A Moment Like This

I am so dissatisfied with my life

exept for right now.


The sun is setting over Lake Accotink
The sliding glass door is open and
I have a clear view of the sunlight shimmering on the lake.

The geese are loud.
I can hear children, faintly, clamoring.

I have a cranberry-clemintine cocktail.
A lady is walking her pug on the path by the lake.

My dog is mad at me . . .
Can't even be in the same room
Because I didn't take her for a walk immediately . . .

There is a family with a toddler walking by now,
and I can hear a plane.

No one is home. It is so quiet,
I hear the 95 year old refridgerator running,
squirrels arguing,
and the geese begging to be shot.

Mama sounded good, bright even.

On the phone, I said, "How ya' doin', Pop?"

"Super good," he said.

(mmm . . . joggers in shorts running by -
It's 57 degrees on January 20th!)

I restrained hope. He said I should talk to Mom.

Could her "interview" with the doctor's have revealed a miracle . . .
Could she be well?

"Daddy says's he's doing 'Super Good' " I said

"Oh, I guess I am" she said, not hearing me.

"No. Daddy."

"Oh, well. I guess I am too," she said.

Three whole months ago, doctors suspected that the cancer was back.
Finally. They have a plan. Chemo.

The sun has set. I will have to close the door soon.

Perhaps just having a plan brought them joy.

They sounded like thy had gotten a miracle.
My mistake. That's the sound of expecting a miracle.
If it happens, I won't be surprised.

With the sun setting, the geese have shut up.
Coincidentally, so did the refridgerator.

Now the loudest noise is a leaf chiseling over the bark of an oak,
as a squirrel takes it up to his nest.

Beautiful.

My party was stunning. I didn't leave the house that day,
nor get out of my pajama's until 30 minutes before my guests arrived.

It turned out there was a 3rd, or 4th reason for the party.

1) to introduce Puck and Memae to my friends
2) to be with my Ruthless people on the eve of the nominations.
3)An extra special early birthday present to myself.
4) and surprisingly: Bemmy's Bon Voiage.

I am so worried about him. He's on the road with Hairspray now, offstage. And this time, he's hurt. When he came home from the Beauty and the Beast tour, he weighed almost, or more than, 500 lbs. And sugars were wrong. Now he's back on the road. I hope it doesn't kill him.

I haven't turned on a light yet, nor shut the door.
It's a glassed room, but it is an old house,
and the doors look frosted, if not filthy.
They're 30 year old double panel sliding glass doors,
but the seals broke . . .

There's a train! and bikers . . .
I could see the train. In the winter,
I can see it on the trestle over the dam.
It's getting dark. And there's another train!
Going in the other direction
A commuter train with lighted windows.

Lamps are on now.
d'Oghy is back.
She deserves a walk before dusk has ended.

Ruthless! was nominated for 5 Community Theatre Honor's Awards,
including best director.

and . . . I must walk the dog . . .

If I had a gun, I'd go shoot some geese while I was out there.

I wonder why they shut up for 20 minutes!

God Bless,

Vig

Live, Love, Forgive, and Never Give Up

Yesterday’s post was so bleak; I couldn’t see where it was headed after a while. All I wanted to observe was the irony that I left the church because my niece was dying, and now I’m clinging to it since my mom is sick. I don’t think it was worth the effort. (I mean the post!)

Anyway . . .

I had a blast at rehearsal last night. I’m still intimidated by the other boys, imagining that they all have jobs they love that enable them to have a life better than I do. If you don’t know me, let me tell you this: the only thing better about their lives than mine is that they don’t have depression!

I’m so happy to be in the show. We’ve learned the music and the choreography for the first third of the show. There was so much in one number last night, the number called “Undecided,” that I got to laughing hard and my face turned purple-y red everytime I couldn’t tell the difference between right and left. My head was about to blow off my neck. And you know, I don’t look so fat. I had some new jeans on, yes they're new because I can’t fit into the 32 inch waist pair, but still, it’s just a size 34 . . . and a baggy shirt. I'll lose a good bit of the 15 to 20 lbs. And I have great hair.

I am giddy with excitement that the WATCH Award Nominees will be announced on Sunday. I think that Ruthless! The Musical was the best show of 2005. And it’s not just because I directed it either. Well, there’s a little of that. But, the whole show (especially the book and music that Joal Paley and Marvin Liard created) really was the best of the year. Honestly, with something like that, it was hard to mess up! Let’s see who agrees with me!

I’m having a multi-purpose dinner party on Saturday night. I can’t wait! My production team and half the cast of Ruthless are coming, maybe my co-star, Alban, from La Cage Aux Folles, and Puck and Memae! Since Puck and Memae arrived from Phoenix, I haven’t introduced them to any of my friends. They’ve caught up with mutual friends from 20 years ago, but I’ve had a busy life since then. Four of my favorite people that they don’t know helped me with Ruthless, so with the timing of the WATCH Award Nominations, I decided to make it a Ruthless People Party, rather than an official Puck and Memae coming out party. (The other reason for the party, I cannot say, lest someone encourage others to bring gifts! DON'T.)

Not every cast member will make it, which is a real shame. Mostly I’m going to miss the guy who played Sylvia. But, hey if Alban comes (from La Cage . . .) he can stand in Sylvia’s place. Plus he’s Judy’s brother so . . . you don’t know who these people are . . . but, trust me, this could be a very fun night of Cosmopolitans, hors d’oeuvres, Proseco, Roast Turkey, dressing, root vegetables, pumpkin cheesecake, Kahlua cake; and good friends.

Now, about the drinking. Ick. I really don’t want to get loud and stupid at my party! On the other hand, I don't want to stand around and obsess that no one really likes me either, instead of talking and listening to my friends. But, if I should have the incredible honor to be named as a nominee for a WATCH Award on Sunday evening; I want no regrets. No wishing I had made it to church, no wishing that I had felt better at rehearsal, and no wishing that I didn’t have a hang over! I don’t want to celebrate with alcohol. As I have had a few alcohol free birthdays to celebrate my life, I want Sunday to be alcohol free, and not due to a hang-over; but because life just doesn't get any better than a moment like that. I want to savor it, even if I'm not nominated.

Oh, by the way, I left that church. Unity was a nice stop on a journey, but it got strange. I may have found a church home now. It is the church with the “God is Still Speaking” ad campaign that caused uproar when the television stations refused to air it because it showed bouncers blocking a gay couple from entering some other church. It’s called the United Christian Church.

Busy days ahead. Got to get crackin’.

All best wishes,

Vig

We live, we love. We forgive and never give up because the days we are given are gifts from above; and today we remember to live and to love. - Superchic[k]

Grace and Peace Unto You

Could I have been only 25 when my niece’s decline . . . when dear Michelle’s descent to death became rapid? For eight more long years, it was rapid.

Rolf and I were members of MCC at the time. (The Metropolitan Community Church, an escape for gay Christians.) Could I have been 25? Was I still a boy? I wanted to be a father, I remember. And Rolf wanted to be a father. That wasn’t allowed then. We were wrecked by grief for the children we would never know. And family, the family we would never have. Rolf wouldn’t have been out to his family yet, even though we’d been together for 7 years. We had so much fear that his family would bar him from their lives. . . Yes, I think I was 25.

Rolf was the church treasurer. I was one of the music ministers (to use a Baptist Term). When I told Reverend Gail that I couldn’t be associated with miserable, torturous lies that said if only I had the faith of a mustard seed, my niece would be healed; wearing a cleric’s collar, she sobbed. I had faith. But after Michelle was robbed of her mobility, and speech; now that she was blind, I declared that my faith had been in a God who did not exist.

For my 39^th birthday, 4 years ago (Saturday the 28th), I fasted and prayed. Did I really stay away from church for 14 years? I fasted and prayed, begging God to make me sober (and thin) by my 40^th birthday. I’d been smoking pot daily.

I promised to find a place to worship, even though any mention of virgin birth, supernatural healing, or literal resurrection made me boiling mad. Mom had cancer, I'd started my current hateful job; and I needed to be with God again. After many Presbyterian, Methodist, Lutheran, and Episcopal experiences, during which no one got hurt; I found the tiny Unity Church. Their doctrine of following the teaching of the bible, while believing none of it, was a saving grace. It was a place I could go to, hung over and unshaven if I was late. And I could pray and hear strengthening words of healing: “have a positive outlook, stop dwelling in depression, take control of your thought life, see the good.”

By that point I had stopped smoking pot and had started drinking heavily instead. Church helped, so did Weight Watchers. Between the prayer and the counting calories, I really did sober up and lost 45 pounds too.

Now, twenty pounds, a million drinks, and five miserable years on the job later. . .

Christmas 42 Scene’s and Summaries

We never forget how frightened we once were that we wouldn’t have our families any more. It’s now 25 years later, and it’s endlessly amazing to be there amidst them all, and see how my family loves him, and to feel how his family loves me.

Everything was pretty. It was emotional. Tender, yet difficult.

Rolf, with an obnoxious cold, had a proposal due. He worked every day, except Christmas itself, even giving up his tickets to the Redskins vs. Giants game.

Friday, we had time off from work in the morning to see Seusical the Musical at Imagination Stage with a bunch of 8 year old kids on field trips, including our very gay 8 year old nephew. Then he worked until 10PM, and I went and finished the Christmas Shopping.

Christmas Eve – Saturday – he worked, and it was stressful for him. I wrapped all the gifts. He was surprised.

We got to my families at about 8 on Christmas Eve. My Mom, Dad, Sister (Joy), Nephew (Russ), his girlfriend, Rolf and I had a late dinner, and then we opened presents. It was just the presents from us to them and from them to us, because they were waiting to do the traditional Christmas on Christmas Day . . .

My family loved the presents I got for them. Mama loved the Christmas Ornaments, the board games, Joy loved the jewelry I got her, and she ooohed and ahed over it. Russ already had the book, but loved getting theatre tickets. Daddy had a good laugh over the bungee cord squirrel feeder.

Anyway . . . I didn’t talk of cancer. I decided that Mom didn’t want to talk about it, and I told her . . . well what happened is that my sister called to tell me that Mom had more bad news. Did I tell you? It’s twice as many tumors. So, I called Mom that day and I told her that I’d already heard the news; I knew it wasn’t good. She had been crying, which was real hard to deal with. But she said, “I really don’t like talking about it.” I said “That’s ok, that’s not why I called anyway. We’ll have to talk about it sometime, but later.” And I went on with whatever my news was; I do try to be entertaining.

So, that was Thursday before Christmas.

At dinner Christmas Eve - Daddy was talking about Mom as if she was already dead. I gave him a talking too about it in the morning before we left.. “A talking too . . . ,” listen to me. Well, I had too. His favored subject was how he was going to get on without her. Really. My sister didn’t seem to have a problem with that, joining in to say how she was going to move in with Dad to take care of him, assuring Dad that any new husband of hers would have to accept him too. . . Once she even said to my Mom that if she should ever make it to remission that they could go to Italy together. Notably she didn’t say “When you reach remission. . .”

Daddy looked like a little boy when I took him aside and told him to knock it off. He looked sad and punished when he quietly objected saying: “But she talks about it . . .” I pointed out that she hadn’t joined in any conversation about her not being here anymore. And I asked him to just not bring it up on Chirstmas Day. Let her have a holiday free from talking about it if she want’s it.

That part of the holiday left Rolf a little shell shocked. I kept a handkerchief at hand in case I lost it. It was ok. But Mama didn’t look good Christmas morning. She was cooking link sausage, dressed up in holiday colors for church, but she looked tired. It didn’t really register so I went ahead with the “Merry Christmas! Did you sleep well?!” cheerfulness. It turned out that she hadn’t slept much because the tumors on her spine have begun to hurt. She was very stiff.

We had our traditional waffle breakfast with fresh fruit compote and whipped cream to top it off. Then we rushed off to Rolf’s families, and although we got there just moments before noon, they were just sitting down to breakfast.

I’m not going any further with this post. I wrote this last week, and set it aside hoping an inspirational thought would come so I could spice it up. But, it is what it is.

All best wishes,

Vig