From my family to you and yours, I wish you a very Merry Christmas. If you’re stopping by here on this day of all days, it means you’re part of my family too.
Monthly Archives:
December 2013
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December
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December
2013
Christmas Eve 2013
It has become my family’s custom to open our gifts on Christmas Eve, which I think takes some of the joy and wonder out of the holiday for the kids, but I’m not the one raising them so we’ll leave it at that. We started this when my brother and I were at college, and no longer so excited about waking at the crack of dawn to open presents. In the space between dinner and going out for the evening, we’d sit and open gifts in the hushed living room. Lit with candles and a Christmas tree and a mantle-mounted garland of evergreens, the space took on the holiday magic that only Christmas Eve could create.
It was a break in whatever family drama was unfolding at the moment, a time when differences were put aside, just for the night, and smiles and laughter returned to the house like they did when we were kids. The excitement of unopened gifts still elicits a thrill, and the joy in watching my family open theirs is even better.
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December
2013
A Christmas Bear
In the spare, sparse state of our home, without tree or ornaments or garland or lights, I look back on pictures like this and ache just a little for the comforts of Christmas. There’s a magic when the lights of a Christmas tree are all that illuminate the living room, there is warmth in the stockings I made for us over a dozen years ago. Golden angels usually hold glowing candles here, and holiday greenery traditionally accents the wooden surfaces of the room. A wreath laid in the center of a table holds shiny gold ornaments, spilling the sparkling collection over its side in a happy seasonal wave of light-reflecting wonder.
Yet that is not what Christmas is about. Christmas doesn’t require the bombast and the sparkle, the decorations and the twinkling lights. Christmas has always been simpler, and deeper, for me – and for most of us. Even in the kitchenless wonderland of our house, where the hearth seems to have gone missing for the moment, the spirit of Christmas seeps through, lending its own warmth, and conjuring its own magic.
“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” – Dr. Seuss
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December
2013
Waltz With Me, Doris Day
I’ve always maintained that many Christmas songs, far from being the merry-fest some would have you believe, are actually sadder than most people realize. There is often an underlying thread of melancholy that runs through them ~ ‘Silent Night’, ‘The First Noel’, ‘Away in a Manger’ ~ these are depressing dirges. Moving yes, but mournful too. Sometimes they’re filled with longing and yearning ~ ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’, ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ and this ‘Christmas Waltz’, a slower-paced waltz that speaks of lonely nights, solitary cocktails, and some elusive eleventh-hour epiphany of redemptive romantic love.
Yet what happens when there is no Christmas miracle here? When there is no solace? What happens if the only realization is that Christmas comes but once a year, and never really changes anything? Then, I think, we have to pretend to believe, and if we are lulled by a pleasant Christmas waltz let’s rise to the occasion and dance. Who better to get that started than Doris Day?
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December
2013
Bad Brad
Having worked in retail for a few years, and having been quite good at it, I know first-hand how difficult it can be for sales associates in the holiday season. I’ve been yelled at and treated rudely, ignored and abused, pushed aside and shoved, but I never faltered in my smile and robotic politeness. (In my younger years, I had more patience and tolerance for those things, especially when a job depended on it.) For those reasons, I have a soft spot in my heart for those retail folks who are just trying to do their job and not be blasted for it.
That said, I can also tell when a retail associate is just being rude and dismissive, or shouldn’t be on the floor at a certain point. A guy by the name of Brad, the supposed Tommy Hilfiger expert at Macy’s in Downtown Boston, seemed to have reached that point when Kira and I were waiting in his line. After standing there for a few minutes, and grateful to be in a line that didn’t seem very long, we were told that we would need to find another line (he suddenly had a dilemma of some sort that was never fully explained). It sounded like he was just exasperated by his job at that moment, which I get, but the way to handle it is to suck it up and tell anyone else that the line was closed after that.
Oddly enough, Kira was more upset by this than I was, loudly stating that it wasn’t very good customer service (!) and that he should have told us that before we were waiting in line. Which was a good point – none of this would have been an issue but for the fact that he threw us out of the line after we’d been standing in it.
We found another line, with a much friendlier associate, who asked how our shopping experience was going. So I told her, not in a nasty way, but in a constructively critical manner (because if you offend someone as normally meek and sweet as Kira, you’ve really acted out of line). This associate said that she was not a fan of Brad either, so I mentioned she could feel free to tell her manager about the incident. Luckily, or unluckily for Brad, the manager was right there, so I told her about it directly, and said that I understood what it’s like working at this time of the year, but there are better ways to handle a line of three people. She thanked me for letting her know (I really wasn’t mean about it) and assured us she would be talking to Brad. Whether or not she does is beyond my control or care at this point. We thanked her for listening and went on our merry way. All’s well that ends well. (Sorry, Brad.)
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December
2013
A Week Reviewed
The shortest day of the year just passed, so it’s only going to get lighter and brighter from here on out. That’s a happy sign, even if it means winter has just begun. The last week was a relatively quiet one as the holiday reaches its climax in a few short days. I’m working on an end-of-the-year pair of posts to fully recap the year that came before, but I may just post a few pics and let them speak for themselves. There’s much to be done, but first the usual Monday look back.
Tis’ the season for beating the drum, and beating the bishop.
Eating of The Cock.
The Madonna Timeline was seasonally appropriate, with ‘Masterpiece‘.
Hunks were decked out in all their shirtlessness, and several nude male celebrities made their debut here, including Will Smith, Ben Foden, Brandon Beemer, Brian Shimansky, Nolan Funk, and Konstantinos Frantzis.
Holiday memories of staircases and ornaments, and the year without Christmas.
Finally, the first photos of the kitchen-in-progress.
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December
2013
A Year Without Christmas
It’s not as dramatic as the title of this post would suggest, but for the first time ever Andy and I have not decorated one single thing for Christmas. We’ve done scant and minimal decoration schemes in the past – usually every other year we tone it down just to make life easier – but this marks the first when there is not one single holiday anything on display. Of course it’s due mostly to the kitchen renovation, but I’m enjoying the easy upkeep aspect of the decision, and actually finding that I appreciate the holiday displays everywhere else that much more. Still, there is something to be said for Christmas lights that illuminate these dark nights, for sparkling ornaments that spin slowly in the boughs of fragrant evergreen trees, for the warm glow of candles that flicker with each passing visitor.
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December
2013
The First Day of Winter
It doesn’t bode well that it feels like we’ve been having winter for several weeks already. That today is the actually starting day is quite upsetting. At times like this, I find it’s best to put your faith in God. Jesus take the wheel. Let go and Let God. The price is right. Blessed Be. Don’t go for second best, baby. Jesus is the reason for the season. Too blessed to be stressed. YOLO.
(See what the holidays are doing to me?)
As for the first day of winter, I’ll be in Boston for it, writing out my wishes and burning them from the bathroom window.
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December
2013
Stripped Bare
The kitchen renovation has not been mentioned here for a while, but since a few friends have been asking for pictures, here are a few from the early days of the project. Thus far, it’s been surprisingly, and happily, uneventful. There were no unexpected setbacks ~ no hidden asbestos or support beams in the soffit, no bearing wall issues, no crotch rot or something similar. We seem to be on track, and the company that is performing the contractor work is amazing – Skylands Services. (They even vacuum at the end of each and every construction day.)
To be honest, I was expecting something much worse (and perhaps, when I return from work at the end of this first sheet-rocking day, I’ll find it in inches of dust throughout the rest of the house) but to date there are no complaints. I had some concerns about the opening in the new expanded entry-way (which they explained as both a design and logistical necessity), and some questions as to the placement of the recessed lighting (also addressed), but every question was met with open-minded discussion and reasonable explanation. Also, contrary to popular belief, I’m a fairly easy-going guy when it really counts. I’ll take issue with the choice of crocs, but not with the placement of a wall when a venting duct is in the way.
I’m trying not to get used to all the space that suddenly seems so luxurious, because I know that once the cabinets come in it will close right back up again, but I’m counting on the removal of the wall that once separated the kitchen and dining room, and the expansion of the entryway, to alleviate the cramped feeling that previously caused problems. Sometimes, you just need a little more breathing room to feel good about things again.
I’ll post more photos as progress continues, but I also want to keep updates to a minimum, as I think a before and after post will be more than effective at expressing the changes than a gradual stop-by-step report. Of course, if things start falling apart, I may start a daily kitchen report, chronicling each setback and delay, but why dwell on the negative when things have so far progressed rather well?
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December
2013
A Family Affair ~ Keeping It Together, From Afar
The holidays are traditionally centered around family, and Christmas has always been about the kids (especially the big ones, like myself), so here are a few photographs of my niece and nephew, along with a couple of ornaments on my parents’ Christmas tree. I don’t know if it’s the most wonderful time of the year, but it’s pretty good.
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December
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December
2013
A Banister Adorned With Memories
It is the place that forms the backdrop to more childhood memories than I realized. It was here, at the top of the stairs, peering through the balusters, that my brother and I watched surreptitiously for Santa when we were kids.
It is the place where we searched for an imaginary bunny conjured by our cousin Grace, in her efforts to keep us occupied and out from underfoot. (Not calculating the obsessive, tenacious loyalty of children when given the benefit of attention and conversation.)
It is the place where I listened to my grandmother try to defend me to my father, saying, “He’s just different” to which my Dad replied with curt exasperation, ‘He’s mean.”
It’s the place where, when frightened as kids will sometimes be in the dark of night, I pleaded, begged, and screamed for my mother to not make me go into my bedroom alone, through fears and tears and an irrational and paralyzing terror, and where she was so mad she refused to let me come downstairs.
It’s the place where I watched with wonder the comings and goings of guests and visitors to our home, and the way they presented themselves to the world. I could peer around the corner and see the front door, watching from that undetected vantage point, though some people somehow knew they were being watched, their eyes traveling up and almost catching me. For the most part, I was good at keeping hidden; I knew which part of the top flight of stairs to avoid so it wouldn’t creak and reveal my presence. I knew that if I could see someone’s eyes, enough of my head was showing that they could spot me too. For the most part, though, I could do what I do best – observe – from an unknown and unseen location.
It’s the place I decorated with light-festooned holiday garland ~ first in traditional red and green, then making an unlikely detour into a Victorian-inspired rose and pink hued theme, accented by strands of white braided rope and pearls. (Yes, I was already that gay, way back when.)
So much of life played out on that staircase, but most people were usually too transitory to notice. I was never like that. I always noticed. I remembered the last few times my Dad carried me up those stairs, before I got too old, too big. I remember bounding down them on Christmas mornings, as well as trudging reluctantly up them on still-light summer nights. I remember being so mad – at the world, at my mother, at myself – that I jumped off the last four steps and pounded my heels into the landing so hard that I couldn’t walk for the rest of the day. I remember sliding down them backwards, stomach on the soft carpet, feet first – just like my nephew Noah does today. I don’t remember being part of anything, but I remember watching much of it unfold, all from that lofty perch.
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December
2013
A Cozy Cock Dinner
A number of years ago, when I was on winter break from college, my brother and I traveled to Bob’s Tree farm to pick up the family Christmas tree. We were finding our way back into each other’s lives as adults, after a few tumultuous years of adolescent angst directed more or less at one another. We hopped in the Blazer and drove out of Amsterdam, along the winding back-roads to Galway. The day was cold, but bright. A wind whipped over the exposed landscape, and we hurriedly made our selection. Once the tree was tied to the top of the car (normally we’d have placed it in the back, but neither of us wanted to vacuum needles out later) we turned back onto the windy stretch of road.
I forget who was driving, but I remember looking in one of the rear-view mirrors and seeing the tree dangling precariously off the side of the car. I tried to warn my brother but it was too late ~ the next moment I watched as our tree rolled over the side of the road into a field.
At this point I started cracking up. My brother was less amused, which only made me laugh harder. We backed up and stepped out into the wind. I could barely move for laughing so much, but somehow we got it back on the car, tied more securely down, and made it home without further incident.
This year, I told him that we should pick up the tree again. It was a bonding experience, and a happy memory – one that I hoped would remind us that we were brothers no matter what. We’ve been through a few issues in the past year, and it was my small, unsaid way of moving past things, of trying a bit of forgiveness. Plus, he could bring my niece and nephew, who had been talking of nothing but picking up the tree over the last week.
I drove from Albany, coming in the opposite direction, and taking a different set of winding roads that ultimately led to the tree farm. It was a brutally cold night, black too, before the recent snow cover. The darkness comes so much earlier at this time of the year. After miles of scant houses and no street lamps, I entered a more populous area of Galway, where most of the homes glowed with Christmas lights, and a few restaurants and shops lent a happy and unexpected visage of civilization.
When I arrived at the tree farm (a few minutes late due to an unmarked road), my niece and nephew were playing amid the trees and reindeer (apparently reindeer are real – they just don’t fly, or having glowing red noses so bright). I watched their eyes filled with wonder, and Emi led me around to see the one that was resting near the back of the pen. Noah was more concerned with running about with his plastic saw, ready to take down a tree at a moment’s notice. Given the frigid night, I recommended bundling back into the car and heading over to The Cock & Bull, a cozy restaurant filled with fireplaces and decent pub fare.
My brother and I had gone there last year, and I always wanted to return at holiday time. It used to be a barn, and retains many of those trappings, offering a warm, rustic respite from the cold and the night. We were seated next to a Christmas tree and a roaring fire, and the kids ran about a bit as my brother and I talked. Sometimes I think that when left to our own devices, without the maelstrom of family or the influence of others, my brother and I would do just fine. This night proved that.
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December
2013
See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me, Reveal Me
December of 2006 was when I released ‘The Revelation’ at a big 80’s theme party. Revisiting that story has become a holiday tradition here, so carve out an extra-long section of the day if you want to be dazzled, amazed, or simply go back to sleep. It was, please keep in mind, entirely a work of fiction – and while I always post that disclaimer, this time I really mean it. (I never had sex with a priest!)
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December
2013
The Madonna Timeline: Song #102- ‘Masterpiece’ ~ Holidays 2011
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
It was holiday time in the year 2011. I walked the streets of New York, visiting Chris and Suzie, but for this moment between day and night I was alone. Twinkling Christmas lights glowed in shops and restaurants. People hurried by with gifts and shopping bags. The gorgeous panoply of a night in New York, and all its noise and quirks, its glimmer and shimmer, its heartache and gorgeousness. How could such beauty and sadness coexist so closely together?
Well in advance of her upcoming album, Madonna had leaked ‘Masterpiece’ in support of her new film ‘W.E.’ which she directed. It played over the end credits (not soon enough for Oscar consideration, but it did end up winning the Golden Globe for Best Song). Upon first listen, I was hooked, in the same way that some Madonna songs have of instantly capturing my attention and love, speaking to me as if I was the only one who could truly understand.
The impossibility of loving something so perfect, or of loving someone so beautiful that they exist only on a pedestal, is something most of us experience at one point or another, but mostly from afar, never as the recipient of such adoration. We all think we want that, and maybe some of us really do.
On the street is a different sort of beauty, an intangible one. New York during the holidays can be really stimulating, or really depressing. Hovering somewhere between the two, my evening began, and ended. It was a jewel of a moment – hard, gorgeous, impenetrable, striking – buffeted by friends and loved ones, but isolated in the middle, and maybe the end too.
If you were the Mona Lisa
You’d be hanging in the Louvre
Everyone would come to see you
You’d be impossible to move
It seems to me that’s what you are
A rare and priceless work of art
Stay behind your velvet rope
I will not renounce all hope
A week or two later I found myself in Boston, walking through the Public Garden as dusk fell. It was just after the golden hour, when brave artists would have been packing up their easels in the spring, if people still tried to create, if they still tried to make something of beauty. The branches that once held leaves and spring blossoms were barren – the only adornment being a few light-catching segments of ice, and some stalwart crotches of snow. The last vestiges of the day faded quickly, and soon it was dark.
That weekend, to escape the cruelty of the cold, I went to find respite in the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, its center garden courtyard filled with greenery, backed by the soft fall of water, cushioned by a blanket of moss. Potted tree ferns arch finely reticulated fronds over gravel walkways. It would be an ideal place to get married, if they allowed it. Instead, couples can merely hold hands, or steal quick kisses. No ceremonies or receptions are allowed. No matter – today there is no one to hold my hand.
And I’m right by your side
Like a thief in the night
I stand in front of the masterpiece
And I can’t tell you why
It hurts so much
To be in love with a masterpiece
Cause after all
Nothing’s indestructible
Several works of art were stolen from this museum back in the early 90’s. It happened right before I started at Brandeis, and I remember it being in the Boston papers whenever a lead was followed. A couple of men dressed as police officers convinced the security team to let them in late one night, then proceeded to tie them up, and steal several priceless works, cutting them rudely and crudely out from their frames.
To date, the crime has never been solved, nor the stolen pieces found. The empty frames remain hanging, as Ms. Gardner’s orders were that nothing in the museum be touched or moved no matter what. I walk by those spooky frames, eerily empty of all the beauty they once held, and want to cry at the state of the world. It turns out that beauty can be robbed ~ cut out, rolled up, and stuffed into the night, never to be found again. Not yet, anyway.
From the moment I first saw you
All the darkness turned to white
An impressionistic painting
Tiny particles of light
It seem to me that’s what you’re like
The look-but-please-don’t-touch-me type
And honestly it can’t be fun
To always be the chosen one
Across the room from one of the missing works, I walk to the window looking down into the courtyard. Where were you, Ms. Gardner, when your painting went missing? What tears did you cry when they tore out your heart? A carpet of baby tears spilled onto stone far below, while delicate orchids drooped their weeping colorful cargo. Sometimes beauty made the heartache.
And I’m right by your side
Like a thief in the night
I stand in front of the masterpiece
And I can’t tell you why
It hurts so much
To be in love with a masterpiece
Cause after all
Nothing’s indestructible
Christmas Eve at my family home in Amsterdam, NY, that same year ~ 2011. Candles flicker on the piano, stockings hang from the mantle, and Christmas music plays softly in the background. Decked out in holiday finery, and the scent of Tom Ford’s Santal Blush, I am unimpressive for any of those reasons, at least for those assembled here tonight. My niece and nephew bound down the hallway in their diapers. The family is together, intact. It will be the last time. I want to cry for how beautiful it is, how wonderful life can be. I want to cry because I know it cannot last.
Nothing’s indestructible, Nothing’s indestructible…
Beauty swirls around me, glittering and sparkling from the Christmas tree, light bouncing among the crystals of a chandelier, and dazzling the eyes. I loosen the silk tie around my neck and slip off the suddenly-stifling pair of wing-tips from my feet. Years ago I would lie down in this very space, on this very carpet, and look up at the tree. I would squint my eyes until it went slightly out of focus, until the lights merged and danced and became abstract spots of color, orbs of illumination. I would feel overwhelmed by its beauty, and the first drops of moisture would splinter the images before my eyes, fracturing their pretty perfection.
I wanted company as much as I wanted to be alone.
And I’m right by your side
Like a thief in the night
I stand in front of the masterpiece
And I can’t tell you why
It hurts so much
To be in love with a masterpiece
Cause after all
Nothing’s indestructible
Cause after all
Nothing’s indestructible.
Song #102 – ‘Masterpiece’ ~ Holidays 2011
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December
2013
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December
2013
Amazing Madonna Megamix
It stands on its own, with no need for my Madonna commentary.
