Category Archives: Andy

It was 3 o’clock in the morning, well, the dead of night. The crash was loud, but it happened so quickly I didn’t realize it was that which had woken me. Instead, I heard Andy hurrying down the hallway asking if I was all right. Groggily, I said yes, why? He said there was a huge noise that sounded like I had fallen onto the floor, reminiscent of the time when an ice-coated tree fell and crashed through our roof. I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the light coming from the hallway. Alerted to a concerned tone in Andy’s voice, my mind slowly began to fill with terrifying scenarios.

What if someone had jumped onto the house from a nearby oak tree and was trying to break in? What if two burglars had gotten into a shoving match and ended up pushing each other into the siding? What if someone had been waiting inside the house and was now knocking things over in the attic?

Andy made a search of the front and back yards while I stayed in bed and worried. Eventually he came to bed, but my mind was already running with a multitude of frightening possibilities. What could possibly have made such a crash and left no evidence of itself? I could not get back to sleep. I began asking Andy questions, and then we were both awake. I went through the likely circumstances in my head, stopping in each room. There was a heavy row of shoe shelves in the guest room that once crashed down late at night. I had Andy check that but it was still intact. Maybe the furnace or air conditioner had blown up? Or maybe someone had broken into the basement through one of the tiny windows? Andy checked that too. Which left the attic. There was an extensive unfinished portion of the attic that was over the bedrooms. It sounded to Andy like that was where the crash had come from. He ascended the stairs and turned on the light, but he noticed nothing out of ordinary. Well, almost nothing.

“Do you have something hanging up there?” he asked.

My mind wondered if he meant something like dead bodies and I almost lost it. “Only chains and rope, why? Is there something else there???” [See Christmas Card 2012.]

“No. Everything looks normal.”

I calmed down and went into each room, clicking the lights on, hoping to scare off any would-be intruder watching the house. Andy went back outside to look at the roof from the street. He disappeared behind the front hedge and I thought for sure, this was it. This is when he doesn’t come back, and someone snatches me from behind and everything ends in a bloody mess of ‘Scream’ proportions. I was about to run to the kitchen for a knife when he came back up the walkway.

Locking the door, we headed back to bed, but I stopped in the bathroom on the way. There was an eeriness to an interrupted night of sleep, when suddenly the quietness amplified every tiny moan or creak of the house. I looked down at one of the drawers beneath the sink. It was oddly askew, angled up and no longer in line like the other drawers. I called Andy in to look at it. He fiddled a bit and as he was righting it, it fell back in and made a crash. The same crash that he’d heard earlier.

Then, and only then, could I get back to sleep.

Though Andy and I have been together for almost fifteen years, today only marks our fifth wedding anniversary. (Such is the intricate math necessary from the days leading up to the beginning of marriage equality.) On this date five years ago, Andy and I made our commitment official in a simple but beautiful ceremony in the Boston Public Garden. A recap of links follows for those who haven’t heard about that magical time, and for those of us who want to revisit the happy event:

1. Arrival & Accommodations

2. Rehearsal Dinner

3.  Last Bachelor Night

4. Wedding Day Dawn

5. Wedding Ceremony

6. Wedding Garden

7. Wedding Lunch

8. Wedding Dinner

Happy Birthday to my husband Andy! Many, many years ago a baby came into the world who would change the trajectory of my life for the better. The last fourteen years have been a winding trail of adventure, fun, a little drama, and a lot of love.

He doesn’t get as much of the glory as he deserves on this site, mostly because he is a tad more private than myself (and is notoriously difficult to get to sit still for a photo.) But today is his day, so whether he likes the accolades and acclaim or not, they are his for the taking.

Happy Birthday, Drew ~ and many happy returns of the day!

When people really matter to me, I tend to not make a big deal of them, holding them closer to my heart, and much more quietly. I can make a big hubbub and stink about those who don’t matter, but the ones that do I trust to know enough and not feel slighted. Andy and I have that sort of relationship. It’s not a big bombastic in-your-face show, because it means more than hype and hoopla to us. However, he does have his own category on this site, and I’ve referenced him hundreds of times because he’s a main part of my life, even if I don’t always make a fuss.

Within his category are  number of stories that I’ve written and posted over the years. From the obtaining of a wedding license to a rumination on all that’s happened since the day we met ~ from the wedding ceremony to what being married might really mean ~ from ensuing anniversaries to birthdays in Maine, it’s been a wild and wonderful ride. Here’s to us.

Today marks the day when I met Andy for the first time, fourteen years ago. I’ve recounted that enchanted evening in the past, so I won’t reiterate, but it merits repeating that he is the foundation of my world. I thought about it again as I woke from a nightmare the other morning. Like most nightmares, this one was indistinct and confusing, but the one constant was fear. Someone was trying to break into our home, I think, and I went around attempting to determine where the assailant was entering. I couldn’t find any evidence of a break-in, and then a new dreadful possibility settled in: the person was already in the house. I froze, then began frantically searching for Andy, trying to warn him and tell him to leave. At that point I woke up, in a panicked state, feeling around in the dark. It took a moment – one of those terrifying moments where reality hesitated to return, and the dark nightmare lingered a little longer – but then I felt Andy next to me. I was safely in bed, next to my husband. The same relief I’ve felt after awakening from every nightmare washed over me. My breathing slowed. Beside me, Andy’s breathing was steady, calm.  (And just to reassure myself, I woke him gently and asked that he check all the locks the next day.)

That’s what Andy has always been to me: safety and sanctuary. At my darkest moments of despair, when I’m feeling most alone and frightened, he is there, and in that refuge there is love. It’s the one thing that has sustained me over the years – and that love is the thing that has sustained us. Every relationship has its trials and tribulations, and with someone like myself they can be dramatic and difficult, but credit must be given to having withstood the rockier times, and hanging in long enough to establish a deeper resonance, one that grows and feeds itself.

It’s rare to find such a good man, and though I don’t often show it, I’ve come to realize how fortunate I am to have Andy in my life. There aren’t many people I can so completely and wholly trust. There aren’t many people who would so fiercely protect and care for me. There aren’t many people who would so love me. I’m a very lucky guy.

Happy Anniversary, Drew.

Four years ago to this date and time, Andy and I were enjoying a wedding lunch at The Four Seasons in Boston, courtesy of our Aunt Elaine, while looking out over the Public Garden where we’d just had our ceremony. Aside from several lovely speeches by my parents, I remember the sky-high chocolate layer cake most fondly. That was a dessert that defied the rules as to how good a chocolate cake should be.

When I’m sitting at my desk, munching on my usual salad at lunch time, I often think back to that cake, and that day, and the memory sustains me for one more mid-day moment.

Being that I’m now working in a new office, there’s a whole new set of co-workers for Andy to impress with his culinary handiwork. Here he is at work on one of his masterpieces ~ an almond cake. It’s best not to interrupt him at such moments of concentration, so I tend to leave him to his own devices. The end result always turns out impeccably, so I don’t want to mess with the system. He has his own set-backs from time to time – a batter that doesn’t rise all the way, a cake that doesn’t take kindly to being layered, or a patch of frosting that doesn’t quite adhere to a crumbly surface – but he always manages to turn it out splendidly.

The best part, aside from the instant-love from my new co-workers, is that I get to do more than lick the spoon – I get the cake scraps and extra frosting to assemble my own little cake. Not that I ever do – it’s much quicker to get a fork, dip into the cake, then dip into the frosting and bring it directly to the mouth. No assembly required.

While I’m tentatively putting out feelers for a new car (apparently the one I’ve had for over a decade is on its last legs – the CD player just burned out, the rust is spreading, and weird lights blink on and off whenever I drive it now) – Andy is talking about old cars on the radio. He recently made an appearance on HomoRadio to discuss the 50^th anniversary of the Mustang, and other car-related topics. Since it means so much to him, this may be the year I muster up the courage to get into the Woody and allow him to take me for a spin. (And it’s already been requested as a Pride Parade vehicle by one of my favorite drag queens.)

In the meantime, I’m listening and heeding his advice on looking into new cars. My heart is set on an Ice Blue Mini-Cooper, but that looks increasingly difficult to find. If you know me, though, you know that won’t much matter. The heart wants what it wants, and there’s very little to be done in the way of changing that.

Shortly after we first met, Andy gave me this rose quartz stone emblazoned with the word ‘Angel’ on it. Back then, I had little to no faith in such talismans, but something in his earnestness, and in the way he believed, set me at ease, and I accepted it graciously. When we lived apart in those early days, I’d hold the stone close to me when I was alone at night, envisioning much of the life that has unfolded since then, or at least wishing and hoping for it. He felt closer to me then.

The first two photos were taken in the evening, by the glow of candlelight. It softens the appearance of the quartz, and the polished surface of the stone is easy on the hands, comforting in the folds of a palm.

Through the years, I held onto it, keeping it in Boston, for those weekends I was away from him. It was a comfort; a little bit of Andy could be in both our homes.

In the morning it glows differently in the sunlight, with a bit more hope, a stronger radiance ~ exactly what is needed to greet another day.

I would hold it in my hand. Closing my fingers around it and feeling its calming influence stilled the chaos of the world. Eventually the heat from my body warmed the stone itself, and soon it seemed to emanate its own warmth, pulsating with energy and life, returning some mystical mirth to my heart.

I didn’t realize it when I started doing this that it was a form of meditation. In those moments of quiet and stillness, I allowed my head to clear itself of whatever was ailing it. I inspected each thought as it came across my mind, then let it go. I examined every nagging concern, turning them around in my head, then let them drift off. It was all right to acknowledge them. It was ok. After some time, the thoughts and worries came less and less frequently. Soon, there was an expanse of clarity, a vast plane of clear thought. It didn’t happen instantly, and some nights it didn’t happen at all. At those times there was simply too much, and too little time.

Eventually, though, I found the clarity again. It is always there, waiting to be accessed when we have the time and effort, when we can let certain things go, release resentments, set free our judgments, and accept what has come to be. Those are all easier said than done, but with work and perseverance it is possible.

That possibility greets us every morning. It’s in the cup of tea streaming tiny particles of water above its surface, waving and undulating in the morning sunlight. A new day begins. Every morning is another chance.

First, foremost, and always… To my husband.

Thirteen years is a long time together, and they were years rich with laughter and tears, smiles and frowns, and a commitment to work through whatever came our way.

It wasn’t always a cake-walk, and I wasn’t always the best husband, but it’s never too late to improve, to be better, to care and be a little more supportive.

That’s the lesson I’ll try to take from this Valentine’s Day. Not so much the gushing romantic overture, but the lasting resonant chords that sound through the rest of our life together.

The street is steep and lined with a canopy of leafy trees casting shadows and waving slightly in the breeze. A long line of hotels runs for several blocks on both sides – fancy, decent, run-of-the-mill and run-down – all sorts, but I generally stay close to the larger ones. I duck into a Sheraton and walk through the lobby and along the endless hallways of its convention space. A swirling pattern on the carpet adds to my disconcerting journey, and the hallways form a labyrinth so convoluted it is difficult to find my way out.

Eventually, I do. Back on the street the sun is trying to shine through the clouds and the trees. I walk down and pass more hotels, marveling at high high they soar on such an incline. Suddenly I see Andy ahead of me. I call to him but he starts running. I run after him, but he is too fast. He ducks into a hotel and I follow him, then he escapes. Scrambling through more hallways with more patterned carpets, I struggle to find the street again. When I do, I see him just ahead. I call to him again but he hurries away. I know something is wrong because I can usually catch him. Now, I am too slow. He turns around and looks at me, but continues on. I try screaming to no avail.

He reaches a long set of stairs that goes down and down into darkness. I get just a little closer, but he is still so far away. He turns around and looks at me. His sunglasses hide his eyes. I think of how cute it was that he always kept his Ray Bans in a holder attached to the visor of his car, pulling them out whenever the sun got to be too much in the morning on the way to work. I sit down at the top of the stairs and he pauses for a moment. I am crying because I can’t go on chasing someone who doesn’t want to be caught. I can’t see him through my tears. I do not know if he is coming back, or descending on the rest of his journey.

Then I hear a voice. It’s not so much a disembodied voice, but a universal one that comes both from without and within.

“It’s ok,” it says calmly. “It’s ok.” An incantation that soothes a tortured heart.

I wipe my eyes and stand up. Here, on the top of the stairs, it is sunny. I am not in the shadows. I look down for Andy one last time. He stands on the edge of darkness, near the end of the stairs. I cannot tell how far down they go, and I want to pull him back and tell him to stop before he disappears. He is looking up at me, but I can’t see his eyes through the sunglasses, and I don’t know what he is going to do. I turn around and walk back up the hill. I won’t go down with him. With a whimper, the dream ends.

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I awaken and feel Andy beside me. I reach out to put my hand on his. It is still winter.