. I took a 24’ UHaul to Alabama, then two weeks later, loaded it up and moved back home, leaving the keys to my apartment on the kitchen counter. I drove a U-Haul cross country twice to get to California and back.

I have only a couple of regrets in my life. Seriously. And even then, I’m aware enough to know that the experiences I regret helped me make me who I am today. I met lots of wonderful people. I saw lots of lovely places.

I will be eternally grateful for the life I’ve lived. It’s never been boring. It’s never been for the weak of heart.

PS. I promise I’m not dying. Just sharing stories of my life in the fast lane.

Tune in tomorrow when I talk about the Grand Canyon.

Why are there so many songs about rainbows?

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m pretty sure I’ve shared this post before but it’s always worth repeating.

From 1995 until 1998 I taught lighting design at the Cincinnati School for Creative and Performing Arts. SCPA.

Who knew that a high school could have a teacher dedicated to all things lighting. It was a life changing adventure and I’m proud to say that my past students are spread to the far reaches of the US, still doing amazing things.

I had been mostly out of the closet before I moved to Cincinnati and I wasn’t about to walk back in and start hiding again. One of the first things I did was put a rainbow sticker on my car.

I’ve never been a huge rainbow flag person, but at the time, I thought it was important to own who I was.

First semester of my second year there, I was teaching an intro class to a group of 7th graders. I was taking roll, going through my grade book (I still have them by the way, if any of my students want to know how they did back then).

I got to a young girl, who said she was here and then asked me if the red escort station wagon in the parking lot was mine.

I replied, yes it was. I called it my family car. When I bought it, I couldn’t afford a truck and I needed a way to cart students and lights around to projects I worked on.

The girl started to giggle and and hid her mouth behind her hand and said, so is that the one with the rainbow sticker on the back. Hehehehehe.

I said yes it is. Why do you ask?

Hehehehe, I was just curious, she said, still giggling.

She was trying to be passive aggressive, emphasis on the aggressive and I was having no part of it.

I said, Do you know what the rainbow flag stands for?

She really started to giggle then and wouldn’t answer.

I didn’t wait long before I continued, the rainbow symbol was adopted by the great Reverand Jesse Jackson as a symbol to celebrate and encourage diversity. I have the sticker on my car, because I teach in a very diverse school and I want all of my students to know that I appreciate who they are no matter what.

She stopped giggling and stared at me.

I looked at the whole class and said, does anyone else have a question about the rainbow sticker on my car?

Then, let’s get started.

What are the four qualities of light?

Look I made a hat, where there never was a hat.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

32, 013 words.

23 Chapters.

A million miles to go.

I called my Aunt Debbie yesterday, just to check in. She is the last of my mom’s siblings. We’ve been close my whole life. Well since her parents passed, and my mother became her guardian.

That was 59.5 years ago.

I check in every so often to see how she is doing. What’s up with the family I never hear from and to have a connection back to Kentucky and home.

Yesterday she asked me if I was still writing.

I assured her I was.

We talked about what I was writing. How it was going. And how much longer till I was done.

It felt nice to be asked. To have someone in my family be interested in what I’m doing.

I had told her about my writing about 6 or 8 months ago, as I needed her help. I needed facts, stories, folk lore about my family. I confessed to her that I was writing a book about my mom’s passing. Of course, that was just the way in to the rest of the story. It’s actually a book about me, my family, and where I come from.

I like to think of it as Hillbilly Eulogy without the eyeliner and hate.

Thing is, most of the people I’m connected to, that know the truth are all gone. This is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because there is no one to yell at me for the telling the truth. A curse because there is no one to confirm that it is the truth.

A while back, I reached out to Debbie to ask questions about something I was including. The death of my mother’s father. The details of which I knew with broad strokes, but did not know the exact details. I had written a chapter about his death and wanted to know how close I was to reality.

The facts were there, but I’d invented a good portion of it. Which is fine. It’s far from non-fiction. I was never an astronaut, but when the books starts, I’ve just gotten back from Mars. I kid, I kid.

When we talked 6 or so months ago we talked for about an hour. I was typing notes as she filled me in on the truth about his death, but also the stories of a million other things that I wanted to know.

My mom’s best friends? Who she dated? Where she worked? What kind of car did she drive?

I now have about 10 pages of notes that I took that night.

After we talked, I realized that most of my details of my grandfather’s death were far from factual. The question became, do I make it real? Or do I let it play out in my way?

Anyway.

I talked to Debbie yesterday. And she asked if I was still writing. It felt good to know she cared.

Someday, I’ll let her read it, reminding her that it’s my version of what I remember hearing around the dinner table.

Now on to Chapter 24.