Another Year Has Gone By

It’s been less than a year since I’ve returned to California. To be exact, this holiday marks seven months.  And to say that these days have been nothing short of eventful would be an understatement, and it would be impossible to recap all that has happened in a short blog post. But what I can say is that these months have given my life a focus that it lacked for so long.

When I relocated to New York, I was turning 50, at a crossroads where I didn’t know which path was the right one. I had moved over and over, from West Hollywood to Miracle Mile, and back to West Hollywood  - that last time forced on me through a series of very unfortunate events. Let’s just say, I can top any roommate story and at a cocktail party, I save mine for last because nothing can beat it. Professionally, it was a chapter I'd like to forget, but whatever the events, they all led me to this point - to my Blue Awning Home that I just adore beyond any place I’ve ever lived, and to a second chance at discovering what it truly means to be home.

There’s not one place in California that makes me feel out of sorts. From San Francisco, where I literally learned about life, to LA and Palm Springs that combined, made me feel truly at home - this entire state just gets me. 

The day I landed, my friends were there to greet me and I felt such an outpouring of love that I didn’t quite know what to do. I hugged them, and then chastised them for the surprise that it was, because as anyone knows, I’m no fan of surprises. In the end, I was still 30,000 feet above the ground, unbelievably with my feet back in the state that I somehow knew was where I belonged. There are too many Wizard of Oz references here so I will forgo using even one - but let’s just say my Christmas Tree ornaments reveal them.

It’s hard for anyone to figure out where they belong. Is it the home they grew up in? Is it down the street from their parents? Is it where others expect them to be? Whatever the journey, it’s a very personal one and really listening to yourself is paramount. Over these months I’ve spent so much time with the family I’ve created - and by no means does it diminish the family I was born into. In fact, it has made me realize how much both mean to me - something I had such guilt about for so many years.

My years in Manhattan, as desperately lonely as they were for me, were filled with adventure. There were countless Broadway shows and a wonderful place called Feinstein’s/54 Below that literally saved my life. It was my “Cheers” - where they all knew my name and where I felt a sense of belonging. 

As summers turned into brutal winters, I looked at myself and wasn’t happy with what I saw. I knew I was overweight, and found avoiding pictures like a child runs from penicillin to be exhausting. And when I touched down in Los Angeles and saw myself in the bright California sunshine, I knew that change had to happen. I was almost overcome with how high the mountain would be to scale. Starting over AGAIN, and on top of that, dropping pound after pound seemed like an impossible feat. But, I tackled it like I have every other mountain in my life  - I simply started the climb and then kept on ascending to the top.

And, now, one year after that fateful New Year’s Eve in Palm Springs, I return to the desert with my friends with so much accomplished. I’m not hopping a flight at the crack of dawn to get there, but throwing my bags into my luxurious car I’ve called Aurora. Why that name? Well, it was the dawn of a new day when I bought her and she’s my favorite Disney princess, and every day she reminds me that I can accomplish anything.

Overall, this could be one of those year end letters that tells you everything that has happened. But in this age of social media, you only have to look at my posts to see what words can never really capture. And, who knows, should I become a life coach, I would for sure have a lot of life to lean on for my advice to others. In the end, it’s getting behind the path you take. And, then, if that path doesn’t turn out the way you envision, then it’s in your power to make a new one. Regrets are for those who won’t move forward. It’s taking those lessons and building on each one. I’m surrounded by so much love both here and on the East coast that it’s almost an embarrassment of riches.  And I’ve learned on this journey to embrace those treasures.

Without that pivotal move to New York, none of this would be possible, and how great is it to say that I’ve lived in some of the biggest cities in this country? Each one has left their mark on me and, I’d like to think, I’ve changed each of them along the way.  

So this year, I toast to it all and whatever comes next. It's sure to be one hell of a ride.

Thankful for the Sizzler?

As I was getting ready to head back to Boston for the Thanksgiving holiday today, I got the sudden urge to dig through some very old photographs that I had stuffed away in my very tiny Manhattan apartment. I think deep down I wanted to see some evidence of everything I had built in my years away.

When I moved away, I was not even old enough to rent a car - do you know that magic number? I’ll tell you, it’s 25. I remember that because when I was living on the peninsula, I had to vacate the place I was crashing and not one car company would give me a car so I could get into the city. I was trapped in San Bruno and was relegated to walking into the Sizzler, where the hostess very loudly announced, “Table for one?” Maybe that’s how I became confident on eating alone. She yelled it so loudly that the fear and embarrassment just couldn't really make me feel more alone than I was already feeling. It’s rather crazy to say that I learned how to enjoy being me at a Sizzler. Don’t tell anyone I told you that.

Years later, when I had moved to San Francisco, I never really realized how much I had when I had it. A condo smack dab in the middle of the city where I brought together every orphan stranded in the Bay Area that I knew for the best dinner I could make. I could depend on the same cast of characters every year with a few additions. Those whose families had forgotten them, cast them out or simply those who felt that there was no place like home in San Francisco. And what a cast it was indeed. The photographs I found were the evidence that they really did exist - and there in the mix was the boy who had stolen my heart and every fiber of my being. As I looked at that picture, some almost 20 years later, it is so clear that despite the joy on my face, that he could barely contain his uncomfortableness being held by me. Why then did he come to this orphan dinner, insisting he bring his Nutcracker china to set a tablescape like no other? The answer came weeks later, first with a comment that he loved my friends, to which I replied, “You can’t have my friends without me.” The rest of the story is a messy one, but one I always think back to over the holidays. But regardless of the drama, I’m still thankful that it happened. That dinner, surrounded by those friends that he so desperately wanted, is one of my all time perfect memories.

I haven’t hosted a massive dinner since I left the city by the Bay - and one day, perhaps, I’ll reach for the apron, put it back one with my fluffy Snoopy slippers and be back in the kitchen. 

A lot of years have passed - and there have been countless places I’ve called home. Could I ever have imagined that I’d be back on the east coast? Would I have even believed it if you told me that? For every memory along the way, though, I am truly grateful. From the gay drama in the middle of Castro street to the wonderful dinners and wine over a golden turkey surrounded by friends I could never imagine getting through life without. All of it provided a foundation for who I am. I’m now closer to my family than I have been in years. A train ride away to hug my mother, breath in her scent, spend the days just watching Hallmark Movies and listening to how she can’t remember if I were home for turkey day last year or not. It’s joyous and precious and I’m so thankful for that. Despite all the crazy twists and turns in my life, I’ve learned what it’s meant to be me and that in turn has made me appreciate the holidays more than ever. And it’s put all of them into a perspective I could never image. For as long as I was away, I was never without family - whether I made them from the friends I met  along my travels or the boys who eventually fell out of love with me or were never really in love at all, my family first and foremost started with me.

Just ask that young trashy hostess at Sizzler, asking, “table for one?”

Another Rosemarie Getaway

The last time I went to the state of Maine, a seagull shit on my head. And today, after over twenty years, I'm headed back to the topmost New England state with my mom for a short weekend away from the madness of work and stifling heat of Manhattan.  Ever since I moved back to the East Coast, I've been able to take what seems to be countless trips back to the Bay State. It's, no matter how difficult the move might have been, the one thing that makes leaving California worth it.

I can't really remember how old I was when I first drove up to Ogunquit, all I can recall, however, was I was with my friend Anthony, who happens to turn the same age as me today. Were we even out then? Even that I can't seem to pinpoint as fact. All I do remember is the sound of that bird overhead and the mess that streamed down my head. It's just one of many crazy memories of growing up on the east, and this weekend, I'm sure it will be just as comical traveling once again with my mother. The last time we went away together was London, which seems an eternity ago already. She was quite seasoned by that time, having been dragged all over Paris and Italy by me a few years earlier. All those trips have combined to be very special memories - from dodging pigeons in St. Mark's square to climbing out of the cavernous Paris subways - each trip seemed to out do the one before it.

This weekend, I've no doubt the adventures will pile up, one being the fact that I haven't really driven a car since I moved. It's like riding a bicycle yes? But then again, I haven't been on one of those since I got my drivers license.

With all the modes of transportation available, there really is nothing like sitting on a train and watching the scenery pass before you. Though I wouldn't say the view is as breathtaking as watching the Eiffel Tower come into view or the hills of Tuscany stretch out as you land - it's more lush, vibrant, and a far cry from the dry brown hillsides of Los Angeles. Of course, being on the train always reminds me of the time my mother made us take it all the way to Florida because she was afraid to fly. Two and half days on the tracks when all you want to do is see Mickey Mouse was not pleasant. How ironic that so many years later she'd be flying across the Atlantic more times that she could have imagined. Being able to take her so many places has been one of the sheer joys of life.

I've told her to be packed and ready to go. There's no security line to maneuver, she can bring as big a bottle of her Elizabeth Taylor beauty products as she wants and the only thing I have to worry about are the sounds she might make as the traffic rushes by. And, oh yes, those birds.

But this time, in case they decide to welcome me back - I'm prepared. I'm going to wear my hat.

Another Pride

If there were any doubt that the world had changed again, all doubt was erased last week when I walked into my favorite bar in Manhattan. Instead of the normal doorman who, for the past year, has greeted me a with a gruff hello, two very burly and ominous security guards proceeded to pat me down for weapons. And with that, my normal Saturday night out was far from normal.

I somewhere naively didn’t think the world could change again after 9/11. Perhaps that was just pure foolishness or maybe I still like to believe I’m that naïve young man who walked into his first gay bar and immediately felt as if he had finally found where he belonged. No matter how trepidatious I felt, I was comfortable that here, no one would call me names, shove me from behind as I walked with my books in the stairwell, or make me feel less than what I was. And, most of all, I never dreamed that coming into a bar – that someone could potentially kill me. 

Is there more to said that hasn't already been commented on surrounding the horrible events in Orlando? Which is ironically, supposed to be home to the happiest place on earth. I think there's always more to be said, always more to be written and always more places to add your voice.

There have been many personal events that have shaped the person I am today – among them, the passing of my grandmother when I was just 8 years old, going to college instead of traveling around Europe, and moving to San Francisco when I was 24. But those events were in my world, no one across the globe knew my grandmother, sense my disappointment when I had to give up the notion of walking through Paris with just the clothes on my back, and they didn’t feel my excitement and nervousness as I boarded that flight across the country. 

When I was a kid, I never felt like I was one of the others. There was something different - feelings and thoughts that raged in my head every night when I went to sleep and every day as I tried to find my way in the world. But never in those private moments did I ever think the answer was to pick up an assault weapon and end the lives of so many. Back in the day who would even know how to get your hands on such a demonic instrument of war.

Of course, the days of my growing up can never come back – but their memories burn bright more times than I’d like to admit. And now, this world where differences are now the basis for breeding hate – where making America great again means crucifying those who don’t believe in your views is like watching a bad television show that needs to get yanked off the air.

Last week, I was in a place where I have always felt comfortable. An atmosphere that welcomed me since I was in my 20s, and I looked around, subconsciously perhaps, sizing up, the people and thinking, where could I hide if someone took out a gun and started shooting? I hated that I had those thoughts. This bar should be where I just enjoy being me.  Where someone who feels out of place could walk through the doors and never once for a second – lose one’s life.

I didn’t know anyone in the Pulse nightclub, but I know their stories and I know what it means to walk through the doors of a place that offer acceptance. And I can imagine, all too much, how it could all be taken away in an instant. This is not the America we should be living in and not the world that we need to leave to future generations. For years, the divas have echoed on the dance floor, “enough is enough, no more tears” and that line has morphed into more than just the lyrics of a disco song.

As I started writing this, I was on my way to Las Vegas, and after a week in that sin city, looking at every single DIVERSE person, how can one possibly want a wall to shut people out.  

And if the world events of this weekend have taught us another lesson, it's that  is every single person’s vote counts, every voice should be raised to be heard. Consequences should be front and center, rational thoughts should drown out the obscene rhetoric. Above all, remember that if you push someone down the stairs or shove them to the ground because you don’t like how they make you feel - they may get injured -  it may take them some time to compose themselves - but when they do, they are stronger than ever.

 

Into the Cold

It's a new year, and I have a lot of blogging to make up for since my last post. I need to be inspired to write something and now, 40,000 feet up in the air, with all this time on my hands - I guess it's that  time.

At perhaps the coldest time of the year, and since the year just began, I think that's an accurate statement, I'm flying to the east coast for work. I've got more outerwear than I've ever packed before with me and I must admit, I love how everyone is worried that I will turn into Frosty the Snowman or a big ball of ice. It's very flattering, and I do get a thrill making a point of how I love the heat. But, the truth of the matter is, I grew up in New England, and some of my best memories surround this time of year. Yes, there were some bad ones and I'll tackle those another time, but overall, the good, like everything in life, outweigh the bad.

When I was a chubby little child, made even chubbier by the snowsuit my mother encased me in, I used to love running outside and throwing myself in the snow. Making snow angels, attempting to make a decent snowman and catching snowflakes on my tongue, sledding down the hill of the reservoir  are just a few of the quintessential winter activities I used to love to do. But, more than that, it was coming home and in from the cold that I loved the most. My mom would have a hot bowl of cream of wheat, or if it were dinner time, her famous red soup (which was really just chicken soup with crushed tomatoes), but for a little kid - red soup would do just fine.

There were those winter tasks that I despised, though. Shoveling the snow in front of our house and even, for a measly $5, doing the same task outside our doctor's office. My dad would always make us shovel as soon as the snow began and keep at the task, "so there was less to shovel when it was over." It didn't make sense to me then, but looking back, if I hadn't started early, there would be have been fourteen inches of snow to dispose of all at once. Maybe that's why I do things a little at a time to avoid the avalanche.

 I loved sleeping in flannel sheets (something I still do, despite it never really getting THAT cold in Los Angeles), bundling  up on the couch with a blanket my mom crocheted and falling asleep listening to the heat clang its way up the furnace. All that was ever missing was the roaring fireplace.

When my grandparents lived downstairs, I would spend the afternoon there, running very quickly from our door to theirs because the enclosed porch had no heat. I would watch my grandmother make cookies or peel the shells off what seemed were a million shrimps. The house would be warm and cozy. And whether it was downstairs or up, there was so much feeling between those two floors that it could melt any amount of ice that crystallized on the windows.

And, yes, when I was 24, I'd had had enough of the below freezing temperatures and wanted a new chapter on the west coast, but winter, like Boston, is in my soul. It's in my blood - no matter how thin it has gotten. When I'm walking - very briskly to the office from my hotel, my hands protectively warm in the gloves  my dad gave  me and a hat to cover my freshly waxed ears (I live in LA, I get waxed), I will come in from the cold, take off that hat and gloves, remove the scarf from my mouth and relish in the warmth around me. Because, even though it will be work, it will be all those memories of those winters that will keep me warm even if I were to not wear the seven layers of clothes I will have on. I said, "if." I may be sentimental about my childhood winters, but I'm not stupid.

Falling into Fall

Fall has always been my favorite time of the year, and maybe because it is my ninth year in Los Angeles and my 21^st in California, but I've been missing some parts of where I grew up more and more. Recently, after a debacle in my quest for a new position based on the East Coast, I somehow found myself wanting to just breathe in the smell of autumn where the season ought to be experienced. A cheap airfare and a guaranteed upgrade made the decision even more right, and tomorrow I leave for a nice nine-day vacation to Boston and Provincetown.

The secluded city at the end of Cape Cod has always been a favorite place of mine. When I moved back to Massachusetts for a little over two years, I used to drive to the artist colony almost once a month. And the off-season was always my favorite time, especially October and Halloween. With crisp days and cool nights, just enough for a jacket but not yet cold enough for earmuffs and scarves, the weather somehow put a whole different spin on a city that swells to an unimaginable population during the summer. It was, in a way, what Palm Springs is to me here – an escape just a quick drive away that can make you feel like you are a world detached from everyone and everything.

When I was little, my brother and I would go trick or treating in our home neighborhood, and one year, for some strange reason, we got a goldfish from a tiny pet store instead of candy. Needless to say, the fish lasted in life as long as it took us to eat all our candy. I can think of a hundred different memories, Halloweens as vampires, monsters, superheroes, and oh, yes, that one year in drag. That blue and pink dress couldn't hold a candle to half of the outfits I would, years later, have made for my foray onto the lip-syncing stages of San Francisco, but it’s always nice to remember your beginnings.

And my beginnings are just what this trip is all about. I’ll visit some old friends and drink in what will always be there for me whenever things don’t quite turn out the way I’m planning for in this city where fall and summer can never be differentiated and it seems where water will never again fall from the sky. The colors of the leaves will remind me that change always comes and when winter comes to blanket the scenery, right under the surface is a whole new life ready to begin.

As I continue in this year before my milestone birthday, I have lots of thoughts swirling in my head. Plans that I make and then unmake, pictures of where I think I ought to be, coupled with thoughts of how realistic it will be to make my visuals a reality. But one thing is certain; I can always go back to where it all began for me. There, I can take a step back, remember who I was and maybe, for just a brief moment, experience an afternoon of walking in the rain.

Happy Birthday to Me

Today is my birthday and I really didn't notice it all day. I've been so busy trying to catch my flights up and down the central part of the United States, that it just didn't really register. If it hadn't been for Facebook sending me so many wishes, the day would just have easily slipped away as just another hump day.

Perhaps it's the age I'm turning - 50 is on the horizon, I'm in the last year of yet another decade - or maybe I purposely planned this work trip to coincide with this day so I could just let it fade away. 

Last night, as I wandered Beale Street, yes, I was walking in Memphis - I stopped into a quiet little place for a salad and dessert, and it was here, amidst the secluded cafe, away from blues blaring on the streets and the Elvis impersonators singing in tiny clubs that I thought to myself, "It's my birthday, tomorrow." 

It shook me a bit and I wondered at what point did I reach this chapter in my life? Am I where I want to be? Do I have everything I want? Are those even questions that can be answered? There was one couple in the cafe with me and when they left, there I sat, loving the solitude. I didn't want to wander into one of the many bars on Beale. I contemplated Coyote Ugly - didn't see anyone dancing on the bar and the many signs in the windows of the BBQ joints and establishments that declared 'no firearms allowed' and 'we love the Memphis police' made me just a tad uneasy. I was so content in this quaint little establishment.

From that first birthday I spent in San Francisco to this one spent during dead Elvis week (google it, you'll be amazed), I've come a long way. If the managers and supervisors who held me down because of their opinion of me could see me  now, ("You're right," one said, "I don't like you.")  I wonder what they'd think. Then, I thought as I wandered back to my hotel, their opinion of me would not matter anymore. When I was younger, it was everything. Today, it is just their view. Their image of me is none of my concern. I'm certain that outlook comes with age. Just as it has happened before,  where ever this box I've checked leads me will be because of the choices and steps I take.

As I finished my meal, I laughed with the owner and chef. She invited me back for open mic night and when I told her it was my last night in Memphis, she told me as I left, "You have a blessed evening, honey."

And, then I thought,  I'll go one further - it's my birthday, I'll have a blessed year.