Category Archives: Andy

A Low-Key Anniversary

Like all things 2020, our 20th anniversary will be a low-key celebration, with a visit to the parents in Amsterdam and a dinner at a favorite restaurant. Andy suggested the visit to Dad, as well as the restaurant selection – both were good ideas, as are most of his plans. That it’s become a bit of a family affair is only fitting. I took the day off from working (at home) simply to relax and enjoy some quiet time with Andy. After twenty years of ‘events’ it’s been nice to not have any for a while. 

It’s also nice to look back, so here are some links on just a little bit of the fun we’ve had.

It began with a license to wed.

Ten years ago, looking back ten years before that

There have been many birthdays… many, many birthdays….

Some surprises

A holiday card

A very happy wedding ceremony

A Boston stroll

A Maine event

A renovation

A trio of wishes

A pair of Uncles

A Valentine’s Day post

A quartz lesson

Andy’s woody

Cakedom

A bump in the night

A fifteen-year moment

A car show

A radio show

Blasts from the past

A goodbye to Andy’s Dad

Another birthday

A somber holiday start

Meeting Andy’s Mom

A Broadway plan

A Saratoga date

An anniversary scented by lilacs…

A New York trip to see an idol…

Yet another birthday

A joint cooking adventure

Just one of those things

#19… and counting…

A Savannah sojourn

A couple of owls

A home of our own

A look back

Continue reading ...

Twenty Years Ago Tonight…

“You’re not the man of my dreams, but I fell in love with you anyway.” ~ Andy, circa 2000

Perhaps it’s as close to perfect as life gets that Andy often has the most succinct way with words. Case in point was this quote, spoken to me in the earliest days of our relationship, which on first reading (and hearing) seems ripe for criticism, but has since come to embody an exquisitely honest illumination on the most enduring romantic relationship of my lifetime. Twenty years ago today I met Andy VanWagenen while minding my own business and having a rare solo Sunday night out at a sleepy Oh Bar. Looking back through my Backstreet Boys day planner from 2000, I see the entry, so seemingly simple and matter-of-fact: meet Andy at Oh Bar, overnight. I went home with him and that was that – our life suddenly laid out, the next two decades designed to unfurl in happy fashion, guided by the gentle nudges of destiny and forged by a shared commitment to one another. It sounds so simple when taken in such celebratory context, as if every day of twenty years didn’t come with its own challenges, the way life interrupts and throws its road-blocks up when you least expect or want them.

Andy lost his Mom as we were about to spend our second holiday season together. I lost my favorite Uncle and my Gram. Friends and family members got married. Some ended up getting divorced. Some had kids, and we had a new niece and nephew, and even a grand nephew. When it was finally legal, Andy and I got married too (ten years into our relationship). Life had its wild and unpredictable way with us, granting us joyful days tempered with difficult ones. Andy lost his Dad, and we both started to lose friends and people we’d grown up with. Through it all, whenever things turned especially sad or bleak, as much as when they were giddy and ecstatic, we would turn to each other. For two people who were in many ways loners at heart, we found a wonderfully comfortable companionship, one that has sustained itself for twenty years.

We still argue, we still laugh, and we still discover new things about the other even at this late stage. Most importantly, we still love. Even when we fail and fall short, we still love. Even when we’re not the men of our dreams, we still love. Two decades into our shared lives, we still love…

Continue reading ...

Aww, Andy

Easily the most heartbreaking photographs I’ve taken this year (and being that this is the year of our Lord 2020, that is saying quite a bit) here is Andy opining the present pool situation. I sent it to a few friends, who agreed it was the saddest thing they had seen in a while. Everyone knows how much Andy loves the pool – well, maybe not everyone, so I’ll bring the stragglers up to speed. 

Given his back issues, Andy’s favorite time of the year is when the pool is open. He can go in the warm water every day and obliterate the hurt and ache of gravity on his back, and simply float and exist in a relief that he doesn’t get the rest of the year. The pool was probably the main selling point of our home, and he takes pride in and care of its maintenance. 

Having grown up with a pool, and the turmoil and stress of opening it as a twelve-year-old with just my parents and eleven-year-old brother to help, I didn’t need a pool as an adult, but I was open to it, and I’m glad. It’s become a place of respite and escape in the oppressive and humid summers of the Northeast. In fact, I’ve grown to love a pool again, finally embracing the peace of floating on some silly piece of inflated plastic while music plays in the background and I do my best not to wet the pages of a book in my hands. Yet as much as I love the pool, and miss it now that it’s out of commission, my pain and sorrow is minor compared to Andy’s. So when I looked out the window the other day and found him dangling his legs over the side into the open space where water once rippled, it broke my heart. 

Thankfully, hope is on the horizon. Since we needed to replace the liner (part of the delay this year) we decided to add some steps. Both of us are getting a little old to be bounding in and out by way of ladder or cannonball, so a trio of steps have been installed, which is why this post has a hopeful, if not happy, ending. More to come…

Continue reading ...

A Quiet Anniversary Marks Ten Years

For the first time in our married life, Andy and I did not celebrate our wedding anniversary in Boston, because these are not typical times. Surprisingly, it may have meant a little more, and not only because it was our tenth. After ten years, there’s not much new to discover, but as we sat on a sunny and slightly chilly deck near a cherry tree in full bloom, I was surprised at the tenderness I felt for Andy, even after all these years, and probably because of them. The longer a fire burns, even when it slumbers and only smolders, the stronger it sometimes feels. 

Mom had gifted us come calamari to cook since we wouldn’t be able to go out, so we made that as an appetizer. It wasn’t bad, and I made a roasted red pepper aioli, and poured out some pre-made sweet chili sauce. 

A hibiscus grapefruit mocktail, christened with a cherry, provided a pretty portal into the coming summer season. Andy and I discussed pool liner plans, and the notion of sun and fun, even in solitude, made for a happy moment of promise. The twinkle of a sparkling summer, even in the distance on this cool afternoon, lent another layer of giddiness to the appetizer. 

Andy put a couple of chateaubriand cuts on the grill, which turned out perfectly, then it was time for the closest we could get to that glorious chocolate wedding cake we had in Boston ten years ago. 

A tuxedo cake from Price Chopper may sound both glamorous and decidedly not glamorous at the same time, but it was enchanting enough, and made for more than a fine substitute. On nights such as a tenth anniversary, it’s not the food that matters, it’s the company. 

We’ll return to Boston to honor our anniversary another time. For now, we placed a proverbial marker beneath a gorgeous cherry in bloom, beside a long-blooming group of jonquils, their season extended by the cool weather, because there is balance and purpose to everything that’s meant to be. 

Continue reading ...

Our Wedding Anniversaries… Thus Far

Every year at around this time, Andy and I have made our way back to where we got married to celebrate our anniversary in Boston. This year we are unable to do that just yet, so we will put a rain-date on the calendar for a 10th anniversary celebration in the (hopefully near) future. In the meantime, here’s a link-filled journey down memory lane, in which we recount the wedding day, and some of the anniversaries that followed. A few things remained constant (that chocolate cake at the Four Seasons was a decadent mainstay) while other things evolved and turned into brand new fun. I don’t typically like to look back, unless it’s about things like this. Indulge us for the day.

The Wedding ~ 2010

Part 1: The Arrival & Accommodations

Part 2: The Rehearsal Dinner

Part 3: The Last Call of a Bachelor

Part 4: The Dawn of the Wedding Day

Part 5: The Ceremony

Part 6: The Perfect Day in the Park

Part 7: The Wedding Lunch

Part 8: The Wedding Dinner

Bonus Post: The Residual Glow of Marriage

Our 2013 anniversary came on the sad heels of the Boston Marathon bombing, but we made the most of it. The Public Garden was also in full fragrant bloom, lending to our celebratory vision. For the first few years I didn’t do many blog posts about our anniversary adventures because it was enough simply being in Boston and re-treading our happy tracks. We made it a point to get our wedding rings washed at the place where we got them, which became a ritual, as did a burger or some sort of mid-day event at the Bristol Lounge where we had our wedding lunch (thank you Aunt Elaine!) And always we found a way back to the Public Garden for a brief stroll through the place where we were married. 

It wasn’t until 2017 that I started documenting our new anniversary expeditions in detail. Like, major detail. I’m talking nine-part detail. Observe:

Boston Wedding Anniversary #7: 2017

 

The following year, 2018, we returned to a sunnier situation (and I edited it down to just seven parts, so you’re welcome).

Boston Wedding Anniversary #8: 2018

 

Last year we reverted to a rainy start, but even a bit of dampness couldn’t dampen our spirits. In fact, it reminds us of our early days vacationing in Ogunquit, when for a good five-year stretch we had nothing but rain almost every day we visited. I’m told that rain is auspicious for wedding days, so I’ll take it without complaint. 

Boston Wedding Anniversary #9: 2019

 

All these happy memories beg the question of how we will celebrate our tenth anniversary. As with many hyped-up events super-hoopla days, I think we will swerve into the unexpected lane by keeping things quiet and simple for now. When the world around us shifts to shaky, uncertain ground, it’s enough just being together in our backyard, underneath a cherry tree in beautiful bloom. We’ll take a rain check and return to Boston with a chance to start a whole new adventure…

Continue reading ...

Our 10th Wedding Anniversary

Ten years ago Andy and I were married in the Boston Public Garden.

How do you encapsulate a decade of marriage in a single sitting?

Moreover, how do you contain two decades of sharing your life with another person?

Overall, the tapestry we have created is a beautiful one. Like any marriage, ours has had its share of peaks and troughs, and these are woven like mistakes into the fabric of our history together. At this point we can appreciate them for helping us make things better. They add texture and nuance and contrast to life. You appreciate happiness and contentment a little more when you’ve had some share of sadness and hurt.

So much of what I am and do and love is due to Andy. So much of our life together has enabled us to weather the difficult times ~ lost loved ones, disappointments, and even the current crazy state of the universe. Whenever the world has gone dark and run amok in terror and strife, we have had the good fortune to close the door and turn to each other, finding comfort and solace in love and companionship. Andy has been that safe haven and home for me. I’m fairly certain he would say the same.

Today we celebrate and honor ten years of married life, and I remember with love and deep fondness the day it all happened…

Awakening first, I pad quietly out of the bedroom into the sitting room of our suite overlooking the Public Garden. The sunlight is streaming into the room. Remnants of an impromptu gathering before the rehearsal dinner stand on a side table as I make my way to the window that looks onto the Garden. Grateful and relived for the sunlight, I breathe in deeply and find myself unexpectedly ensconced in the moment, making an indelible memory and smiling at the luxury of realizing it as it happens.

Andy and I had already been together for ten years, so in some ways marriage seemed like a mere formality, yet on this day, at this moment, there is something sacred in the atmosphere, some shift to something more resonant and powerful. A touchstone moment of commitment and love and promise. It is, I realize, an important day.

Soon, our little wedding party arrives, and we meet up with them in the Public Garden, walking to our chosen spot near several flowering cherry trees. Andy and I are dressed casually in jeans and polo shirts. When all was said and done, it never really mattered to Andy what I wore, and he was just as happily comfortable in jeans as a suit and tie. We would get fancier for dinner. For our wedding ceremony, all I needed was Andy and a bouquet of peonies. (I wasn’t just wearing any pair of jeans either ~ they were the same pair I’d worn when I met him ten years earlier.)

Our friend Chris performed a lovely ceremony ~ simple and sweet and surprisingly moving. After ten years together, you don’t think you’ll be moved, but then it arrives and it’s a little overwhelming in the best possible way, so you let those tears well up a little, and you hug your new husband tightly after the kiss because you’re just so happy to be there with him, to have made it through all those years together, to have such a partner in life and not have to go through it alone.

In the ten years after those first ten years, life has brought what life usually brings – more love, more loss, more tears, more laughter, more happiness, more difficulty, more comfort, more work, more gratitude – more of life, and like all humans, we want more of that. Even the sadness and sorrow, even when we miss the people we’ve lost, even when we occasionally lose ourselves. 

In the end we always came back to the life we created together. It’s a life we work on every day, and it’s a life of shared dreams and desires. It’s a home in which we can find refuge when the world turns dark, a place that offers comfort and warmth when the winter rages, and a space where the promise of spring will always be followed by the sun of summer.  

And so we add to our tapestry, weaving new rows in different colors and textures, enriching and fortifying what we have while adding nuances and grace and the rich resonance that comes with knowing someone so well, and still being able to learn more about them. I love that we are still growing together, and I love that Andy is the person who has shared his life with me. 

Happy Anniversary, Drew. I love you. 

Continue reading ...

The Night Before Our Wedding ~ 10 Years Ago

Our suite at the Taj Hotel was perched ideally over the Boston Public Garden. Looking out the window, I spotted my parents, Andy’s Dad and Andy’s sister making their way along Arlington and then across Newbury Street. Suzie, Chris and Elaine would soon join us for a quick gathering in the suite for photos, and then a brief cocktail hour at the downstairs bar before the rehearsal dinner.

For some reason, the song I remember playing in the background was this portion of a Wizard of Oz suite:

Not entirely unfitting for the end of our wicked single lives, especially as threads of ‘Over the Rainbow’ ran whimsically through it. It was music for the preparatory excitement of a night before. Is there a happier moment than the night before? When all is promise and hope and anticipatory delight? Back then I lived in the night before, and the night before our wedding was especially lovely.

Tomorrow marks our 10th wedding anniversary and I have two posts slated to celebrate the occasion. Given the state of the world, it will be a different anniversary than all our other ones, and that gives us a chance to start again, with new traditions and new adventures. Even if they take place in our own home. 

“If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.” ~ Noel Langley
Continue reading ...

Back in the Driver’s Seat

With the exception of the well-worn path along the Massachusetts Turnpike to Boston I don’t usually do much driving. Andy has been the driver of the family. He’s better at it, he enjoys it, and I’ve been lucky in that respect. On a recent Saturday morning, however, I got in the car and spent the day mostly driving – partly in the service of ferreting out a new phone and provider, and partly for the sake of the drive itself. “Washing the dishes to wash the dishes” so to speak.

February is not the prettiest month for a car ride, but it’s certainly better than November. There was a fresh coating of snow and ice lending winter enchantment to the surroundings, and though it was cold outside the heated seat of the Mini Cooper kept me toasty. I drove all over Colonie and Latham, stopping at every cel phone provider along the way, skirted through Niskayuna and Schenectady after spending a moment in Faddegon’s, and eventually found my way to Amsterdam to see if their Michael’s had any special beads for a coat I’m working on. I’m at my best when working on something, no matter how frivolous or silly it may seem to you.

Filling the car at a Market Street gas station, I felt the early chill of the waning afternoon and knew the sun was about to descend. I drove over the Mohawk River and got back on the Thruway, but instead of heading home, I got off a few exits early and found myself following the way to where Andy lived when I first met him.

I barely remembered which roads and turns to take but instinct guided me, and things looked thrillingly familiar. Something compelled me to take this old route, back from a time when we were first getting to know each other. Maybe it was a rare brush with nostalgia. Maybe it was just a wish to return to a happier place and a simpler time. Maybe I was in the mood to look back over the past two decades.

I passed a place that used to be a deli, but the cow was no longer on the roof. I passed the church where we said goodbye to Andy’s Mom. When I reached Carman Plaza and saw the corner ice cream store, I knew I had reached Nathaniel Drive. The sign for Nathaniel Place, once so prominent and unmissable, had been dwarfed by the vegetation and landscaping that had grown up around it. Yes, it made sense. Certain things looked smaller, and many years had passed since I was last here

I pulled the car over and paused in the afternoon sun as it was going down. This was the home where I first met Andy. It was in the dark of a late summer night in July, and we had no idea the adventures on which we were about to embark. I remember snowy days, holiday parties, cherry blossoms hovering over the back deck, and little vases that Andy would fill with fragrant roses from the garden.

The house stands quietly, not even winking at me despite how long we’ve known each other, and it’s time to go. I turn back onto Liberty then onto the main road, past the Pizza Gram where the jalapeno poppers remain the best I’ve ever had, past the candy store where they sold white fluffy teddy bears with hearts on their paws at this very time of the year, then past Willow Street where he grew up, and the fire station where they blew the horn as his dad drove by for the final time.

Tears fill my eyes as Prospect Hill Cemetery rises to my left. The steep road is covered in snow and looks treacherous. I’m too distracted to notice whether the magnificent house at Rose Hill, one of Andy’s favorites, is still there, and soon I’m passing the restaurant where we first heard that Andy’s Mom had passed away. Maybe this is why I’m crying. So much of Andy’s history has happened here, so much heartache and so much love.

I keep driving as a moon that looks like it might be full rises ahead of me. Pulling over in a parking lot, I take a picture of it, wondering if it will watch over us or if it will wreak havoc. Part of it is destiny. Part of it is will.

When I finally get back home it is dark. The days have begun to stay lighter for longer, but we are not there yet.

Continue reading ...

Chicken Soup for the Stomach and the Soul

As the final dredges of the flu limped through my weary system, I mustered the energy to make a quick soup. Andy asked if I wanted the chicken defrosted that morning, but I wasn’t sure I’d be up for it so I didn’t bother. Now, I began the assembly and figured I could find some beans for protein if there wasn’t chicken.

Gray skies sputtered a bit of wet snow and rain, but nothing to substantial. There was a gloominess, however, and a bit of soup was always an antidote for this. I spiced up the base with garlic and ginger, then added onions and carrots and some miso paste instead of salt. Thinking better of the beans, I texted Andy, who was already en route to the market, to see if there were some cheap cuts of chicken already thawed and a helping of kale. We needed vitamins to continue the trajectory to better health.

I found some red kidney beans and added them anyway – I loved the color they gave. Andy arrived with the kale and a chicken roaster, which worked out perfectly. The soup base had cooked and was ready, and once the kale cooked for a bit I added the chicken and it was the ideal combination.

It takes two to make a soup go right.

Continue reading ...

Choosing Heart & Home

It must have been January of 2001. I was staying with Andy at his house in Guilderland and we were still a new couple. Yes, we’d already thrown a holiday party together but who hasn’t? It was early morning when I awoke to a thick cover of snow on the ground and more falling from a dull gray sky. Partly dismayed and partly relieved, I was due to be in Boston for a job interview with GLAAD, and now the drive looked difficult if not impossible.
A couple of months prior to that I interviewed with them for an Office Assistant position, and I had come in second. The other person just had more experience, they said, though they genuinely liked me, told me as much, and said if anything else opened up they would be in touch. I wasn’t expecting them to call and actually mean it, and now I had an interview for a second position in a few hours.

Andy and I had had a short but difficult talk over what a job in Boston would mean, and though I didn’t want it to be so he was right that it would probably mean the end of us. I still wanted to try it. I thought my heart was in Boston and I wasn’t sure if it was with him. I can see now that I was scared.

Boston was the safer prospect. I knew Boston. I knew the loneliness that I could encounter. I didn’t know what a life with Andy would be like. It felt right thus far, but who could foresee the future? I looked to the universe for signs.

Outside, the snow fell harder. I went upstairs and looked down at Andy’s living room. I remembered the first night we kissed on his sofa. I remembered a day when I dropped by unexpectedly and found him meditating there with a crystal. I remembered a night on the floor of his bedroom when I looked into his eyes and saw the soul of someone I could love.

The light of day was seeping into the sky, fighting the snow in the air, and bringing the room into greater focus. It brought my heart into focus too, and though I knew it was risky to follow one’s heart, I also knew there was no way I could give up on what Andy and I had. I called the GLAAD office and told them there was no way I would make it to the interview that day, and in fact rescheduling wouldn’t work either, thanking them for the opportunity but I would have to pass. Hanging up, I immediately felt happiness and contentment. I bounded back into the bedroom and joined him under the covers. Later, we would get up and make a batch of my Mom’s beef stew – the best way to spend a snowy day.

There would be days when I thought back at that decision, and though I would wonder about it, I would never regret it, because we crafted something beautiful and memorable and sacred together, something which stands as a testament to our love no matter what else happens. We did it together, defying the winter snow, defying our joint fears and doubts, defying the loneliness that might otherwise result.

If given the chance again, I would do the same thing.

It was Andy. There was never a question.

He was my home.

Continue reading ...

Andy’s Ongoing Audi Odyssey

Nobody loves automobiles more than Andy. His love for cars is akin to my love for Madonna. Each borders on obsession, but each has its limits and is bound by what is more or less reasonable. His latest Audi is his favorite, but it’s come with its own set of issues – some easily resolved, some not so easily resolved. We are currently awaiting word on whether one of the bigger changes (of a transmission no less) will work out. 

I’m hoping it does, because a happy Andy makes for a happy household, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than seeing him content with his car – it is one of his favorite passions and I love seeing him excited about something. He tells me this dealership has been very good to him, it’s just been a series of strange setbacks the past few months, which is an apt metaphor for life in an upstate New York winter. Stalls and setbacks are par for the course – our success depends upon how we react and deal with them. Andy is doing his best, as frustrating as it can be.

No matter what happens next, at least we know we’ll always have the Woody. 

Continue reading ...

Car Radio Romance: Andy & Rockin’ Ray Reunite

Dr. Ray and Andy will be teaming up for another car-themed radio show ~ â€œDr. Ray’s Retro Roadtrip & Reunion!” ~ one that promises to run the gamut from cars to music and all sorts of related items in-between. They always have a wonderful rapport that is fun to hear, so tune in to WRPI.org and give them a listen this afternoon and night – they start at 4 PM and go until they can’t go anymore. (In the past that’s brought them into the wee small hours of the earliest morning.) They occasionally take requests (I’ve asked them to play ‘Body Shop’ and ‘Turn Up the Radio’ more than they likely cared to indulge) and they have been good sports about including some sort of Madonna in their show, so this time I’m turning the turn-tables on them and dedicating this one from my blog to their radio program. It’s a little ditty from Tiffany, that Queen of Malls from the apex of the ‘80s. While best known for her remake of ‘I Think We’re Alone Now’ and the heart-wrenching ballad ‘Could’ve Been’ she also put out this radio-friendly and radio-celebratory song entitled simply ‘Radio Romance.’

All that’s missing is a Radio Shack, and it could be 1988 all over again.

THE DJ KNOWS MY VOICE NOW
HE EVEN KNOWS MY CHOICE NOW
HE NEVER SAYS MY NAME
HE JUST SAYS “FROM THE ONE
WHO LOVES YOU BABY”

Continue reading ...

Moment of Melancholy While Trimming the Tree

Andy lost his Mom just before the holidays, and I know that when we near this time of the year there is a shadow that hangs over everything. I thought of that as Suzie and I picked up this year’s Christmas tree. Usually Andy does that, but with his new car and health issues, I decided to give it a whirl this year. When Suzie said she wouldn’t mind a tree strapped to her vehicle, we picked one up at Bob’s Tree Farm and proceeded to drive very carefully home.

Together, Andy and I trimmed the lower boughs and made a fresh cut into the trunk, then got it into its stand. Andy gamely strung it with lights, but I could tell he was hurting. He used to hang all the ornaments, and I think it reminded him of his mother. I hung a few new ones we got last year and left the rest for him to do. They remain untouched, as neither of us seems to be in the Christmas spirit these days. 

When you’re no longer a child and your parents are gone, the holidays are a little trickier, and a little lonelier. A number of my friends are finding that out this year, and eventually it comes to us all. A moment of melancholy beneath the fragrance of a balsam tree… Christmas wrapped in contemplation.

Continue reading ...

Midnight Calling

They called to each other just after midnight. Across the street from our house, high in the Eastern pine trees fronting a cloudy firmament, they emitted their haunting cries. It was the first time I heard them so close. These were not the cartoonish hoots of some anthropomorphically-wise bird, they were the deep guttural moans of the great-horned owl. A pair of them were talking on an almost-winter midnight.

Andy had come in from putting the recycling out and told me to come back outside to listen. We stood together in the darkness and heard the owls. Neither of us spoke – the owls had complete command of the night. Andy was right, they sounded almost like monkeys, making them sound almost human. The art of communication, not solely the province of people as we all too typically assume, was being illustrated in primal fashion. There was something gorgeously pure about the way they spoke to one another. We felt like eavesdroppers, intruding on a private moment between two people.


Andy had told me of nearby owls before, in the summer, but I never got to hear them. On this night, when all was quiet and cold, I listened to their conversation, carried on without care or concern of our presence. Andy looked up at the trees too, listening and watching for any sign of movement.

When we were back inside he explained how they might raid squirrel nests for food, and I realized we hadn’t seen any squirrels in a couple of days. I thought it was the snow keeping them at bay, but maybe something more sinister was at work. I went back outside for a moment and heard one last haunting call. Their presence felt sacred, their power both thrilling and vicious. In the warmth of our bed, I was grateful for the roof over our heads, and the lock on our windows. Then something else – a feeling of protection from such magnificent creatures who might, quite literally, be watching over us.

Continue reading ...

The Casket That Got Away in Albany

Andy has a tragic/comic story he tells about a family member’s funeral he was attending at a church in downtown Albany. At some point in wheeling the casket out, it got loose and began rolling down one of the steeper streets in the area. His Mom caught sight of the ordeal and promptly started laughing. It was a bit of her biting humor, which she passed along to him. Finding something funny in the macabre is one of the surest ways of getting through this life. Andy’s Mom knew that, and Andy knows it, and both have gone some way toward helping me learn it.

As I walk past that church at lunch, I remember that story. Some days I chuckle, some days it makes me sad, and some days I simply marvel at the paradoxes this life provides, the way laughter and sorrow can somehow mingle, how the darker and the lighter shades of life can so beautifully and harmoniously intertwine. It makes me happy and miserable at once, and if there’s any chance we stand of making it through the holidays, it’s the hope that through our occasional tears we may find the grace of laughter. A casket rolling down the streets of Albany seems a fitting embodiment of such a sentiment.

Continue reading ...