Reboot

My husband and I have been together for almost eight years now, married for more than two years.  I never dreamt that a relationship could be so easy and idyllic.  Even after eight years of spending almost every day together (I think that we’ve been apart for a total of 10 nights in the eight-year span), we still do not take each other for granted.  We say “Thank you” almost daily for small things that we do for one another.  We text little red hearts and smiley-faces to each other throughout the work days, when we’re apart.  We go to bed each night with an “I love you.”  It’s steady.  It’s nice.  It’s sweet.  It’s damn-near perfect.

There is an old saying: “Familiarity breeds contempt.”  I don’t buy it.  I think that a person would have to be a sociopath to follow that logic.  However, I will admit, while my man and I do not take one another for granted, we sure are “used-to” being around one another.  We have a wide circle of friends, and spend a lot of time with different groups, but the majority of our time is spent at home.  And while we may not be in the same room, for example, he may be in his office, catching up on internet news (he’s a bit of a junkie), he might be writing reproachful letters to our elected representatives (I swear he is going to get us on a list, and the FBI or CIA are going to drone us) or he, most probably, will be playing video games like “The Sims” or “Skyrim” (yes, he is a big kid), whereas, I may be in the living room, writing, playing piano, reading, listening to music, or watching old “30 Rock” reruns on Netflix.  While not in the same room, we can hear each other faintly, or at least, have the knowledge that the other is close by.

So there is more of a chance of our not jumping up and down when we see one another (the way our dogs do every time we enter the house).  BUT…the other day, I was surfing the web, and stumbled across this video “End of the World” by Matt Alber:

Now, apparently this video was played often on the LOGO (read, “gay”) cable channel a few years ago between programs and became rather popular.  But I never watch “regular” TV (shoot, we even canceled our cable last year), so this video was completely new to me.  After I watched it all the way through, I called my husband into my office, and showed him.  He got a little choked up (he’s like that - it’s inherited from his sweet father).  I restarted the video, and danced him around the room a bit.  He loves that.

Over the next few days, I was walking around with stars in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach, so I found Matt Alber’s e-mail on his website and shot him a quick e-mail:

Hey Matt,
Sometimes I am a bit late, but the other day I first saw the video for your song "End of the World."  It was so romantic, I showed it to my husband. 
We've been together for 7 years, and since we watched that video, it's as if we just started dating. 
So I just want to say "Thank you.”
The best to you.

And Matt Alber surprised me by responding in just a few moments:

Wow, thank you for your sweet note. Made me smile! 

So thank you again, Matt.  Keep spreading the romance, guy.

But what could I say...

I did say a few weeks back that I would try to post more often.  I didn't promise.  Who needs a promise from me?  I rarely say, "I promise...," anything.  That kind of sweeping statement can get a person in big trouble.  But I said I would try to check in on Sundays.

 So here we go (the best I can muster tonight).  Today, I...

• Woke up early, around 6 AM.  (Since I became a year older a couple of weeks back, I guess I'm officially old.  I can't even sleep late on the weekends.  Even on Sunday mornings, when the night before I've watched all of Saturday Night Live - if I can stay awake that late.  This week SNL was somewhat good, but Drake wowed me with "Headlines."
• Played "Oblivion" a couple of hours.  (Oblivion is an RPG - role-playing game - set in a land that is much like Europe in Medieval times.  Oblivion is a chapter of a larger game series called "The Elder Scrolls."  The next chapter in the series comes out in November.  I know that I'll be spending that weekend back home in Louisiana, playing the new game with The Awesome Son.  He's already told me that.  And I listen to The Awesome Son.)
• Watched CBS Sunday Morning.  (A couple of interesting new pieces to start a soothing "news" day.  It's not exactly Glenn Beck.  Oh, it's the antithesis.  Coldplay was featured.  Chris Martin is cool.)
• Enjoyed the breakfast that The Man cooked.
• Napped.
• Practiced the piano.
• Showered.
• Went to my piano lesson.
• Returned home.
• Dined with friends to celebrate my, a friend's (who happens to share my special day), and The Man's birthdays.  
• Ate tofu.  (I went vegetarian this past week - Let's see how that goes...)
• Visited our local grocery store for this week's shopping.  (As we approached the store, The Awesome Son called.  [Good...The Man volunteered to go shop, and] I - score! - was able to just hang outside and chat with The Awesome Son, who laughed his head off at some of my antics.  Let's just say that I gave The Man a racy but odd birthday gift...it involved a hole in a gift bag.  Enough said.)
• Arrived home
• Let dogs out
• Unloaded groceries.
• Cleaned the litter box.
• Corralled the dogs back into the house (because they were whooping, barking, and hollering at something in the trees, in the dark.  Hell, I couldn't see what it was.  And the dogs were nuts.  It took a couple of minutes to break their attention and get them inside.)
• Ironed my shirt for my runway appearance at the office tomorrow.  (Music courtesy of Mr. Springsteen "The Wild, The Innocent, and The E-Street Shuffle."  Good Stuff!)
• Put brown rice on to cook.  (It amazes me how the rice cooker knows how much longer the brown rice needs than the white rice.  I'm so easily stumped.)

Now, I'm sitting here typing.
Dang, my life sounds a bit dull.  That's o.k.  I'm having a good time.

Everything Changed

It hit me.  Right out of the blue.  The feeling.  The one after the ceremony, which lasted all of about 10 minutes (it actually seemed shorter). 

With our procured witness (one of a couple of Key West gents who were – after 41 years together – also in New York City to be married), we entered the chapel.  The justice started with a question: “Which one of you is Kenneth?”  And off we went.

“Do you take Jason…?  Breath.

“I will.”

“To be your lawfully wedded spouse, to…blah, blah, blah…”

I guess he was a bit excited.  After she was able to finish her question, he said “I do.”

I said my “I do” at the appropriate place.

“I now pronounce you…married.”  I had wondered how that would end.

And with those words, everything changed.

It was weird.  I hadn’t expected those feelings.

We walked out of the lower Manhattan courthouse.  He had a huge smile on his face.  I’m certain I did too.  We walked to the park across the street and sat on a bench in the shade.  I called my son, my sister, my dad and my best friend.  He called his dad and his brothers.

On the subway ride back to Brooklyn where we were staying, I looked at my new husband and examined my feelings.  And they were familiar. 

I had been married, long ago.  To my then-best friend.  And I had loved it.  I tell people all the time, “If I had been straight, she and I would still be married.”  I know it in my heart.  But…I’m not hetero. 

A wife didn’t fit me.  A husband does.  Regardless of what other people feel or believe. 

I love being married.  I love having a husband.

I’ll keep him.

Happily Ever After? Oh Yeah.

My favorite stories in my early childhood began with the words “Once upon a time…” and ended with “…and they lived happily ever after.”  Beautiful princesses, courageous boys, and kind granddaughters could be introduced in the beginning of a tale to be set upon by hardship and sorrow, or encounter hunger, trolls or daunting adventures, or face danger and death.  I read and re-read all of the fairy tales that I could get a hold of.  (Love for fairy tales; omen of things to come?  Probably…)

My favorite fairy tale goes something like this:

“Once upon a time in a small village, there lived an honorable but peculiar young man.  The youth was part of a large family (who loved him dearly), but he was like no other of his kin.  The young man possessed a magic window with a golden frame and a clear pane of glass.  The window showed him the wide world far from his home.  He longed to have adventures, to see that world, and mostly, to find a place where he knew that other people would welcome him and his odd manner.

One day he waved good-bye to his family and set off with his magic window across the forest to the great city. The city was full of people hurrying about, who did not make much notice of him.  He felt alone and wondered if he should return to his family.

However, he encountered beautiful queens, sparkling fairies, rough-and-tumble lumber-janes and friendly bears.  These kind beings made him welcomed in the city, and he grew to love the city and his new friends.  He also did meet vicious queens, tired fairies, grouchy lumber-janes and grumpy bears.  Mostly, his new friends were able to protect him from the unkind beings.  Until, one day the youth was confident in his new city to defend himself.

He met some nice princes and some not so nice princes, some fair, some foul, but none could capture his heart.  The young man began to feel as if he would spend the reminder of his years alone.
On a warm day in early summer, the honorable young man looked into his magic window.  He had grown tired of all of the princes who seemed to always dishearten him, the ones unable to slay dragons, and the unkind ones, and the untrustworthy ones.  However that one day when he looked into his magic window, he saw a tall, fair prince.  Under leather and denim armor, he appeared strong and brave.  He was standing in front of a steed with a radiant smile on his face.  The young man knew that he had to meet the handsome prince.

 So he did, and they lived happily ever after.”

Kinda anticlimactic?  Not at all.

Ok, so this story was not my favorite fairy tale from my childhood.  How many fairy tales would have a young man searching for a prince?  About… none.  This story is certainly a fairy tale, the fairy tale of my life.  Which isn’t anticlimactic in the least.  It’s kinda exciting. 

It’s almost unbelievable to me that I found this prince of mine.  And to have everything fall together so easily.  I’m getting married this upcoming Wednesday for the second time in my life, but the first time to man.  And the fact that it is legal for me to marry my perfect man is a fairy tale in itself.

 “…and they lived happily ever after” may sound like the end of the tale; I know it’s just a break in the story.  I’m looking forward to the next chapter.

"You're My Sunshine"

How often do we snap at our loved ones when something completely unrelated to them has angered, hurt or disappointed us?
I pulled that the other night.

I had a particularly difficult day at work, and consequently, I’d come home feeling raw.  The Man and I ate dinner.  Around 8 PM, I went to lie down in the bedroom.  The phone rang (one of his old friends), I set Innervisions by Stevie Wonder very low on my iPod and soon feel asleep.

I woke to “Living for the City,” and a kiss on the cheek from The Man.
I grumbled, “You woke me up.”

Surprised, he said, “I’m sorry.”

I pouted the rest of the evening.

A little past our normal bedtime, The Man came up behind me as I sat at my office desk.  “Well, I’m going to bed.” he said quietly, and then he kissed me on the shoulder.  I said "OK" flatly, but didn’t turn around.

After a few minutes, I realized that I was being a jerk.  I walked into the bedroom, leaned against my dresser and sighed.  “I’m not sleepy now.  You woke me up earlier.”

He laughed.  “I know … you told me that.”

I smiled, apologetically “Sorry for being grumpy.  I’m not upset with you.”

“I know.”

“It was a rough day at work…”

“I figured.”

"I just wanted to go to sleep and escape the day."  Then I vented a bit about the earlier trials and the resulting anger, hurt, and disappointment.  He listened; he just listened quietly.

At the end of my monologue, I said, “I’m sorry.  I really try to keep work at work. Thank you for listening to me.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He smiled.

“You are so important to me.”

“I know.”

I can walk around grumpy, and this is what I get:

As I am leaving for work in the mornings: “You look so cute today.”

When I come home from work, a tight hug and a beaming smile: “This is the best part of my day.”

Absolutely anytime at all, a deep look into my eye:  “You’re my sunshine.”

"You're My Best Friend"  Queen

Regardless of the scowl on my face, my heart is warm and light.  The warmth makes my face glow; the lightness sets my feet in the clouds.  And daily, I'm convinced of just how lucky I am.

Begin Again

The conversation went something like this:

Me:  “’Tom’ asked if we were still getting together as a group to go to that play you wanted to see.”

Him, casually:  “Oh yeah, that sounds good…”

Me, impatiently: “Ok … I’ll get it together.  I told him, although it was your idea that I would be the one organizing it.”

Him, with a twinkle in his eye, ignoring the bait: “Well, ok…”

Me, hammering it: “It’s like most things.  For example:  if we go see a movie it’s usually my idea.  I’ll say ‘You want to go see a movie?’ and you’ll say ‘If you want to.’"

 

Me, droning now:  “You should be able to ask ‘What movie do you want to see?’  If it’s not one that you would like to see, you could say ‘I do not want to see that movie.’ At which point, I could return with: ‘I’ll go see it by myself’ or ‘Is there a movie that you would prefer to see?’"

Me, slinding into obnoxiousness:  “You don’t have to go with me to the movie.  I’m a big boy.  I can go by myself.  I have been to the movie many times by myself before you came along…”

Him, nailing it:  “But I’m here now.”

Me, stopped in my tracks and retreating a bit:  “Well, I guess that you should have the right to say you’ll go with me if I want to go.  I’d do the same for you."

The truth dawning on me:  “I guess we ended up at square one…”

He simply shot me a smile.

From "Tales of the Wise Fairy Queen"

Once upon a time, there was a fresh-faced blonde prince who had freckles all over his soft face and shiny forehead.  This young fellow had a fairy queen as a mom.  One day, the fairy needed some feminine napkins and Orange Fanta®, so she sent the lad to the store with a $20 bill in his pocket.  Along the way, an imp snuck into the pocket and swiped the currency.

 

When the prince arrived at the market, he checked his pocket and was astonished to find that it was empty.  Distressing at his bad fortune and possessing the knowledge that money was difficult to attain in the kingdom, he returned home expecting to face the wrath of his mother.  As he walked, he gnawed his fingernails and picked his nose.

When he arrived at the castle, he approached the throne of the fairy queen with his head bowed.  As she looked down on him, he began to cry.

“What is the matter, child?”  She asked, compassionately.

The lad stammered:  “I lost the $20 bill that you gave me.”

The fairy queen descended from her throne and walked toward the young prince.  She placed a single finger under his chin and lifted his head.  She smiled delicately at him.  “My son ... that was not the only $20 bill in the world.”

For June-Bug

Memorial Day Madness

This past weekend was a big waste.  Plus it was a holiday weekend.  A big wasted holiday weekend.  For many, Memorial Day is celebrated by the year’s first trip to the beach.  The Man and I didn’t leave Houston.

OK, the weekend wasn’t a complete wash.  The Man and I did catch a couple of movies (and we rarely go to the cinema).  We went to see “Bridesmaids” on Saturday.   He cracked me up by saying that he and I would be the only guys in the theater who were not attending with a girlfriend/wife.  He wasn’t entirely right, though; another couple of guys entered the theater (without women), and he and I elbowed one another and giggled.  Yes, we are so mature.  The lady sitting next to me in the theater checked her voice mail in the middle of the movie.  I wanted to grab the phone from her and chunk it across the room.  I was a bit irritable. 

We also saw “Thor” on Sunday.  I’d seen the movie with my son during my last trip to Louisiana.  But it was a fun movie.  I like any of the Marvel Comics movies and can watch them over and over.  In the middle of the movie, a man in the front of the theater took a call and talked in his normal (loud) voice.  I wanted to walk up to him, grab his phone, and chunk it across the room.  I was a bit irritable. 

After leaving the cinema on Sunday, I agreed to go shopping with The Man.  Let’s make it clear:  he usually does all the shopping for the house.  As a rule, I reserve the word “hate” for things that absolutely sicken me.  I hate shopping.  I stumbled around the store with him, grumbling and being generally bratty.  Shopping makes me irritable. 

He keeps his shopping list in his cell phone.  At one point, he said “I need a little help here.  Can you hold my phone and name off what we need?”

I just came back with: “I can push the shopping cart instead.  I’ve been doing that since I was around eight…”

He just rolled his eyes.

I then moved quickly around the aisles, chatting crazily and waving my hands dramatically.  Suddenly he said, “Why don’t you go get some beer, and I’ll meet you in that aisle?”

I laughed and asked, “Getting enough of me?”

He simply smiled. 

By the time we arrived at the check-out, The Man looked rather tired.  Poor guy.

Monday, I did yard work and stayed out of his way … well, mostly.  Later that evening (a bit too late to sensibly go), I decided to head out to the gym.  But not before, I ranted fifteen minutes on a completely meaningless subject.  He finally said, “You are doing a little projecting here.  Why don’t you go work-out?”

I did.

At the gym, I sent him a text.  “It must be challenging to have a crazy partner…”

He sent back.  “Sometimes challenging, always rewarding”

“Exhaustingly entertaining.  Well, ‘entertaining’ is not the right word.  Unavoidable?”

He texted, “Are you working out?”

“On the treadmill.  It’s difficult texting while walking on a 15 degree incline.”

“I’ll bet.”

When I got home, he was at his desk.  “Wow,” I said. “You are still up, but it sure looks as if you shouldn’t be…”

He laughed.  “I’m headed to bed.  I’m tired.”

I showered off the gym sweat, and then jumped on top of the covers of the bed.  He turned over and smiled.  “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“I’m all pumped up from the gym … plus I’m a bit manic.”

He laughed.  “Really…?”

[At least, I am not running around the Texas Medical Center:  no shirt, no shoes, no socks, no sense … just a pair of white jeans and 180 pounds of psychosis.  That story will follow one day...]

“I’m going to write for a while.”

He smiled again.  “See you in the morning.”

I waved at him, as I jumped off the bed and reflected his smile.

It’s not easy living with someone who has bipolar disorder.  It’s not easy living with bipolar disorder.  Life is not always a trip to the beach.  But life is also not a big waste.

Taking Manhattan

How do you do New York City in two days?  Here's how we did. 

It was The Brunette's birthday.  She wanted to visit the Big Apple and catch a couple of shows to celebrate.  So she, The Redhead, The Man and I booked our flights.  We (she) decided on which shows to see.  We reserved our hotel rooms on the East Side.  And off we went one Friday morning in mid-May.

The Man and I arrived before "The Girls."  In the taxi ride to the Roger Smith hotel, we passed a Sports Authority store.  Both of us agreed that this would be the perfect place to buy a birthday gift for our sporty Brunette.  We decided to check in at the hotel and hoof it back to the store.  After unloading our bags, we walked down 48th Street and then up 2nd Avenue.  When we got to the lower 60's, The Man pointed out that he thought we'd walked too far.  In my resolve to always be right, I said "How could we have missed it?  It was on the northeast corner of one of these intersections."  We stumbled around for another ten or fifteen minutes, and then I let him take the lead. The store was on 51st and 3rd...

That night we were to see "That Championship Season" with Keifer Sutherland, Chris Noth and Jason Patric.  The Brunette checked the street address and then Google-Mapped it at the front desk of the hotel.  Near Broadway and 54th.  We started walking over to the area.  When we reached the street address; no theater.  We realized that we were Hell-and-gone from the Theater District.  The Brunette checked the street address.  45th Street, not 54th street.  Whoops...  We had to taxi it through the madness of Times Square to reach the theater in time.

The play was great, but a little hard to sit through.  It was about the reunion of a group of back-biting friends who had played together on a high school basketball team.  Set in 1972, it authentically portrayed the era.  More than a few mentions of the "N" word.  The audience seemed to collectively cringe at each utterance. 

At any rate, Chris Noth and Jason Patric were very good-looking in person.

After the play, we set out for SoHo for the birthday dinner.  I honestly thought that it was the end for all of us.  In addition to the crazed and nauseatingly high-speed driving of our cabbie, the New York streets were unbelievingly horrible.  We bounced, jerked and pitched all the way to the restaurant.

At the restaurant, I got a wonderful surprise.  We were handed the menus.  I couldn't read mine.  I had to borrow The Brunette's reading glasses.  That sealed it.  I am officially old.

The next day we headed to the West Side to take a boat tour around the island.  Our tour guide was...uhm, flamboyant.  As we floated by the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, Brooklyn, Roosevelt Island, Queens and The Bronx, the four of us tried to determine if the guy was gay or not (in the age-old game of trying to make a person fit your tribe).   Finally we passed a hospital on the upper West Side.  The tour guide mentioned that the hospital was known for its exemplary neonatal unit.  He spoke of how his newborn son was treated there.  "There," I said.  "That settles it."

"Jason," The Man said.  "You have a son.  That doesn't make you straight."

"This guy's straight.  And if he is or not, it's not important."  I said, all superior-like.  The Man just smiled at me.

We left the boat and headed to Chelsea for a bite to eat.  We found a small Italian restaurant.  The food was wonderful.  As we were reaching the end of the meal, one of the daughters of the family-owned cafe came over to check on us.  She was very friendly and open, and with our being from the South, we naturally engaged her in conversation.  Then we got to hear how her eldest daughter was a "bitch," but nothing compared to her younger daughter, who was a "true bitch."  The woman was incredibly cute: blonde, petite with bright blue animated eyes and broad hand gestures.  Her references to her daughters were matter-of-fact.  But we were certain that she cared for each girl.  She knew her daughters and appreciated them both.

That night, we walked to the Theater District again (this time with no mishaps - as we knew where we were headed).  We saw "The Motherf***er with the Hat," a dark comedy starring Chris Rock.  As you would imagine, the language was pure filth. The play was hilarious, real, and completely entertaining.

We headed back to the hotel.  The Girls crashed.  The Man and I headed to Chelsea again to hang out at the New York leather bar.  We do that whenever we travel.  We like to be around our fellow homos, and the leather bars are home to the more friendly guys in the gay world.  New York's bar, the Eagle, was kind of run-of-the-mill: brooding, bearded quiet-types, leather-clad queens dancing to the house music, shirtless older muscle-boys.  I believe that we stayed for all of 30 minutes.

We flew out early the next morning:  7:30 on Sunday.  And back to the reality of our Houston life.

Things we did not have the time to do:  take in a Subway ride, hang out in Central Park, visit Greenwich Village, enjoy something artsy: like the MOMA or the Met. That's ok.  We'll return to the city.  

The thing that will stick in my mind more than any other happening in this trip? Walking back to the hotel from the theater Saturday night, we came across a street-person sleeping on a subway grate.  The Brunette stopped and roused the guy.  "You need anything, buddy?"  He smiled at her and shook his head.  Right there, I wanted to grab her and squeeze til it hurt.  Her birthday weekend, a woman who is quiet and witty, who has a good job and a good income ... stopping on the street to check on her fellow man.  

I went to New York to have fun.  I left with faith in humanity and the inspiration to be a little more compassionate.  Happy birthday to me.

I'm Crazy, Aren't You?

It has happened so infrequently in the past four and ½ years, but The Man and I will not spend this weekend together.  I am headed to Louisiana for a party for my son’s fiancée (she is graduating college).  The Man has work to do here in Houston.

Now you may have gathered if you have read any of my posts where he is featured, he and I really enjoy spending time together.  Time with him is “Sunday Easy.”  So I’ll miss him this weekend.  But a little time apart will be good for us.  It’ll give us back a bit of our individuality.

I noticed how much we identify ourselves by each other at dinner the other night.  Although he was sitting a bit down the table from me, I kept hearing him inject my name into the conversion:  “Jason does this…” “Jason and I…” “Jason likes…”  I chuckled a bit at the mentions.  (I was more tickled when The Man referred to what kind of truck I drive.  The woman across the table looked to one of our older friends and asked how he liked the truck. Boy, did I feel like a kid.)

I use him for juxtaposing.  He is sweet and kind.  I’m a bit more gruff and grumpy.  All I say is if one of us has to be the “nice one,” someone has to pick up the reins and be the “mean one.”  I take that role.  One of our friends constantly comments on how I act cruelly to The Man.  The Man and I secretly laugh.  He knows how wrapped up in him I am.

Once I left a sticky note above the washing machine where I knew he would see it.  It said “I’m crazy about you.”  My ten year-old nephew saw and misread it.  He asked me, “Who put up that note that says ‘I’m crazy, aren’t you’?”  That phrase is now part of our frequent exchanges, along with “How ‘bout those Astros.” (meaning “I love you;” I’m just too macho to say so.)

It’ll be odd not spending the weekend together.  So I’ll keep him with me on the drive to Louisiana.  We’ve been listening to a lot of Plastic Beach by Gorillaz.  I’ll play "Rhinestone Eyes" over & over and imagine him rapping his hand on his leg along with the beat.

"I Really Don't Wanna Go" AKA Magic Happens

Mid-March 2010.  And I had dreaded it all week.  I did not want to visit my family.  I wanted to stay home.

It had been since Christmas that The Man and I had been for a visit.  Typically we visited the family back in Louisiana once each month.  This was the longest stretch that I can remember with my going without a visit since I lived in Los Angeles almost seven years ago.  But still ... I didn't want to go.  I wanted to hang out at the house, listening to music and working in my yard. 

But I knew we had to go.  My son had increased the frequency of his "when-am-I-going-to-see-you" calls.  My step-mom had posted "Hey ... when are ya'll coming in" on her own Facebook page (she’ll get the hang of it one day).

Saturday morning, we were packing the truck.  I turned to The Man and sighed, "I really don't wanna go..."

"We don't have to, baby." He smiled.  (He is so perfect).  "We can unload the truck and call your family.  We'll just tell them that we need to stay home this weekend."

"No."  I said.  "We have to go."

So we headed out.  Our normal trip routine.  Gas up.  Breakfast at Whataburger.  Rock tunes on the radio.  And we're off.

Now here's where you can add a tally mark in the "Dork" column on the Queer's sheet.  We were listening to a mixtape that I had made from downloads of last season’s American Idol performances ... yes, yes ... I know...  But anyway, Lee Dewyze's version of Shania Twain's "You're Still the One" came on.  And I started singing to The Man.  Total cheeseball... yes, I know.  But he got all teary-eyed (he's apt to do that often).  But it was beautiful.  After the song, he grabbed my hand and said, "I'm so lucky!"

I just agreed.

We arrived in my hometown and checked in at my sister's house (always the first stop), and then we headed out for something to eat.  We called my son to see if he and his fiancée wanted to join us.  He had just eaten and his fiancée was at a family party, so he asked us to just stop by after our meal.

We got to my son's place and hung out, just watching movies, laughing and shooting the breeze.  It was a blast.  One of our cousins showed up, so we made a beer run.  As the evening moved along, my son suggested that we crash at his place.  We were going to get a motel room.  But this would be the first time that The Man and I would stay with my son.  So we took him up on the offer.  It was an ideal evening.

Later that evening, The Man and I headed to the local pizza joint to pick up some grub.  As he was waiting at the counter, I ambled over to the juke box.  I checked out the tunes, not at all surprised that Shania Twain’s greatest hits CD was in the machine.  I paid my money.  I made my selection. And then I stepped slowly and silently to the far side of the room.

 

As the music came in, I watched as The Man began to reflexively tap his toe to the rhythm.  Then as he started to recognize the tune, his head turned back and forth a bit like a puzzled pup.  When he fully realized what song was playing, he began to look for me.  When we finally met eyes across the room, he smiled broadly. I waved.

I’m glad we visited the family that month.  I got a magic moment out of it.

Blue, Pink, Orange, Purple, Green

Last weekend I landed in a funk.  I attributed it to too much naptime.  But I checked with The Man, and he said that he felt it himself.  And the blue feeling hung around for a while.  I didn’t help it much.  I read some gloomy posts on various blogs on the web.  I listened to lots of “Blue” songs:  “Little Girl Blue” by Nancy Wilson, “Almost Blue” by Elvis Costello, “Red-Eyed and Blue” by Wilco, “Blue” by the Jayhawks, “When the Stars Go Blue” by Ryan Adams (you get the picture).

I’d not noticed before.  Well, maybe I did and didn’t remember.  All the pretty pink flowers on the roadside.  They are everywhere this year.  And beautiful.  I just found out this year that they are called primroses.  I had always called them “buttercups,” knowing somehow that was wrong.  I had to look them up on Google images to get the correct name.  And I became a bit bummed, knowing as spring heated up here in Houston they would disappear (at least until next spring).

As I was driving to the gym one evening after work this week, I caught a glimpse of the setting sun hanging on the horizon in a spectacular glow of orange.  And I caught a special pang of melancholy, where the past that I loved seemed so devastatingly far away.  I found myself missing all the people that I knew I would never see again, separated from me by death, by ruined relations or by miles.  It only lasted for a minute or two, but it was sufficient.  The orange of the sun punctuated the blue of my past week.

We have a Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow shrub by our front door.  If you are not familiar with the plant, it blooms purple flowers that over days turn to violet and then to white.  I noticed earlier this week that the shrub was covered with buds about to bloom.  I pointed it out to The Man, and he became excited (he’s so cute – he gets thrilled by the simplest things).  He doesn’t need much to get him over the blues.

Today, I was in the garage.  Knowing that The Man was in the office, I used the remote on my iPhone to cue up and play “(They Long to Be) Close to You” by the Carpenters on my computer’s speakers.  Minutes later, he peeked out the door and said “Come with me.”  I followed him into the office.  “Start it from the beginning.”  I set the song to the beginning, and he held up his hands.  I laughed and pulled him close to me.  We danced around the office.  I pulled back just enough to look into his beautiful green eyes.

And suddenly my blues were gone.

Photos - Cane Rosso (blue), The Marmot (pink), Ollie Crafoord (orange), Carl E. Lewis (purple), Nathan F (green)

Can I Get a Slice?

After almost five years together, we reached a small problem.  It went something like this: 

Me:  “I’d sure like pizza.  We haven’t had pizza in a long time”

Him:  “I miss it.”

Me:  “You know it's not just a spontaneous thing…people think it is, but it’s not.”

Him:  “Yeah?”

Me:  “You have to schedule pizza.  Just like you schedule dates at the beginning of a relationship.”

Him:  “Oh, I get it.  And then if it happens at the spur of the moment, that’s just a bonus.”

Me:  “Exactly.  I mean… at times, you are having pizza almost every day.  And then it gets boring.”

Him:  “Pizza gets boring?”

Me:  “Yeah, you know.  Before you realize, you are ordering the same thing every time.”

Him:  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Me:  “Remember when you were younger, you would have pizza all the time?”

Him:  “Yes…”

Me:  “And if you’d get together with your favorite bud, you knew you’d have a slice?”

Him:  “Oh, yeah!”

Me:  “Well, I think we should resolve ourselves to having pizza three times a week.”

Him:  “Sounds good to me!”

Me:  “How about Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays?”

Him:  “That’ll work!”

And that brought a lot of fun back into it.  We don’t have pizza every Wednesday, Friday and Sunday; but most nights we do.  It can be a bit rich to enjoy it all the time.  But the pizza is always good.  I am never indifferent about it.  Sometimes it’s spicy.  Sometimes it’s mild.

Tonight The Man has a cold and a runny nose.  That means only one sad thing.  It’s Wednesday, and no pizza for me.

Photo Courtesy of the  Pizza Review

Sleep Challenged

For the second night in a row, I’ve had trouble sleeping.  The first night, The Man woke me by snoring loudly in my ear.  I had to bunk in the other bedroom (where I could still hear him snore).  The next day I visited my doctor.  She suggested that he get checked for sleep apnea.  Over dinner yesterday evening with our best friends, I brought up the subject.  “We all have sleep apnea.” was the dismissive response.  OK, I guess I can scratch that solution to my problem.

Tonight my sleep was interrupted by my having to take a bathroom break.  And sure enough when I returned to bed, The Man had switched his position in bed to face me.  Though not too loudly, now he was snoring directly at me.  I simply got out of bed.  After all, I had gotten five hours of sleep (more than the night before).   But as I exited the bedroom, my grandparents to mind.

When I was a child, I would spend the night at my paternal grandparents occasionally.  I would sleep in the living room, either on the sleep-sofa or on a pallet on the floor.  My grandparent’s bedroom was down the hall and on the other side of the house.  From my spot in the living room, I could hear my grandfather snoring.  The sound was the decibel equivalent to that of a chainsaw.  I had no idea how my grandmother slept through it.  Maybe it was the Ozzie and Harriet twin beds that did the trick, and thusly my grandfather could not snore directly in her ear.  But she was in the same room as the grizzly, and he almost kept me  awake at night.

Maybe my maternal grandparents actually had it figured out.  Not only did they not sleep in the same bed, they slept in different bedrooms at opposite sides of the house.  As a child I wondered at it, but I’m sure I never said anything (adults puzzled me anyway).  My maternal grandparents were very affectionate with each other, even calling each other pet names.  So I guess it wasn’t an attraction factor to warrant the separate sleeping chambers.  Perhaps it was the snoring factor.  Again, it’s still a mystery to me.  Maybe an aunt can shed some light.

So here I sit in front on the computer at four in the morning, listening the Dvořák’s ninth symphony and drinking soda.  Wonderful.  Even the dogs and the cats are asleep.  I’ll be walking in a fog by four o’clock this afternoon.  I do not want to give up the closeness of sleeping with the guy I love.  Solution?  I think I see ear plugs in my future.

Keeping It Clean

I got on a cleaning kick this morning.  Amazingly.  I tend to be somewhat of a slob.  Not a terrible one.  Just a bit disorganized, and more than a bit lazy about housework.  Of course, living with a former Navy man has spoiled me a tad.  The Man cleans about everything that does not and a few things that do move.  This morning I tackled my bathroom (yes, we do have separate bathrooms – I recommend it for all housemates.  It cuts down on conflicting grooming schedules).  He cleans his bathroom.  I clean mine.  Mine stays quite clean.  It’s the clutter that gets out of hand.  But I cleaned and cleared this morning.  And the mind jumps.  It landed rather logically on “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”  And my mind jumped again.

I did not know when we first started dating, but The Man does not believe in God.  I write this with some reluctance.  Some of my family members read my essays, and my relatives are largely Christian.  I do not want them trying to redeem him and save his soul.  The Man’s father, heart in the right place, does much of that already. 

When I did discover that my guy was a “non-believer,” it made no matter to me.  Though I was raised a Southern Baptist, I had given up on church.  After coming out as a homosexual, it was not so much a decision as a result.  I heard from friends and relatives that I was going to Hell.  People would tell me that they were praying for my soul.  I endured sermons about the evils of homosexuality.  Really Christians?  Really?!

Abandoning the Christian faith, I still felt the need to worship.  So I started attending a local Buddhist temple.  I enjoyed the serenity of the religion, though I did not delve too deeply in the tenets of the faith.  Not doing my homework resulted in the following anecdote: 

One Saturday morning, The Man and I were relaxing at the house.  The doorbell rang.  The Man walked to the front window.  He returned to the living room.  “Don’t go to the door.  It’s two ladies with bibles.”

“Oh, geez.”  I stood and rolled my eyes at The Man.  When I opened the door, the well-dressed women began by telling me about Jesus and his “infinite grace.”  Then they invited me to their church.  I thanked them but told them that I already attended a temple. 

“Temple?” They asked.

Yes, temple. I replied.

“What kind of temple?”  They asked.

Buddhist temple. I replied. I’m a Buddhist.

“Oh!  Tell us about that.” They requested.

I babbled something about our belief that all beings were naturally good and that by striving to do well we meet our highest evolution.  It even sounded like bullshit to me.

“Is there another person here?”  They asked.

Yes, my partner is here. But you probably do not want to talk to him.  I said

At ‘him,’ their eyes widened.

He’s an atheist. I explained.

Eyes wider still.

They offered me a pamphlet and left quickly. 

And after hearing myself having a difficult time describing my new religion, I stopped attending temple.

Ultimately here I am, sharing a home with the most holy, righteous, cheerful, kind, and caring man that I have ever met.  Ok, so he’s not Godly.  He doesn’t force his views on others.  He doesn’t go door to door preaching of an untended universe.  He keeps a smile on his face without the assistance of a spiritual family.  Ok, maybe he is godly.

Cleanliness was the first priority with my grandmother.  Also, she was one of the godliest women I’d ever met.  Before she passed, we had a conversation one afternoon.  I had recently come out and was raw-nerved due to my separation with the church.  I asked her.  “Maw-maw, do you think that I’m going to Hell?”

She gave me a direct look to the eye.  “Of course not.  You’ve got a good heart.  God knows that.”

My cleaning this morning brought my grandmother back to me.  And today that was the only godliness I needed.