Tag Archives: birthday

march twentieth

And then a warm day in March

(this twentieth day of March),

decides to tap her gentle fingers playfully to my shoulder.

She teases me that she will once again spin into

a piece of my fragile fateful future.

I wonder

If she will ever know that all is not always new,

That all is not fresh,

that all is not green.

She betrays the day before her,

now non- existent;

Cold yesterdays cannot casually be swept away as a kite

with her first whisper…

She taunts me with memories of windswept hearts,

classical music, pastels, cold rains, and swaying forsythia.

Her mystery becomes trumped by empty plates and missing chairs,

as laughter echoes on glances that are absent this year.

Her swirling stance stiffens

and her comfort all too brief,

As she blows her promise of tomorrow

across my aging face once again.

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Filed under Poetry

the gift.

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. Almost too long… but the mind has settled, the heart has slowed, the breathing has grown patterned once again and the fingers want to caress the keys from the soul’s bright spirit today.

I haven’t written lately because Daryl and I have been way too busy enjoying a summer FILLED with garden parties and iced teas, late night dancing ‘til dawn, orgies loaded with lube and Liza and dinners in Paris and cocktails in Amsterdam! Who the fuck am I kidding. I had no words to share. Period.

Many things have happened in the lives of Salt n’ Peppah in the past few months. Many things. We are on a twisted but determined path of continued growth as we look forward to a future filled with trials, tribulations, more challenges and… more lube and much less Liza.

One of the changes that we are looking forward to with great anticipation, is the birth of a grandchild in February 2012 (due date of 2/29 – Leap Year and SO appropriate). Ashley and Quintin told us (and my Mom) of their impending kidlet several weeks ago via a SKYPE conversation from Queenstown, New Zealand. Looking back in retrospect, I believe Daryl and I “like-totally” squealed as if we were two 12 year old girls at a Justin Bieber concert. Like a couple of scientists, we studied a blurry black and white ultrasound that Ashley held up to the monitor while she explained technically that our grandchild currently had a tail. Once our shrieking died down to a couple of very wide grins, the kids assured us that they were holding up well and are planning on heading back home to our area of the world toward Thanksgiving of this year. Sigh.

We were THE FIRST family members that the kids shared their news with (I found out later in the conversation, that we were considered the easy “dry-run.”) and we were told specifically (read: threatened) NOT to post on Face Book or my blog until they had shared their news with other family members and several friends.

We are VERY good at keeping secrets. Daryl and I didn’t tell a SOUL that we knew that had ANY link to Face Book or a computer. We told the mailman. We told one of the Mexican landscapers (who I think believes we were asking him to turn off his weedwacker). We told a lady in the checkout line of the ACME while she was looking at a People magazine with some pregnant model on the cover, and I actually told a design customer of mine who didn’t realize I WAS married to a woman several years ago and that I had three grown children at all, as she eyed me up and down skeptically while blurting, “No effin’ way you homo.”.

Daryl is as ecstatic as a show tune writer on an episode of GLEE. He is looking forward to a grandbaby… A LOT. He has always considered my children like his own. He has followed them with me through many things in the short seven year period that he’s known them. He’s been a very active part in birthdays, graduations, family game nights, holidays, dinners as well as my son’s difficult battle with drug addiction. They find Daryl adorable, caring, comedic and a very welcome member of our ever growing dis-functionally functional family.

It’s been several locked lipped weeks of laptop keyboard silence and I’ve had plenty of time to reflect and ponder on how “I” feel about being a grandparent for the first time. The age thing doesn’t bother me. You know, that thing where we THINK we’re still in high school and we’re not old enough to be a graaaannnnd parent. Fuck off, I like my AARP membership. I was a pretty good parent when the kids were small, so having a young kid around doesn’t intimidate me at all.

This child will have parents that rival Brad and Angelina with regard to spirit, tree-hugginess, intellect, worldliness, culture and love. One recent afternoon as I was driving home from work on a beautiful back road of Chester County during an unusually striking sunset, I began to tear up out of nowhere thinking about this new life, this new child growing inside MY child! I began to get emotional…

WHAT could I even begin to offer a young child at this stage of the game? Here is one half of a hopefully maturing interracial gay couple who basically lives from paycheck to paycheck in a job that pay the bills but is in no means what I aspire to be. I hang out with my guy when our mixed up work schedules allow with NEVER a full day off together unless I call out sick or plan way in advance. I don’t travel the world. My car is not a “Beemer,” and my suits aren’t Armani. So I wondered… what CAN I offer this child…

Then today… I read with much surprise and even more humility, this dedication to me from a fellow “blogster” whom I have known briefly in blog months (we write a lot of emotional stuff, so a month in the blogosphere is like a year or two in the real world). She, like I, continues to struggle with clinical depression on occasion and she has been “pourin’ her cotton pickin’ heart out” on her blog about dealing with the blackness, the loneliness and the strangling grip that this disease can have on people.

I believe she is an incredible writer and has a way of pulling out all the stops when describing the effects that this debilitating disease can have. I commented to her that I wanted to thank her for just being who she is. I told her she is a gift. I believe she IS.

That’s when it hit me about what I can offer this newest member of my growing insanely diverse family. The gift of truth. The gift of practicing non judgement. The gift of a world with less discrimination. I can not only speak about the amazing positive impacts of diversity but I (with the help of Daryl) can actually SHOW this youngster what it means to be honest with one’s self and what it means to be real with others. To not be as concerned with whether its important to wear the right designer dress or play in the dirt with American made trucks, as much as how important is to be a good person first… to care, respect and love whomever you want, whenever you want.

I personally, cannot wait!

(Please take a few moments to read PissyKittysLitterBox blog… she really is quite talented!)

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Filed under Life...

just make a wish and blow…

Just call me Santa Claus! Or maybe I’m the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and Glinda the Good Witch all rolled up into one.

Daryl asked for a “ménage á trois”  for his birthday, and lo and damn behold I got him one (see photo). How the heck did he know that the wine store would even have that? Funny huh?

I’m just glad he didn’t ask for a million dollors, a new car or a buff boyfriend ’cause I didn’t see them in the bordeaux aisle.

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Wanted: Hunk to pop out of cake.

Daryl’s Birthday is next Wednesday and I have no idea what to get him this year.

Us at Rehoboth for Daryl's 50th Birthday in 2010.

I wanted to make his gift something special this year. Last year, for his 50th, I took him to the Boardwalk Plaza in a third floor beachfront room in Rehoboth, Delaware with a cake, a bottle of wine and balloons “waiting” in the room when we arrived. I’m thinking, I need to top that (pun intended).

I hate this pressure though. Always have. Now mind you, the man is most likely THE easiest man to buy for, but it’s not really about HIM anyway, is it? It’s about ME and how I’m going to come across to others.

The last thing I want is for one of Daryl’s co-workers or family members to ask him next Thursday, “So what did Ed get you for your birthday?” and for Daryl to reply, “Oh we don’t get each other gifts, we’re just blessed to have each other and our health… sigh.”

Puke! I can already see the judgmental stares and distasteful comments stabbing me in the back!

Straight women, hags, and homos everywhere will be thinking “What does Daryl SEE in Ed anyway? How could a gay man NOT get his adoring partner an expensive gift for his birthday; a piece of jewelry, a watch or perhaps a Mercedes?” while thinking, “I sure hope SOMEone in the relationship is at least hung and extraordinary in bed for him not to even get flowers for his special day.”

I struggled with it folks! I truly did! I searched for HOURS on the internet for ideas (read: porn). I tried to brainstorm from watching TV (read: Planet Earth marathon on the Discovery Channel), I even went to the mall to shop (read: that Toll House Cookie store is a curse!).

I came up with nothing.

I KNOW Daryl well enough to realize that offering him a “surprise three way” with the stud of his choice is just NOT gonna cut it as a gift (right Bub?!) and our nightstands already don’t close due to a plethora of phallic shaped toys, games and videos, so what’s a partner to do?

I’m off on Monday, so I’ll put a little time aside to think some more on how to make it look like I pondered for weeks on a gift. In the meantime, ideas are welcome.

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Filed under Life...

march on…

Having my Birthday on March 20th is a small challenge.

Many calendars list March 20th as the official “First Day of Spring,” while others show “Spring’s Arrival” as March 21st.

Throughout my 54 birthdays, when asked, I have often told people that my birthday is the first day of spring or the last day of winter, depending on my mood at the time. In any case, they BOTH sound like GOOD things right?

So let “Spring” begin! Let my 55th year begin! It promises to be a year of change, of growth, and of continued evolution.

Peace.

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Today is my Dad’s Birthday…

I guess I should also explain that it’s the FIRST birthday I’m celebrating without him. I don’t even know how old he would have been. I’m like that. He passed away two days after Christmas last year of a stroke. It was a complete surprise.

I don’t feel sad really (that’s a lie because I’ve teared up several times while proofing this), however, I DO miss being able to text him (he JUST learned how to do that about 6 months before his death). I also miss knowing that I just can’t call him to wish him a Happy Birthday.

In our past, we never really had the type of Father-Son connection like you’d see on the Brady Bunch or the Cosby Show. We shared a fairly tumultuous relationship growing up. A lot of yelling and anger were common in our familial world. I wasn’t his perfect son and he really wasn’t what I wanted or expected as a father emotionally (although he ALWAYS provided for us economically).

We actually became estranged for a few years when I discovered he was cheating on my Mom and I thought he was a hypocrite and I also hated him for not being true. It’s funny in retrospect how the more opposite I thought we were, the more we were actually alike.

After many heartfelt conversations as we matured and became somewhat wiser sharing a few well intentioned glasses of deep red wine, we eventually grew away from the resentment and into respecting each other. Dad totally accepted my “lifestyle” after I explained it to him, and it was about at that time that I “forgave” him for his infidelity and subsequent divorce from my Mom several years earlier. We began to see each other as just two men who happened to be Father and Son and who also realized we were not perfect. At the risk of oversimplification, it was truly an epiphany for both of us.

As our lives moved forward, I’d call him about once a month and we’d chat about each other’s jobs a little, he’d ask how my partner, Daryl, was doing. I’d ask him how his health was and how his wife Sharon was and then we’d end the call with the promise to have lunch as soon as MY schedule allowed. My schedule never works for things like that.

I don’t regret words unspoken. We ALWAYS said we loved each other at the end of our conversations.

I think I’m going to do what Daryl and his Mom usually do for his Dad and sister, Jo who passed several years ago; I’m going to release a few helium balloons this evening after work, to the sky… and watch them while I squint until I can’t see them anymore as they sail into the heavens and into my Dad’s arms with wishes of peace.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll once again see his face in mine as I shave in the mirror and grin.

Happy Birthday Dad.

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