A Christmas Memory: Day Eighteen - Brian Bedford's The Importance of Being Earnest

Well, my dears! Just last night I made a grand, brand new Christmas memory! And it is one I will ALWAYS remember

I have seen a lot of plays in my life. Be they plain old fashioned plays or be they musicals, I go to the theater a LOT. The musicals I have seen more productions of than any other are GYPSY, CABARET and FORUM. The plays I have seen more productions of than any other are THE MOUSETRAP, BEYOND THERAPY and NOISES OFF.

And THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST.

I think it is the greatest play ever written. It is a perfect piece of theater. I have other favourites. THE LION IN WINTER. BURN THIS. THE PHILADELPHIA STORY. But Earnest is like food. I can always eat. I can always see THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST.

I can't even remember all the times I have seen this show. They sort of all meld into one glorious experience for me. I remember parts of them. I remember that I found something to like in all of them, even the worst production. You see, even when it is a bad production, you can close your eyes and hear that glorious language. I remember seeing Jeanne Cairns as Lady Bracknell once and as Miss Prism another time. I remember the joy of seeing Lynn Redgrave as Lady Bracknell and Miriam Margolyes as her Miss Prism. I remember Terry McCracken as Lady Bracknell and I remember Stephanie Dunnam as Gendolyn Fairfax (to this day, hers is the best delivery of "detestable girl but I require tea!" I have ever seen). I have seen both film versions with Dames Evans and Dench. I have seen the play on stages large and small. ( I hear that Dames Maggie and Diana have played Bracknell but, alas, I did not see them. ) I have seen Lady Bracknell played by a man before (the wonderful Edward Hibbert whose "a handbag?" was delicious, unique and totally his own) and I tell you this, honestly:

I was not behind Brian Bedford playing this part.

The moment I read about this, it angered me. I thought about the women who complain about there being no decent parts for women and how it was wrong for a man to take this, one of the great parts for women. I thought it would be campy and ridiculous. I thought "well that's ok for regional theater; but not on Broadway." I had my nose so high up in the air about it that I could smell airplane exhaust. I was NOT behind it.

I was WRONG.

I. WAS. WRONG. So, so, so very wrong.

This is the greatest production of this play I have ever seen. It was, in many ways, like I was seeing it for the very first time. Every single actor is perfectly cast and perfectly directed. Each of them managed to surprise me with (at least) part of their performance. They showed me things in these characters that I had never seen before. They introduced me to the characters; in fact, I don't think I have EVER seen Algernon Moncrief before! This man, this Santino Fontana (who I have really enjoyed in other Broadway shows) is the BEST ... maybe the ONLY Algernon I have ever truly seen. And, truthfully, it was probably the best Jack I have ever seen, either. I mean, he was actually the right age! And he was GOOD! And the ladies were sublime (the fight scene! ohmygosh!) It was as though these actors had tapped into something undiscovered in these roles. It was as though Oscar Wilde had come back to life and was telling them all of his intent when creating them. Even the minor characters brought something new to the table! And I just want to say: Brian Bedford and Dana Ivey on the same stage. Dane Ivey and Paxton Whitehead on the same stage. Oh my Lord in heaven.

As a matter of fact, ther were moments when I felt like I was watching the very first production of the play. I felt, at times, that if I turned around and looked behind me, I would see Mr Wilde watching the show from the back of the house.

We were sitting in the very last row of the theater, in what people call The Nosebleeds. We were perfectly happy. From there I could see all the picture - the beautiful American Airlines Theater, the proscenium arch, the entire (gorgeous!) set AND the actor's faces! And (and this is a big and) I heard every word. I am hard of hearing. I missed a lot of RACE and found myself wondering if they teach actors to project anymore (we were in the sixth row). I did not miss one dangblame word of this play last night. It was directed to perfection, as a proscenium arch play should be. It was directed to perfection, as an Oscar Wilde play should be. The costumes took my breath away. The set was like a painting at times, like a music box at times and like a Boris Aronson set at others.

And Brian Bedford. Sigh of sighs, Brian Bedford. He was perfection. One of our friends who went with us, when told that was a man playing Lady Bracknell, got a confused look on her face and asked for clarification. She had no idea. It isn't played campy at all. He plays it completely straight and it works - every minute of it. In fact, I forgot it was Brian Bedford. I thought it was some old grand dame of the theater. Then I remembered. It is a grand dude of the theater!

Oh my heavens. I could ramble on and on about this but I won't. I think I already have.

I will pay this show my highest compliment.

I would pay to see it again.

And again.

And again.

A Christmas Memory: Day Seventeen - Baking

I think it should be obvious, given some of the comments made in earlier stories about Christmas, that the baking is a big deal. The rest of the year I don't do it. The rest of the year I am a health fanatic. At Christmastime, though, I have to bake. It has been instilled in me since my youth, by my mama. I can't go through the holiday season without a few of my mama's oatmeal chocolate chip peanut butter cookies; or those little powdered sugar cookies; or the oatmeal lacies; or the holiday fruit drops. I CAN'T. So I get a little fat during the holidays and I work my ass off to get the weight off. So what. The point is that it's Christmas and it's fun. I love the baking, the smell in my house, the taste of the cookies. I have to. Why, I remember last year, Guy and Rob came over on Christmas at about 8 pm so we could give them a little prezzie and the four of us polished off a plate of oatmeal lacies. It was decadent and fun! And we were all in a sugar coma after.

It just isn't Christmas if, almost every day in December, the kitchen doesn't yield something wonderful to eat. I usually do the baking on my own. I don't mind it. It's my thing. I bake the goodies and I fill every single tin in the house with delicious delicacies and every person who enters the house walks out, either having eaten some or taking a take out box with some. And if there is a party or if friends come over on Christmas Eve or Day, it all gets laid out so people can dig in at their leisure. I also fill take out boxes and give these things away to friends, the ladies at the bank, the post office employees and the ladies I see every day at Food Emporium and Rite Aid.

Every now and then I get a treat. A cohort. Two days ago our Mike Babel came up for a visit and found me baking and asked "can I make batter with you?!" So, on the spot, we made a batch of peanut butter cookies!

A few years ago, Laurelle and I were on the phone and she wanted to make Gingerbread. So a couple of days later, she came over and I made pies and she made gingerbread.

That was a fun Christmas memory.
It is true that I spend the year advocating eating healthily. I wear the mantle of health and fitness.

At Christmastime, though, all the bets are off.

And ANYONE who wants a recipe or a baking tip is welcome to ask. I will give it up.

A Christmas Memory: Day Sixteen - Other Peoples' Parties

It was actually last year that Pat and I decided to not have a Christmas party. Time and money were issues and, besides, I was tired and didn't want to do all that cooking.

But then an interesting thing happened.

Hunter was turning 30 and his plans got cancelled by a trick of fate.

Jane was having a birthday (the number, I forget) and wanted, for the first time, to have friends see her home.

Allan wanted to give Jennifer a surprise birthday party.

And I am the go-to guy, as well as the party giver.

So I spent the holiday throwing my friends' parties.

I went up to Jane's house and helped her clean and move furniture around, to make it party-able. I helped her draw up a menu of good party foods to serve and I did some shopping and food prep for her. I didn't do it all because it is important that the party-giver feel a sense of accomplishment when they stand in their living room and look at what they did. I did just enough to make it easy on Jane; enough to make it so that she didn't feel stressed, tired or overworked during her birthday bash. And, dudes, it made me so happy to see how happy she was, how loved she was, how glad her friends were that she was born. Success!!

I worked on some delish cakes and food for Hunter's clambake and, the day off, he tidied up his (already!) tidy home and made it party ready. Just before, I showed up with the food and I kept the plates and trays full and stood back, in the kitchen, watching the SHOWER of love on my best friend. It made me way happy (and, a year later, for Christmas, I was given a job by two lovely people I met at that party!) Success!!

Allan did most of the work for Jennifer's party. He did the invites and he stashed food and drink around their home and he got me a set of keys. All I had to do was show up, set up and let everyone in. IN A SNOWSTORM. That's right. It was one of those New York snowstorms. And it made the entire evening divine. Jen was wildly surprised, the guests were happy and Allan was beaming. Success!!

I loved that Christmas. I loved those parties. I felt like it was one of the best holidays ever.

A Christmas Memory: Day Fifteen - Parties

One of our holiday traditions, when Pat and I were a young couple, was to have these enormous and elaborate Christmas parties. I recall them all. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes all rolled up into one big Christmas Party ball. I think we threw these parties because I had seen the Christmas party scene in the movie STEEL MAGNOLIAS and believed that it should be that way every year. Some of the memories I have of these parties really stand out. For example:

--One year, in Texas, we had a party that featured a guest list of nearly 200 people - all of our friends from the theater scene. There was a present for each and every one of them under the tree. Many of them were photos I had shot of my friends in shows like HAIR, THE ROCKY HORROR SHOW, ONDINE (and many others), that I had stayed up to the wee small hours of the morning, printing - and then mounting onto cardboard. We handed out gifts to everyone and said "on the count of three - one, two, three, RIP!" and they did. The oos and aahs were delicious. There are few things as satisfying as giving just the right present.

--One year, in New York, we crammed as many people as we could into our tiny little apartment and did a similar gift exchange but we made it a round robin thing where everyone went one after another and we all watched each other. What I remember most about that year is that our friends Chuck and Maryann came and they brought their small son, Paul; and I had the forsight to arrange a gift for him under the tree, too. Boy, was he surprised! Happiness is making a child happy.

--One year, in New York, we kept a huge pot of split pea soup on the stove and quiches baking in the over for an all day affair that included the likes of Austin Pendleton, Maureen Moore and Carole Shelley. Having lived in New York for a relatively small amount of time, having celebrities like this at our Christmas open house was a really nifty thing. I remember seeing Austin and Maureen gathered by the food at the stove, eating and talking intently and thinking "damn - can I cook or can I?"

--One year, in Texas, in a different apartment (one I loved, soooo much because it was perfect for parties) I was so excited because the house looked PERFECT and the food looked PERFECT and the guests were arriving and I had PERFECT gifts for everyone and the kitchen door opened (I love an apartment that has two doors, don't you?) and I was bent over the stove, taking something out of the oven and my darling friend (my best friend at the time) Paul Etheredge-Ouzts walked in with a witty comment. I was especially happy to see him because I had gotten him a wonderful gift of some expensive cologne. Later that day, when we did the gift giving, he looked at me and confessed, sheepishly, that he didn't wear cologne. Gasp. I didn't even know that my best friend didn't like cologne. Shame on me. I was happy he told me. It's important that we let our friends know us. For Christmas that year, I learned a lesson about double checking before buying the gift!

--One year, in New York, we were smack dab in the middle of the party and some of us were outside smoking (a habit I have, since, broken) and walking down the street we see Annalisa and Matthew, who were scheduled to NOT be at this party because of travel plans! They had driven all night and were exhausted but wanted to come in for as long as it took to hug everyone. THAT was a great Christmas surprise!

The memories from these wonderful Christmas parties of the past keep me smiling throughout the year. We don't get to have that party every year anymore - in fact, for several years we stopped. It's exhausting. There is a week of cleaning beforehand and a week, after. There is all that cooking and (perhaps the most exhausting party of it) eating. It wears me out. So, now and then, I take a Christmas off.

Still. It sure is fun to do them - especially when they go off well!

A Christmas Memory: Day Fourteen - Anthony Newley

Growing up, my favourite movies were the great children's movies of the 60s and 70s. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Sound of Music, Bedknobs and Broomsticks. You know the ones. Doctor Dolittle. That was a big one. Even though Chitty was my very favourite, Dolittle was a close seconds. I loved that movie (still do - I watch it a couple times, every year), loved everything about it.

I have to admit, though, that I really loved Anthony Newley. I was a boy who was gay before I knew what that was. I was looking for a male figure to look up to, whether it be as a crush or just as a mentor. Anthony Newley was in show business, like I wanted to be. He was handsome, like I wanted to be. He could act, sing and dance, like I wanted to. And when I read the liner notes on my Doctor Dolittle soundtrack, I found he also wrote what he sang. I loved him.

Years and years later, Pat and I were in London during the holidays. We were there to do some work on THE SWEATER BOOK and to see some beloved friends. And we were there to see some theater. When we were looking over the list of shows playing in the West End, we saw that SCROOGE was playing and that Anthony Newley was the star. How fitting. Pat's childhood idol (and idol to this day, in fact) had played the part in the film and, now, my childhood idol was playing the part onstage. We would have to see it.

When I look back over my theatrical memories, I am so happy that I saw this show. To see a musical that I love so dearly interpreted by an artist I have loved all my life, to see this artist, this talent, LIVE - wow, what a thrill. You know, we really do take it for granted, this gift that we are given, the opportunity to see people create art LIVE... it's such a treasure. Had I known, when I was younger, what a gift it is, I would have made sure that I hadn't missed the great performers that I have... and I have missed some.

But not this one.

I get out my SCROOGE cd and listen to it, throughout the year and remember who wonderful Mr Newley was in this part. I remember that Pat and I marveled at the different way he played the role from Mr Finney and how we love both of the interpretations. I remember what an old and paunchy and grey haired man the gorgeous matinee idol of my youth had become and, yet, how he still took my breath away.

I loved Anthony Newley. When he died, I felt a part of my childhood die. But I'm lucky because the Christmas that I saw him perform, live, as Ebeneezer Scrooge.

It was one of my favourite Christmas presents I ever gave myself.

A Christmas Memory: Day Thirteen - Nancy LaMott

I had intended to post this Christmas memory ON December 13th - the day that it would have been relavent -- but, golly Moses!, the Christmas Holiday certainly can take it in your grip and guide you down an unwilling tobogan ride, can't it! It's all good, though... better late than never.

On December 14th, I awoke to the news that my beloved girlfriend, Nancy LaMott, had died the night before. Cancer. She was 44 years old.

Nancy and I were good friends, though she had better. Nancy and I had only known each other a few years. We didn't get to see each other often because she was on the CUSP of huge stardom and was always busy traveling, performing, and spending time with people bigger and more important than I. We did, though, spend time together and it was usually just the two of us when we did and it was always quality. I have many stories about Nancy and me - or just a few; I don't seem to be able to separate those visits anymore. All the good times seem, to me, rolled into one happy visit.

I remember the last two times I saw Nancy. The first was the release party for the cd LISTEN TO MY HEART. She was tired. She was sick. She was not able to socialize the way she wanted. She sat at a table at the party and people came to visit with her. After awhile, I decided it was my turn; so I went to her table and sat beside her. We talked a little. But mostly, we sat, holding hands and watching the people who loved her celebrate the release of her greatest cd (it is one of those true works of art that you hit play and let run to the end). There we sat, in silence, feeling the love between us and the sickness that was making her so unhappy, as long as everyone else who knew it was killing her but who didn't know what to say about it. Then I got up, gave her a kiss and told her I loved her. Then I went back into the crowd.

The other time I saw Nancy before she was gone was the day before Thanksgiving, just a couple of weeks before her death. I went to her house, at her command by telephone; and upon entering, I saw her shove her hand into a big box and pull out LISTEN TO MY HEART. "Hot off the press - you get the first copy." I said, "NO. That's not the first copy. David and Scott and the rest of Team LaMott have theirs," quoth I. Her reply "Yes, David and Scott do. And you. The first copies." So we were hanging out and talking about the cd and her holiday plans (not, though, about her health) and I told her that if there was anything she needed, ever, that she should call me. She said that there WAS something she needed a little help with. Anything. Anything at all, I said. It turned out she was hosting Thanksgiving tomorrow for a lot of people. And she was just so tired. And .... well.... would I mind helping her clean her refridgerator? OF COURSE I would. I am an expert and devoted house cleaner. I'm good at it, too.

So I crawled into the kitchen as Nancy sat on a little chair in the doorway and I held up item after item and asked "keep or kill?". Whatever was killed went into the trash, what was kept got wiped down and set on the counter. Then the fridge got wiped down and it all got put back. When I was finished, that fridge could have been photographed for an ad campaign! And you know what?

There were six different types of ice cream in the freezer.

"Nobody should be without choices when they want ice cream." Nancy said.

The morning of the 13th, I turned on the tv to hear Kathie Lee Gifford say what I already knew. Nancy had died the night before around 11pm. On her deathbed she had married Peter Zapp.

I didn't cry. Well. I didn't cry much. I cried, some; but for me it was not a lot. It was 9:05. I needed to get ready to do my Christmas shopping. I left the house by 10. It was snowing.

Every record store I went into that day was playing Nancy LaMott music.

please note: I chose to publish two photos of Nancy with this story: one is the most famous photo I did of Nancy and, I feel, Nancy at her most glamourous. The other is a photo of Nancy having her head shaved when she got her wigs - I am in the mirror behind her, my face obscured by my camera. It is the only picture of me with Nancy LaMott.

A Christmas Memory: Day Twelve -- Nancy LaMott, JUST IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS

I moved to New York in 1993. Within a year and a bit I met a girl named Nancy LaMott. I took her photo. We became friends. I bought her cds. She became my favourite singer. I saw her perform. She became my favourite performer. I loved her.

Nancy gave me my first job, that is - my first photography job, in New York. Nancy asked me to shoot the cd cover for her Christmas cd. I had never done a cd cover before and I was elated, excited... I was just really happy. The photo shoot took place in the home of Alix Korey (another great singer and performer) and it involved lights, a white backdrop, prop presents and a dog named Midder. We did the photo shoot in late summer/early fall and the cds were delivered just before Christmas.

There was a big party to release the cds. Just before Christmas. The cd was actually called JUST IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS. I'll never forget the day we went to the office where the record moguls were, to get the first cds. Nancy and I were there with some other people and we were both so excited! She handed me the cd and I looked it over, looking for my photo credit.

"They spelled my name wrong."

"WHAT!" exclaimed Nancy.

"Not really. Joke."

She punched me on the shoulder and we laughed. We were happy.

That cd is my favourite Christmas cd. It isn't Christmas until I have listened to it.

I am listening to it, now, as I type.

A Christmas Memory: Day Eleven - Growing Up

I remember being a teenager living in Switzerland and wanting to be more of an active participant in Christmas. I wanted to give, the way my parents did. Two years in a row, I wanted to really go all out at Christmastime. The first year I decided I wanted to really make people in the family believe that there was a Santa Claus. So I saved all my allowance money during the year and spent it on extra gifts for the family; not the ones that were wrapped and said To Mommy From Stephen on the outside... I had secret gifts from Santa.

Christmas day, at about 4 am, I got out of bed and I crept downstairs to the living room. The tree lights were on and lit up the room with a nice cozy air. I could see the Santa plate - like always, the cookies were gone and one was only half eaten. Clearly, Santa had got full. His milk glass was empty, though. Under the tree were lots of gifts for everyone. I hated to spoil my Santa surprise but there was no way round it. I looked to see which stockings were match with which presents; and I laid out all my gifts for my family with the ones left for them by Santa (mom and dad, right?). I remember that I gave my father some paperbacks by some of his favourite authors. I remember giving my brothers a Fozzy Bear puppet and an Asterix comic book (I liked TinTin but Tony liked Asterix). I honestly don't remember what I set out for my sister and mother - and I remember putting out a gift for myself to make the Santa illusion complete. I was so excited! I was so proud of myself! I was so surprised when everyone was completely nonplussed by the gifts. Well, except for Jimmy, who loved his Fozzie Bear puppet. Never mind, I told myself. It's the thought that counts.

It was a lesson I would be glad I had learned, later in life.

The year that I was a seniour in High School, I got my first job. I and several of my classmates got jobs at the first McDonald's that opened in Berne, Switzerland. I hadn't been there long but I had been there long enough to make some money for some good gifts. So I bought nice presents for everyone in my family. I was especially proud of a winter jacket that I bought my mom, the apple of my eye. It was quilted, waist length, coral coloured and warm. I was beside myself for having made so grown up and thoughtful a purchase! I knew I had done well when mama opened it and scolded me for spending too much money on her. It was a loving scolding and I knew it; because she wore that jacket all the damn time.

I was a grown up gift giver!

A Christmas Memory: Day Nine - Snowmen

What's more fun during the holidays (once you get past the whole Santa and present thing) than playing in the snow? Maybe not as an adult (though, as an adult, I will admit I HAVE had some pretty good snow time) but as a child it is DEFINATELY on the list of holiday favourites! When I was a kid we were lucky enough that we lived in some places with some really great snowfall. In mom and dad's photo albums at home there are pictures of us with some AMAZING snowmen that we built in New Jersey, in Ohio (sometimes we would get 10 inches of snow) and in Switzerland.

The most fun, though, was building snowmen with my baby brother. He was the most adorable child and so full of happiness and excitement. The four Mosher kids loved to go outside and play in the snow, making angels, having snowfights, making forts and, of course, making snowmen. These were no ordinary snowmen, though. Please note the photos above... Interesting hats, scarves, sunglasses, suspenders... one is even holding a basket in one hand and a sled in the other.

Now when is the last time YOU had a snowman that was that detailed?

Boy it was fun.

A Christmas Memory: Day Ten - A Change of Seasons

One of my favourite Christmases was the one right after we moved from Portugal to Switzerland. We had spent four years in a country where there was no snow in the winter months. Don't get me wrong: I loved Portugal. When you're a kid, though, and you've known winter months with snow - you sort of miss them when they're gone. Man, were we ready for that snow!

So that first Christmas in Switzerland, we came down on Christmas morning (I remembered the tree as being so bizarrely shaped; and when I found the photo to scan for this story, I saw that I was right!) everyone had snow related items. There were snow suits, sleds, ice skates and (though I don't see them in the photo, I believe there were) skis. Christmases up to this point had been a lot of toys - but THESE Christmas presents! They meant more adult things like sports, like outdoor activity, fun stuff we hadn't had before. I loved it.

Looking back on that Christmas (looking at the photos) I see things I had forgotten... like how that ugly tree was quite amazing in its' height and shape and how it held all those great ornaments and those wonderful old fashioned huge lightbulbs. Or how neat it was to see the Portuguese artwork and tablecloth in a new Germanic country. Or the plushness and warmth of the velvet furniture and shag rug (or that my mother used to wear a fur coat -- see it on the sofa?). Most of all, though, when I look at photos from Christmases past I see my beautiful baby brothers and remember how happy childhood was, how much fun life could be, before things got complicated.

That's probably why people spend so much time looking back over the past.

It was pretty.

A Christmas Memory: Day Eight - The Kitchen

When I was a boy one of the greatest things about the holidays was my mother's baking. Once Thanksgiving was past (and THAT is where it all began! All those pies!), we could count on coming home, every day, to the most amazing smells in the kitchen. It didn't matter where we were living, the kitchen of that house was the birthplace of happiness in the form of comfort food.

Mama would make her Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Oatmeal cookies, her Holiday Fruit Drops, her Holiday Nuggets, her Banana Bread, her Oatmeal Lacies and her Rum Balls. Then she would fill Christmas tins with them and spread them around the house. Each day, the Mosher kids would come home from school to smell the treat of the day and run to the kitchen to see every surface covered -- with sacks of flour, bags of sugar, big bowls full of batter, cookie sheets waiting to be unloaded and re-stocked for baking. A dust layer of flour was on the table, the counters and even the floor. The scent was maddening! And nothing would do til we had sampled either a cookie, hot from the oven, or a few cookies, off the top of the pile inside the tin!

The vision I have the strongest is the one in the photo above. We were living in Switzerland and I came home from High School to find my youngest brother, home from elementary school AND playing in the snow. He was still in his snow suit and sitting amidst the kichen chaos, eating candied cherries right out of the jar. Happily, I was at a point in my life when I had a camera with me at all times and I was able to snap that photo of Jimmy.

And as far as smell and taste recall goes ... only yesterday I was eating a slice of banana bread with a spread of soft butter on it. The moment it hit my mouth, I was a 16 year old again.

People who know me well, who have been in my home during the holidays, have seen the way I do my home.... with tins of cookies everywhere; and in the tins are all the cookies I named above because, I am nothing if not my mother's son. All my friends and family have tasted them.. the lacies, the fruit drops, the nuggets, the peanut butter chocolate chip.. all of them...

Except for the rum balls

A Christmas Memory: Day Seven - Married

As I said in an earlier posting - I was away for the weekend and unable to post stories. I was away, on a road trip, making a new Christmas memory.... I was getting married.

For many years Pat and I declared that we had no wish to marry. People asked, repeatedly, what our ceremony was like or when we were having our wedding. We always scoffed at them and at the thought. You see, we believed that, since it was not legally binding for gays to marry, there was no point in going through the motions of a dress up and make believe ritual. However, as we have aged, as our relationship has gotten stronger and more important to us, we felt like we SHOULD be able to have that walk down the aisle. Then, a few years ago, some of these United States began to legalize gay marriage. Well. That was enough for us.

These last few years, gays have become the soapbox upon which many a political campaign is built, not to mention the crucifix upon which many a religious campaign is hung. I have little to say about this except for: I am appalled. I cannot believe that it is almost 2011 and people in this country that was created by people fleeing oppression still have such widespread bigotry and judgement to pass on their fellow men and women. Women fought for equal rights, blacks fought for equal rights... the gays have been fighting for decades and we still are. How pathetic of this country to deny others inalienable rights granted to the masses. It's heartsickening and disgusting.

What is neither heartsickening or disgusting is two people in love.

That's me and Pat.

So, to celebrate our love, we decided to get married. In every state where gay marriage is permitted.

So on Saturday we piled into a 12 seater van with some of our dearest family of friends and drove to Vermont and had a wedding in the home of our friend Maureen. We asked our friend Laurelle to go through an on-line ordination process so she could perform the ceremony. We asked Brady to be our Man of Honour and Michael to be the Best man. Our Jennifer made the wedding cakes (her baking is TO DIE FOR: www.thischickbakes.com ) AND she wrote and performed a song for the occasion. Maureen was our ring bearer and her gorgeous daughter Lillie was the cheerleader (had you heard her screams of delight when the ceremony ended and the grooms kissed, you would understand) -- the next day Lillie said to her mommy "we were at the wedding!". Our hero and artistic example, Allan, filmed the entire event for us.

The ceremony was simply lovely, filled with spirituality, blessings, crystals and insence. Brady recited some Truman Capote, Michael spoke with many delish quotes about love and marriage and, on the spur of the moment, Marci (who was there when we became a couple!) met the challenge of saying a few words about watching us go from two people to one couple. And when all was said and done and the kissing and screaming was over, we sat to a wedding dinner that Maureen had created (dinner? Feast!) and then came cake, champagne and blissful sleep.

The next morning, all arose inside Maureen's farm and sat down to a winter morning breakfast.

The trip was not over, though...


The wedding party from Vermont and the witnesses at the farm all had their breakfast and showers and got all dressed up so that we could pile into the van, once more, and head down into another state...

New Hampshire.

There is a town called Lebanon that is 30 minutes away from Maureen's farm. There, we found one of the many lovely covered bridges of New Hampshire and there, in the cold, cold, light of the winter day, we married once more.

The New Hampshire wedding was a completely different feel, though equally as beautiful and moving!

That is what happens when family comes together for an adventure.

The minister for the New Hampshire wedding was our friend, Vince, who had gone through a similar ordination process on-line, just so that he could marry us. We knew his ceremony would be eloquent and literary and socio-politcal; and we weren't disappointed. He did, indeed, use literary references; and he did, indeed, speak of the struggles for equality in this country and the beauty of love. When his service stands next to Laurelle's service, it is a perfect complement. They are like that yin - yan symbol: together, Laurelle and Vince gave the most complete wedding service ever. Everything that needed to be said was, indeed, said.

Vince quoted some literarture in his service; then, our Maid of Honour, Jane recited a Shakespeare sonnet, followed by the Best Man, David, reading from Corinthians. There was a moment in the ceremony when Vince asked Pat and I to say some lines by Craig Lucas (from Prelude to a Kiss) and for our vows, Pat recited Shakespeare (Richard III "see how this ring...") and I recited ee cummings ("I carry your heart with me...").

When the time came, our ring bearer, Liz (ALSO present when we met!) held out her freezing, shaking hands (dudes, it was SO cold on that covered bridge) and presented us with the rings; all the while, Allan and his own fiancee, Jennifer (of baking and singing fame), were filming (I loved this - Jen was perched high on the beams of the bridge, filming, just as she has seen me do in photo shoots over the years - because she is my stylist too, doncha know).

It is so important and wonderful to have friends/family (they are the same thing, you know) that loves you and supports you. It is so perfect to travel through this life with people who have known you so long that they know who you are.

I have kinfolk who do not approve of this marriage. They don't mind if Pat and I are together and they love us - they just don't believe that gays should marry. I can deal with that. I don't like it; but I can deal with it.

I can deal with it because I have a family that is much bigger, that goes deeper than actual blood itself.

This is that family.

This is my wedding day to the man of my dreams... my soul mate.

I'm lucky. I have a lot of best friends and a lot of soul mates. Pat is one, my mother is one, all the people in these photos are. Best friends, family, soul mates... whatever the label, this is my clan.

I am so excited about the weddings that will follow these two. They will take place in these next few months and will involve the rest of my best friends, soul mates... family. It's going to be a great ride, a fun adventure, a stunning wedding tour.

I'll always remember, though, The Winter Weddings that happened

This Christmas

A Christmas Memory: Day Six - A Little Night Music

It was just last year. For months the Broadway community had been all abuzz about the revival of the Sondheim classic A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC. The musical had never been revived on Broadway, since its' first production in the 70s. Now it was being revived with Broadway's greatest star, Angela Lansbury, and a bona fide movie star, Catherine Zeta-Jones. My husband knew that this musical was one of my favourites and we both are (whate we prefer to call) Zeta Boys. So he knew he should get us tickets. Then there is the matter of Miss Angela Lansbury, who may be the most important actress to both of for almost all of our lives. SO. The moment the tickets went on sale, he bought.

The night was saw the show... we were so excited. We could barely contain ourselves. That curtain went up and it was two plus hours of absolute theatrical heaven. So much heaven that, a few days later, when my best friend Brady came to town to see the show, he got tickets for he and I to go!

Brady and I sat in the house seats acquired by my star of a lawyer (and dear friend) Mark Sendroff and WEPT over the show. We were completely beside ourselves.

I blogged about the show. Whenever we were out around town we would walk down that block and look at the photos from the show. In fact, there are pictures taken at about 3 in the morning one night, when we were coming home from a party for Jennifer's birthday, in a snowstorm, outside A Little Night Music. It was a magical Christmas with my beautiful family in New York, in the snow.

Just like the Liza show... I cannot think of Christmas without thinking of A Little Night Music.

A Christmas Memory: Day Five - Liza Minnelli

A couple years ago the lady who has been my diva since I was a boy opened a show on Broadway. I had seen Liza in concert several times but not in awhile. I was excited to see her again. Times have been tough for Americans for awhile now and spending a lot of money on a Broadway show can be difficult to reconcile. However, not seeing this show would have been a mistake of epic proportion; so Pat bought us tickets to see Liza's At The Palace.

There is no need to write a review of that memory - I wrote a rather epic review of it at the time. What I can and should say here is that something about New York City was different. It was Christmastime and there was a two or four story tall billboard in Times Square of Liza Minnelli. The show opened to smash reviews and was extended. Everyone was going to the show and coming out smiling. Liza Minnelli was cool. She was the hot item of the holiday season.

Every chance I got, I walked through Times Square so I could see that billboard. I had Christmas music in myIpod and Liza in my eyesight.

We saw the show several times. The first time, together. Then Pat took Hunter to his first ever Liza show. Then I took Jennifer to see her idol from her youth. Then we saw it again, together, from different seats. Then Jim Caruso walked us in to the final performance. Each time I was like a school kid; so excited I could barely contain myself. I was bouncing up and down in my seat, laughing, crying, screaming, cheering. It was the best Christmas present ever.. over and over and over again.

Now I can't get through a holiday season without listening to my cd of that show and walking through Times Square, once more, where I (still) can see that billboard.

A Christmas Memory: Day Four - Norma Desmond

I was away this weekend on a road trip and missed posting stories for three whole days! I'll fix that, though; I'm going to post stories today for Saturday, Sunday, Monday AND today! And the first three are all show business related....

Several years ago, after we had been living in New York for a brief time, there was a much anticipated, eagerly awaited opening on Broadway. The hit musical SUNSET BOULEVARD had finally arrived in town after trying out in London and Los Angeles with different leading ladies. The LA star was chosen for the New York production and the buzz was phenomenal. The great Amerian actress, Glenn Close, was arriving on Broadway as the legendary character, Norma Desmond and everyone was excited.

We had been living in Manhattan for a few years and my business was doing alright. Pat was temping. We had money to spend on holiday treats. So I took a little of my money and snuck off the the theater one day and got us a couple of seats for Sunset Boulevard. I hid them in the house for weeks, very excited to surprise Pat for Christmas with a trip to the hottest show in town. When the evening arrived that we were to see the play, I turned to him at 7:15 and said "Let's go for a walk." We threw on our coats and strolled Hell's Kitchen into the theater district. I strolled, blythely, toward the Minskoff Theater and walked through the doors. Pat asked what I was doing and I said "Let's go check things out!". He followed. When I handed the tickets to the ticket taker he said "WHAT have you DONE?" No, it did not turn out that he had also bought tickets to the play -- he simply expressed an interest in NOT going to the theater in house clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt are NOT proper theater attire. I hadn't really thought of that; and he was right. We had 8th row center seats at Christmastime and everyone around us was dressy. We were there, looking like a couple of stow aways. So we simply stayed in our seats the entire time, choosing to not wander around being seen looking so declassee. It didn't help for, right in our row, in a pink sequined cocktail dress, was our dear friend Nancy LaMott, having come from a fancy party with famous people, to see more fancy famous people at the theater - and one very fancy famous person on the stage of the theater. We shared a hug and a kiss and a Christmas wish and Nancy went off to be with the movers and the shakers and we stayed in our seats, glorified by Glenn.

The play was very exciting and, certainly, Glenn Close was thrilling. There is very little to say about Sunset Boulevard that hasn't been said. Suffice it to say, we had a marvelous time and made a Christmas memory that lasts, as well as a lesson that we hold to our hearts to this day:

Always dress for the theater.

A Christmas Memory: Day Three - Judy Garland

When I was ten years old, my father's job made us move to Portugal. I was gay and I knew it since I was five. I was interested in the arts and, especially, in old Hollywood movies. In Portugal I found myself lucky in that the tv stations there loved to play old movies -- the kind I liked to sit and watch by the hour. That is where I got to see films like Love Me Or Leave Me and Swingtime for the very first time. In fact I think that is where I saw most of the Fred Astaire and Ginger films for the first time. When we left Portugal, after four years, I had quite the little movie education. When we left Portugal, we left for Switzerland.

Switzerland was beautiful and it was fun but it did not do much to further my movie education... that is, unless I watched the movies on tv in German. Unlike Portuguese television, the Swiss tv stations translated all the movies into German. My German wasn't bad, so I COULD watch the films... but I didn't want to. I wanted to see them in the original form. So I read instead.

Until Christmas day one year, when my mother called me into the living room to see MEET ME IN ST LOUIS. It had not been dubbed. It was in English and it was sensational. I remember laying across the white and green shag area rug, mesmerized by this, one of the most beloved films of all time; and, especially, by Esther Smith.

I have heard Liza Minnelli say that she thinks this film captures her mother at her most beautiful and I have to agree. Every frame of the movie, every shot of Judy, is pure magic. That Christmas segment, though, is most magical of all. Her comic timing, that red dress... and that song. And the monologue about moving to New York, after Tootie smashes the snow people. She had me in the palm of her hand.

She still has me in the palm of her hand.

To this day, after Thanksgiving is past and the Christmas season is slipping into place, the first day that I start to feel Christmas-y, I get out my dvd and watch Meet Me In St Louis and bake something.

Not til then, can I be in a Christmas mood.

A Christmas Memory: Day Two -- The Ondines

When I was a young, young, young man I met my husband. We spent a year together in college and then we moved to Dallas. Almost immediately, we found an acting class with a wonderful man (one of the best teachers I had ever had) named Kyle MacClaran (I think that is how his name was spelled - my memory is getting soft); and almost immediately, Kyle asked me to play a part in his production of ONDINE (I was a replacement, actually).

Doing that play changed my life.

For, doing that play, I met this group of women who would, forever, be among my dearest friends. We are a family, really.

When the play ONDINE closed, we determined that we would always be together. We became a group that was called, in fact, The Ondines. The Ondines went to all of each others' plays, we went to parties together, ran around town together, spent countless hours on the phone together, knew each others' lives inside out -- it was not unlike the group relationships you see in tv shows like Sex and the City or Queer As Folk or Friends. We simply knew everything about each other. On birthdays we would arrange these elaborate kidnappings and parties.

And on holidays there would always be some kind of party.

Sometimes we would do sleepovers in each others' homes. Sometimes we would simply attend huge parties filled with the many friends we had in the local show business community. Sometimes we would get all dolled up (The Ondine women were famous for their fashion sense!) and go to the mall and see Santa. Our spouses would be involved at times but most of the time they preferred to leave the crazy Ondines to their own devices. It was a Utopian arrangement. We were filled with love and laughter.

Over the years, The Ondines have been separated by time and geography. There have been marriages, births and deaths. We gather together for reunions and we send each other emails and we write on each others' Facebook walls. If one of The Ondines is in a play when I go back to Dallas, I make every attempt to see that play (at times, traveling home JUST to see the play). We all have our own families (one of The Ondines has two grown sons, one has two daughters under 18, one has two sons under 18, one chose to have no children and one chose to make his friends his children) that are our main focus in life. But we are still a family.

The Christmases we spent together as young people created memories that live in my heart, indeed, my blood all the days of the year.

Family is whatever you make it... wherever people who share love come together and commune.

A Christmas Memory: Day One

Hey friends! Golly Moses, I seem to be mercurial about this blogging thing. It's been years since I started - and I don't seem to be able to log in a story once a day like my friends STEVE ON BROADWAY and DEEP DISH. These blogs are among my daily reads and I marvel at how they do it. Ah well. I just can't seem to write a story for every day and since my last entry I have been traveling and work my ass off, not to mention having a little block on a story I started about women who have anorexia and bullemia, not to mention gays with manorexia and boilemia.... I started it and just haven't been able to finish it. Maybe it's cutting a LITTLE close to home, eh?

But today... TO DAY is December 1st. The holiday season is upon us, kids. And NOTHING inspires me like Christmas. The blogging possibilites are endless. Why, I remember one year when I blogged about great Christmas cds... and one year when I wrote about Christmas movies... and you get the idea.

But yesterday I was talking to Brady and as we reminisced about some of OUR great Christmases together, I got to thinking: I would love to hear about some of everyone's favourite Christmas memories in their lives. So I am going to do a quid pro quo kind of thing here and, every day, I intend to write a little memory of mine out and post it. I hope, I encourage everyone to post something here or on my Facebook page - a line, two sentences, a paragraph, anything about a holiday memory from their life that they look back on, fondly.

And in the meantime, maybe I will finish that body image story and write some others. So sorry to have gone MIA again, kids! I hope youse'll keep coming back and reading!

NOW...

Christmas Memory Number One:

Brady asked me what Christmas was like, for me, as a child. I remembered one year, particularly, when my brothers were about 1 and 5 years old and my sister was around 13 (making me 9 years old) - and I may be hazy on the ages but it was in that age range of years... We were living in Ohio in a big, long house (not a tall one but a long one) surrounded by a big yard full of trees - it felt like we lived in a forest, way off the main road. The walls were all wood and the carpets were all dark green shaggy, plushy stuff. Upstairs, their rooms were off to one side of the house and my room and my parents' room was off to the other; in between was the big, creaky, staircase downstairs. We always awoke on Christmas morning around five am and hung out in my sisters' room, waiting for mom and dad to get up and telling each other "go wake them.." "no, YOU go wake them!" and hovering over the top step on our bellies, looking down into the living room to see what Santa had left. Finally, after making so much noise on the creaky floors and chatting (a little too loudly, so that they would hear us and wake up), we managed to get mom and dad up. HOWEVER. first they had to go down and turn on the lights and make a pot of coffee and get the super 8 movie camera out (super 8, right? not 16 mm? I can't remember...) so they could film us coming down. And we were all required to dress. So I put on my striped Sears Toughskins jeans and a sweatshirt and my sister dressed in her best Marcia Brady and my brother slipped into some dungarees and a t shirt and, finally, finally, finally, down we descended into FREAKIN' TOYLAND!

We had gone to bed with a pretty tree in the corner of the living room - nicely decorated with some presents underneath it. NOW there was a field of Fisher Price toys that spread so far out into the living room that a person could barely get through the room. There was a play kitchen and a choo choo train and the Fisher Price castle and a purple banana seat bicycle and a rocking horse and blah de blah de blah... just a perfect spread of varieties of toys. It was a glittery, exciting, eye widening, mouth dropping sight. And there, in front of all of it, on the floor, was the plate and glass for Santa. The glass was empty and the cookies were gone.. all except one that had had a bite taken from it. Clearly, we had left too much out for Santa. Over on the fireplace hearth, dad sat, filming us with that little hand held camera.

This, for the rest of my life, is the way I imagined Christmas should be for all children.

Not til I was an adult did I look back on this memory (and others from my childhood) and consider the time and effort it must have taken mom and dad. How long into the night on Christmas Eve had they spent, setting this up (and hoping none of us would awaken and catch them!) and how my dad (I always assumed) would eat those cookies and drink that milk. No wonder they didn't want to get up at 5 am! They had only just gone to sleep!

I really must send them a thank you note.

Note: The photo in this story is from a different Christmas - one where I was just a baby and my younger brothers had not been born. See how my dad and my sister and I are all wearing matching candy cane striped jammies? Sweet!