Category Archives: Andy

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.

——————————————————————————

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

Many years ago, my younger and more naive self thought he only needed three things in a partner. They were silly, but sacred, so I kept them secret, waiting for the one to come along who instinctively did all three – that person, I maintained, would be The One. A few guys came close, and eventually I’m sure a few more would have been able to deliver (so simple were the requirements), but it seemed for a while that no one would be quite that compatible with me.

What were these three fairy-tale like wishes? What trio of actions or objects would unlock the key to my heart? As I mentioned, they were silly and simple:

1)    I wanted someone to take a shower while I waited for him in bed. I just wanted the feeling of knowing that someone was there, that someone was the next room down, going about his daily life, but still a part of mine. I wanted the comfort of a day-to-day life together. So yes, the first item was easy enough – he just had to step into the shower.

2)    The second was also easily achieved: I wanted someone who was passionate about something. It could be anything – stamp collecting, rare mushrooms, Buddhist art, orchid cultivation, or cars. He needed to have a passion and an excitement for something, because if you have at least one obsession, you have a passion for life. I didn’t need to share in it – you didn’t have to love gardening, or fashion, or Tom Ford cologne, but if you had your own interests, that mattered.

3)    The third thing was a bit trickier, but no more complicated: I wanted someone to bring me the Sunday New York Times newspaper without me asking. That last part was key: I was good at asking for things, and good at bugging people until I got them, but I didn’t want to have to do that. I guess I just wanted someone who knew me well-enough that I didn’t have to ask.

Over the years, those simple needs expanded to include all sorts of demands and nonsense, and I lost sight of what was truly important, what really mattered. It’s not the grand gestures ~ the Louis Vuitton bag, the Tom Ford cologne, the surprise extended birthday trip in Maine ~ it’s the simple, consistent act of getting a Sunday paper, no matter how far and wide you have to search. It’s the simple touch of someone’s arm as they drop you off at work. It’s the shared smile when you see something on TV that reminds you both of the same thing, the same memory.

It turns out in my younger years I may have been a lot wiser than I am today. Those three things I wished for came true, and I never realized how lucky I was until now.

Today is Andy’s birthday, and while it’s not as big as last year’s surprise event, a birthday is still a milestone worth celebrating. Of course, that’s not quite in Andy’s nature, so he’s requested that we do nothing today and I have no choice but to honor that. It’s certainly not how I handle birthdays, but it’s his special day, so whatever he wants goes. I’ve offered to cook the first dish I ever made for him, and I’ve picked up two small cakes (one carrot and one chocolate) for whatever mood he’s in. His gift is more utilitarian than extravagant, but that’s how he would like it. And there’s something to be said for the good people, like my husband, who don’t need a fanfare and spectacle of things to be content.

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

This marks the first time that Andy and I are spending our anniversary in Ogunquit, and we couldn’t be happier about it. To spend this special day in such a special place is a very good thing – some might say it’s the way life should be. Who are we to argue?

The best part of having an anniversary in the year 2000 is automatically having an easy count of how many years it’s been. For Andy and myself, this marks our thirteenth. The lucky one. (Where’s the bar mitzvah?) According to Madonna’s version of the Kaballah, thirteen is the age when the soul solidifies into what it’s going to be. In other words, by thirteen, the die is cast. I think we take comfort in that. A lot has happened in thirteen years, but my one constant has been Andy. He doesn’t get a lot of the glory that he deserves (and shies away from the camera and self-exultation or he’d be featured a lot more here), but my life would not be the same without him, and I can’t imagine it any other way. Happy Anniversary, Drew!