Adieu 2012

As the end of the year approaches, I feel the obligatory need to review the year that was and look forward to the one that is quickly marching towards us. And, as I sit and think about all of that, I can’t help but realize that no one knows what a new year will bring or what events might come to make us smile or laugh and cry. When this year started, I had reached the bottom depths of my outlook on myself. I was overweight, in debt, feeling isolated and alone. And then at the end of January, I had had enough and now, I can say with certainty, that whatever life throws at you in 365 days, you can meet it head on and survive.

There were some great times this year – including the celebration of my parents’ Golden Anniversary and my cousin Donna’s marriage to the man of her dreams. I got to see my mother three times in 2012 and although the last time was touched with sadness over the loss of our Great Aunt Lil, it was still wonderful to squeeze another hug out of my mom. Yet, even in that sadness, all of us found some joy. Joy that a woman who was with us for so long got to see and experience so much with us. She brought my parents together and she was there, fifty years later, to witness the renewal of the love she had a decisive hand in joining.  This year will always be remembered as the year I bid good-bye to a woman who I thought would live forever and yet, I’m not mistaken, for she does live on. She is all around me - in her portrait that now hangs in my apartment, in her baking utensils and cookie recipes that I feel so privileged to have as my own and in how I think of her a million times a day in small and great ways.  Without a doubt, there’s a part of my life that I’ve learned to live because of Lillian.

Mid-way through the year, I got to travel to my favorite city in the world to visit my best friend in the world. Paris will always have my heart and to experience it with Josh was beyond fabulous. Spending time with him sandwiched between nights of wine and mornings of croissants was one of the highlights of my year. And when I saw him sitting in the church as my aunt took her final journey, I felt truly blessed to call him my friend.  

And, of course, with the sudden, jolting passing of my roommate, I learned that you should never take yourself for granted. Remember that you are the special one and no one you surround yourself with can bestow the self-esteem and love that you desire. The actions and responses that I experienced made me eternally grateful for my family. And over the course of those weeks and months, I felt truly blessed at how much I value and love them. Perhaps it’s getting older and being a far cry from the 24 year-old boy I was when I first moved to California. Or maybe it’s that this year really put all of that in perspective. 

From the election to the senseless killing of innocent children, the world events of 2012 have been unlike any other year. But you find the joy in what lives around you. It’s in a note from a boy you’ve watched grow into such a wonderful young man telling you that you are “the best gay dad ever.” It’s in the embrace of the high school friend who’s there with you as you mourn and celebrate life’s celebrations. It’s in the hugs of your mother and it’s in the joy of sitting back and looking at the family you are so proud to call your own. 

Adieu, 2012 – Bon Jour 2013. I’m ready for whatever you have in store.

Hell in a Cookie Basket

Today, we had a tremendous send off to our Great Aunt Lil - this was my tribute to her - one that the very old and traditional priest did not approve of in the least. Although the man wearing robes that I wouldn't touch on my best drag days may want to send me to hell for being "inappropriate in the house of the Lord," in the end, all that mattered was that I made those in attendance laugh, remember and cry, not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy that we were blessed to have had such a wonderful woman lead our family for so many years.

There hasn’t been a time in our lives when Aunt Lil was not there  - and perhaps because of that – all of us, no matter how small the thought – believed that maybe, just maybe – this woman was immortal.

In August, I went to visit Aunt Lil when she was in rehab and as I left, I gave her kiss, looked her in the eye, and said, “Now, don’t give me an excuse to fly back here this year.” She, of course, didn’t listen to me and did things her way. In the end, didn’t we all know that she would get what she wanted?

“I’m spoiled,” she said once without a hint of humility. “I’ve always been spoiled.”
And who were we to argue?

Fifty years ago she brought two people together, and because of that simple take charge act, I stand here with so much gratitude – because without her, my brother and I would not exist as part of this amazing and wonderful family.

Holidays, birthdays, weddings, babies, graduations, anniversaries, new jobs, boyfriends, ex-boyrfiends, girlfriends, and ex-girlfriends – there’s not one of life’s events that she did not share with us. And no matter how old any of us got – there was always a card, and inside - $25 “to have coffee and a bagel on me.”

No doubt all of us remember the times at her house in Winthrop she shared with Uncle Tony. How much love was in that small two bedroom flat?

What crazy treasures existed up that spiral staircase to the attic, where once a red light shone in the window much to the wrath of my very old fashioned Italian grandfather? And how amazing was it to see her beloved Rinny Von Gregorie  running through those rooms? Well, for me, I just remember being scared of this huge German Sheppard, but that’s another story.

Just like the flat at 194 Washington Ave, her home in Malden meant the world to her.

What feasts would greet us when she had us over for a meal. When all I wanted was her famous potatoes and eggs, there would be lox, bagels, and a buffet that would, no doubt, cause the chefs of the Ritz Carlton to go back to cooking school. When I moved to the west coast, her cookie culinary fame brought her legions of new fans. And though only a select few met “the woman who made those cookies,”-  from just those sweets, they knew the kind of woman our aunt was. So if anyone ever tells you that you cannot bake love into a cookie, then they, like Aunt Lil always said, “can go shit in their hat.”

Her gigadellis filled the curio cabinets, the Hummels lined her mantel, pictures of family past and present and photos of new friends were everywhere you looked. Anyone who entered could tell that there was love in that house, that here were endless days and nights of good times. Here, she found safety and comfort. Watching her stories and game shows and reading her romance novels, she found there her sanctuary for so many years.  It was the place she wanted above anything else to return to and, of course – she got her way. I will always remember 37 Bellvale as a place filled with love, overflowing with good times and laughter – all the ingredients that made Aunt Lil so special. But one thing that that was missing from those rooms, and she always knew it - was her collection of classic dolls.

“Oh, Jimmy, I had so many dolls,” she reminisced, “And I gave them all away.”

“You never gave away that ugly one over there,” I’d tease pointing to the scary dark haired, bug eyed doll in the pink dress.

“Don’t you make fun of her,” she’d scold, adamant that as a child, I poked out its eyes causing it to go to the doll hospital. A fact that I insist to this very day is false and that she lied. Because, after all, Aunt Lil would never lie, would she?

And no matter how old we got or how many times we thought we had the upper hand, how easy was it  for her to scold us and make us feel as if were ten years old again?  That’s a hell of a talent and like her closely guarded recipes; she never gave away its secret. She was the original diva, the reigning queen of the family and in her own “special” way – she reminded us of that time and time again.

I’m not sure what life will be like without her. Right now, it’s strangely empty, but just think of what life would have been if she had never been ours - if she had not been here to watch over us and see her family grow into a tree with so many branches that it’s getting harder and harder to keep them all rooted in one place. I have no doubt she knew that she was surrounded by love - and how special was it that  some of us here even heard her say out loud -  “I love you.” 

Secrets or perhaps just not being comfortable in sharing were a part of her make up that everyone knew all too well. So imagine my surprise this past summer when she opened up for a brief moment about the answer for a successful marriage.

 “My Tony was the best, and once you find the best there is no other,” she told me, dabbing a tear from her eye, as she remembered her husband, even almost 40 years after losing the love of her life.

That’s how I know that we can be sure, as my cousin Nance said  - that Uncle Tony was there to greet her and ask her simply, “what took you so long?”

Theirs was a marriage like no other, this was a couple like no other pairing and this – this was what “til death do us part” meant. Okay, so maybe a union shouldn’t be totally skewed to give the woman everything she wants when she wants it, but after all, this was Aunt Lil, so the bar was set a little too high for anyone else to emulate. Before the term, “soul mate” was even coined; she discovered hers and to the day she left us, she never stopped loving that man.

And it’s that love that she had for Uncle Tony … and all of us… that we will carry around in our hearts for ever – because she will never truly leave us.

To quote from my brother’s favorite poem by Mary Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

That last line is true, isn’t it? For though we are here today to pay our respects, I will not say they are our “final” ones. For this amazing woman will always be, not only a part of the family she knew, but also a legend to the ones who are yet to come.

And, who here wants to bet that right now, Olympia Margarita Staffieri Gregorie is arguing with God about the lousy scratch tickets they have in heaven.

May God bless her.

Love in a Cookie

In a typical year, I travel back to Beantown only in the summer, but this year, with my parents’ 50^th anniversary in May and my cousin’s wedding in August, I was high above the fly over states for more than my usual schedule. Tomorrow, I once again get on board a United jet bound for the east coast.  Yet, although the occasion is a sad one, really, the bidding goodbye to my grandmother’s sister – the family’s great Aunt Lil – is really a celebration of a life that has touched so many.

For as long as I can remember, my aunt has been there. When I was just eight years old, after my grandmother succumbed to ovarian cancer, it was clear that Lil was not going to be her replacement. But she was something even more special – she held the family together in so many ways and for so many years to come. She had fought and won her own battles, lifesaving operations, the loss of her beloved husband, illness, and more. Yet, if she were afraid, she never once showed it. Perhaps that’s where I get my confidence from – it’s hard to tell. But in all of her 95 years, Aunt Lil was the rock of this Italian brood I call my family.

When I moved away – I knew how much I’d miss her and with every visit, hers was the first house I stopped in on the way back from the airport. When all I wanted was a simple breakfast and time to visit, she produced a buffet of culinary overload. And, how privileged I was when one year, I brought my San Francisco friends to her house to experience her hospitality and unique way of loving.

She asked nothing of us –and all that it took to make Diamond Lil happy was a handful of scratch tickets. How she’d squeal like a little girl opening her first doll on Christmas Morning when there was just a hint of a winner revealed. But don’t try to fool her – she knew those tickets like nobody’s business – the second an 11 appeared, she knew the ticket was a loser. And she would curse the Massachusetts State Lottery Commission for being so cheap. The day she won $50 on a ticket I gave her was pretty special, and of course, she took me out to lunch, which was even better.

For her 80^th birthday, we all gave her a bouquet of roses with scratch tickets on every flower. There were chances from all corners of the state, Provincetown, Boston, The North Shore – and not a jackpot winner in the bunch. But it was the thrill of the game she loved. Vegas in the 50’s was where she and her husband played, Judy Garland sitting on the edge of the stage was  one of their entertainers, Broadway with all the greats, including Hello, Dolly with Carol Channing – the stories of her travels made me envious.

Her love was in everything she did. In her cooking, in the time spent with family, in her never failing to remember any occasion with a card and “$25 to have coffee and a bagel on me.” The fact that she was the reason my parents met has never been lost on me. This year, to have her sitting in her living room, presiding over their 50^th vow renewal like the queen that she was – was the most precious gift my parents could have received that day.

Her cookies were coast-to-coast famous, and over the years, she shipped tins and tins of them to me every year for my holiday parties. She guarded her recipes tightly and only recently as the reality of her age set in, did she relinquish them to me. The day she mailed me her pizzelle maker was bitter sweet – I realized that she was now too weak to make her famous Italian cookies and the sadness disappeared when I felt so privileged that she had given me the machine. When I returned to Boston this summer to visit her, I took her bags of the cookies I’d made. She nibbled on them and deemed them worthy. It was a very special day for me.

She very rarely spoke of the “old days,” of her Italian immigrant parents and the hardships they faced. Instead she was all about living for the day. During her marriage, her husband spoiled her so much that it set the precedence for years to come. But, really, how could we compete with the man who brought such things into her life, including the puppy of the original Rin Tin Tin? When he passed away in 1973, the light went out from her eyes – but she ventured on – greeting each new generation of our family with the same outrageous behavior she’d been showing for years.

This was a woman who never wanted for anything and who remained living alone until she turned 94. How many in this world can say that? But, I knew that when she lost her ability to bake, that her time with us would be winding down. So when I got that pizzelle maker last year, I put as much love in every cookie as she had done so many times before. 

And if you don’t think you can convey that in a cookie, then, like my Aunt Lil always said, “You can go shit in your hat.”

Has It Been That Long?

Seven years ago, today, I moved to Los Angeles and it almost passed without notice except it is also my friend Michael's birthday. In 2005, the drive from San Francisco started early that October morning and, with my little reliable Honda stuffed to the brim, I arrived at my new apartment in time for dinner – vowing to never ever make that trek again.  Save for once when I was a passenger in my friend’s car, I’ve kept that promise.

I’ve had an interesting ride over these past calendar days. Although I can count them on three fingers, I’ve dated (yes, you read that correctly), and some friendships have faded away while some have gotten even stronger. There has been drama and then really high drama, but overall, it’s been a great ride. Finding my niche in this land of make believe hasn’t been easy, but as I said to my boss during the recent NBC Emmy Award Party, “I live for this shit.” 

I suppose the good thing about my anniversary passing so quietly is that there really is no need to celebrate. I’ve been in California for twenty years -mind boggling sometimes when I sit and let myself think about that number. There are relatives on the east coast who only see me as a shadow of a stranger who flies in once a year. People have asked me over the years if I feel as if I’ve missed anything. The answer is simply no. I’ve not missed a second of my life because this is my life, and It took many years for me to realize this, but my life is here. 

I’ll always feel a connection to the east coast. It’s where I grew up and spent my childhood. Where my parents are now the only original inhabitants left on Carney Street, where my high school friends still live, and together we can all be instantly 17 years old again, and most importantly, it’s where my grandmother is in her final resting place - a spot that gives me enormous comfort at each and every visit.

Seven years from now, will I still be in Los Angeles?  No one can predict that, least of all me – but, in a way, we’re all still growing up in the places we find ourselves.  Whatever the time frame, it’s just truly wonderful to find yourself in a place you can call home.

Tis the Season To Fall Into A New Me

This month is perhaps one of the busiest that I’ve ever had on my calendar in my life. Starting with another festive gay days at Disneyland that just came to a close this weekend, to a business trip to New York City and ending with an Atlantis Halloween Cruise to Mexico, the only thing that saddens me is that I have no time to get to my desert paradise. 

Once again, Disneyland accomplished what I always expect it to – take me away from the world and transport me to a place where there’s no room for any of the real world’s outside negative energy - unless you count some of the gay boy’s attitudes, but even that was not the norm over the course of the three days.  My friend Steve joined me for the second time this year and it was non-stop from our arrival on Friday to this morning. This time, the only thing that made me nervous was the debut of “the speedo.” No, not the name of some strange new attraction in California Adventure, but the small bathing suit that I wore to the big Sunday afternoon pool party, Plunge! Keep in mind, that never in all my years have I worn such a suit – I’ve been relegated to board shorts or long trunks and only because of my visits with the devil in his playground this year have I gotten the confidence to first, purchase not one but three of these pieces of water attire, but second to wear one  in front of gay boys whose main job is to dance on a box at parties.

What no one sees in my in-your-face flirtation is the still fat- boy inside who couldn’t even make it to the end of the fence for the 500 yard dash in middle school. And once I shove him underwater, despite his struggles to get back to the surface, I keep him submerged as best I can, and this past weekend, I think I did a pretty good job. He broke for air a few times during the Gay Disney pool party but during the beach ball fight that was raging on the surface, he got hit on the head and returned to the bottom where he belonged.

It’s been a long road to this point – since January, I have woken up at the crack of dawn and weathered freezing temperatures in the winter to sweat myself to a more healthy self. And for the first time this weekend, I thought of my former roommate and wondered what he would have thought of this time in my journey. We would have had a good laugh, I’m sure.

Bookmarking the end of October is perhaps the biggest test to that fat little boy imaginable. 3000 gay men on a Halloween cruise to Mexico. Although it was not the reason I began these early morning cross fit hellish classes, it certainly was one of the inspirations that kept me going. What I love about them is that they’ve given me confidence that I’ve been lacking for years and to anyone who wants to feel better and get healthy; this is the way to do it. There are no pills to take, no silly ab machines to give you a slimmer waist while you do the dishes, its hard work, determination and keeping a personal goal in sight that will produce the results.

I still have a ways to go to quiet the fat, unpopular boy all the time, but this October is putting me on the right path. It might be hard to get around that fence, but I’m doing it just the same.

Welcome Home - Again

“I envy you and your new chapter,” a friend of mine said to me when I told him I was moving again. And then I thought, seriously Jimmy? (That’s what I call myself, but don’t try and call me that without special permission) Another move? Another new chapter in your life? Since I was 24, I have become an expert at moving – from Boston to San Francisco, back to Boston, returning to San Francisco to at last, Los Angeles. In the city of Angels alone, this marks my third address. It will be, with every strong intention, my last one in this Hollywood hangout.

It’s a lot of work this moving – packing, throwing things away that I no longer need and discovering things I’ve forgotten (like my Disney Villain Dolls). I’ve spent the last few weeks immersed in boxes, bubble wrap and change of address forms. It was very advantageous that NBC just moved us to a new building. I not so stealthily stole the moving boxes from my office and when the day arrived, my logistics planning paid off tenfold.  Every installation happened at the same time and for once, maybe because the moving gods were kind to me, they gave me a hot Time Warner Internet Installer. I was done by noon and had plenty of time to keep my DMV appointment to get a new license. Twenty-five dollars is a small price to pay for a “lost” license to rid myself of looking at a bad karma address for the next four years.  

No matter how uncomfortable or inconvenient, I had to once again write yet another chapter of my very colorful life.  Through it all, as always with me, I did what needed to be done and took my fate into my own hands. No one was going to tell me where and when to vacate my current residence. However, I realized that this move will be my last in Los Angeles until I can afford to buy my dream home in the desert. With a perfect apartment in a great neighborhood and without a worry of someone else’s nasty boyfriend taking up residence in the space I’ve rented, I finally feel I can relax. (Because when I get a boyfriend, you can be sure he's nasty in all the right ways.) 

I’ve gotten back on my feet and can breathe a sigh of relief. So while moving is stressful and the circumstances that became the catalyst to this latest address could not have been predicted, this move has been the best one yet. But, no matter what life throws at my doorstep, I know that I will always be in charge of choosing where and when to put down the welcome mat.