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26
Sep
12

Jeff and Eric’s wedding sermon; 9/18/04

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Gay, Me, Minneapolis, My Favorite Things and Nostalgia
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Jeff and Eric's wedding, 09/18/04

Jeff and Eric contemplate love, their future together, and the color of water, surrounded by friends and family in Minneapolis on Sept. 18, 2004.

Jeff and I recently celebrated the 8th anniversary of our commitment ceremony — let’s just say it: our 8th wedding anniversary — on Sept. 18. Sandwiched this year as it was between the unions of four dear friends, Mark Galante and Erik Sisco (Sept. 15), and Brian Dillard and Charlie Smith (Sept. 23, also my birthday), the anniversary was made even more special. September is getting to be quite a month!
It seems appropriate to revisit the sermon Jeff’s dear high school friend Mark Havel wrote for the occasion, on that bright and cloudless September afternoon, in Deming Heights Park, on the tallest hill in Minneapolis, the City of Lakes.

Sept. 18, 2004, is with me every day, and this sermon still makes me cry.

When Jeff and I began planning things for today—most of which happened over the telephone and by e-mail—he joked that somehow water was becoming a recurring theme for the occasion. The “flowing water of life” we just heard about in the poem by Rumi, and the “Wood Song” and “Water is Wide,” which we’ll hear in a moment, carry the theme pretty clearly. Jeff seemed to think it an appropriate motif to latch onto somehow, being in the land of 10,000 lakes and all. (Now I’m wondering if it had something to do with the shower at The Saloon …) I’m not going there, but I did decide to run with it, anyway.

And, the first thing that popped into my mind was the title of a book by James McBride called The Color of Water. It’s a book about a biracial boy growing up in the ’50s and ’60s, in New York and Delaware. He was raised by his eccentric, white, Jewish mother who converted to Christianity when she married his African-American, Christian father. Because of the time in and circumstances under which they lived, you can imagine that race and religion were very much a part of his coming of age and self-understanding.

And as he came of age, as he struggled with his identity, as he wondered about how and where he fit into the world around him, the boy asked his mother one day about what God’s spirit looked like. For me and for all the theology I’ve studied, his mother’s answer was as strange and as simple as it was profound. She said simply, “God’s spirit doesn’t have a color. God is the color of water.” Continue reading ‘Jeff and Eric’s wedding sermon; 9/18/04′

31
Aug
12

Lessons in salesmanship

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Me and Philadelphia

When it comes right down to it, I just can’t say no to free beer. But I almost did.

Having decided to stay home on a Friday night, I stopped to pick up a six pack on the way from the subway stop.

This was one of those mix-and-match places, where you can build a six pack out of $3 or $4 bottles and walk out $20 or $30 lighter, or you can just grab a pre-made six pack of something cheap and basic. I knew I shouldn’t be spending any money, but I figured I’d just get some lager for $8.50, one of the cheapest options there. So I quelled my guilty conscience by reasoning that going out would cost even more, so in a sense I was coming out on top.

Outside the shop, I saw a man standing with a stack of post cards in his hand. I avoided eye contact, because I was sure I didn’t want what he was selling.

“Want to save $10?” he asked, holding out a card as I tried to pass him by.

Continue reading ‘Lessons in salesmanship’

20
May
12

More than meets the eye

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Dreams and Me

I had a dream last night that the planet was invaded by an alien species of robots that could change shape. (I’m going to get on the phone to Hasbro immediately. We could make a mint!)

I was in a mountain cabin near “the city,” and I could see them approaching from below. A band of survivors came and took over my place as a home base.

I didn’t like their techniques, so I hatched a plan to escape and strike out on my own (like an idiot).

It was the dream of a 12-year-old boy, but it felt SO real, and I woke up in a panic.

17
May
12

No plastic to go

By Eric 1 Comment
Categories: Ain't That America, Food, Me, People We Don't Like and The People in Your Neighborhood

My vegan wrap was something of a mess that day.

I’m not vegan. Nor am I remotely a vegetarian. I just occasionally take advantage of other people’s dietary principles to find something light and low-calorie, but filling and delicious, for lunch.

I would have taken it cold, but the girl at the cafe had thrown it on the panini grill so resolutely, so automatically and with no room for questioning or debate, that it seemed unthinkable to say anything against it. Anyway, once something has started heating, you don’t want it to take it half-heated. You might as well go all the way.

When I unwrapped it at my office and took the first bite, a dried-up chickpea fall onto my desk. It left behind an indentation in the tortilla, so I guessed it had been stuck to the outside and likely had cooked on the grill that way. Probably the order directly before mine had come undone or lost a few bits and pieces as it was removed.

I picked up the chickpea and ate it.

Then I was surprised by a dried cranberry. It was stuck to the tortilla like a jewel. I took it with a bite as if it belonged there. Could I really say it didn’t belong there? No big deal.

I don’t like to be particular, but I amused myself with fantasies of a different me — one who might be bothered by a stray chickpea in his lunch and an errant dried cranberry encrusted on his tortilla. Continue reading ‘No plastic to go’

19
Mar
12

Morning

By Eric 1 Comment
Categories: Fiction, Gay and Me

“Good morning. How are you?” I said, walking in off the street.

I kept the earbuds in, but I turned the volume down so I could hear myself speak. Also, if he said something, I could avoid the embarrassment of tugging them out of my ears to ask him to repeat some pleasantry or other that would only sound awkward and unnecessary in the repeating.

“How are you?” he said.

“Ok,” I said. Then I thought to say more, and I lingered slightly. “It’s Friday,” I added. “So that’s good.”

My voice sounded especially nasal. Is it always this bad? It was almost a whine, weak, hesitant. I talk too much out of my head and not my chest. Far too much of my life is spent in my head.

“Yes it is,” he said.

He had an intensity in his eyes, a directness, that I wished I’d matched in my tone. It was nothing, just his way. And this was my way. It was only a “good morning,” but it was all I would have occasion to say, and I felt like I’d blown it.

I ordered the usual iced tea and lemonade. I still could not bring myself to ask for an Arnold Palmer. And I grabbed a granola bar from the bowl on the counter and silently added it to the order.

Thinking about Monday morning, I watched him pour from both pitchers.

26
Jan
12

Have a nice trip. See ya next fall.

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Me, Philadelphia and Strangers Observed

The first thing I thought as I fell was I’m going to tear my pants.

I knew I was going down. No way to stop it. No time for anything graceful. Just minimize the damage. Oh, shit. My phone.

And then I heard myself say it, casually, calmly—”oh shit”—as I landed on my right knee (There’s the tear.) and my left hand, scuffing the palm. The right hand swung out and landed somewhat more lightly, just to steady me and stop me from rolling forward, the corner of my iPhone scratching hard against the ground. (Its just the case. It’s just the case.) And my gym bag pivoted around my body on the strap across my chest and slammed down on the sidewalk behind me. I heard the combination lock, in an outside mesh pocket, rattle against the concrete.

The high school kid in front of me, on is way to school, looked terrified and suddenly wide awake. My headphones were still in my ears, but I heard the panic in his voice: “Oh, god. Are you all right?” Continue reading ‘Have a nice trip. See ya next fall.’

14
Jan
12

The 12 Ways of Christmas: that morning

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Me and The 12 Ways of Christmas
Tags: , ,

[Part 12]

The first rule of Christmas morning was to wait until everyone was awake before digging in. Whoever was up first, usually me, and in later years, the younger ones, would be forced to sit back from the tree, bright with promise and the buzz of electricity, regarding it like a ravenous, wild thing, chained, silent and steady, waiting for the first chance to strike.

And we did look wild, clothes twisted and unformed, hair standing up in all directions like ruffled fur, eyes still pink and swollen and crusted from sleep, smelling faintly of sweat and bad breath. When the priority is a tree laden with brightly wrapped boxes, there is no time for a glance in the mirror before greeting one’s family.

Mom made coffee in the kitchen and had her morning cigarette. Every time she tried to speak for more than a few seconds at a time, she lost herself in a loud and painful-sounding fit of coughs. (My dad was reading something. We tried to keep the TV off until after the Christmas orgy.)

Grandma was in the same spot on the couch where she had slept over the night before, her legs drawn up beneath her in what I called “Indian style” at the time. She was surrounded in blue smoke, tapping ashes from her cigarette into a large ashtray in her lap and making remarks about all the presents under the tree that we didn’t deserve.

She was probably right. It was usually an embarrassment of riches. We were very lucky. Continue reading ‘The 12 Ways of Christmas: that morning’

11
Jan
12

The 12 Ways of Christmas: midnight mass

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Me, My Favorite Things, Nostalgia and The 12 Ways of Christmas
Tags: , , ,

[Part 11]

Mom and Dad had some presents under the tree early, the ones from them and Grandma and Uncle Dennis and Aunt Kay, but they were off limits until Christmas. The ones from Santa, of course, came later. I didn’t have to worry about those, but these were there to taunt me.

Most of them were clothes. Who cared, right? But some of them, the smaller ones, probably—the strangely shaped ones, right?—those were toys.

If I was good enough (if I begged and pestered my parents enough, nicely, gently), they would let me open one present—just one—before we left for midnight mass on Christmas Eve. I don’t think they for one second expected me to not beg. I don’t think I ever convinced them of anything. I think they always had one intended for Christmas Eve. But it was one of those child-and-parent games we played. Continue reading ‘The 12 Ways of Christmas: midnight mass’

05
Jan
12

The 12 Ways of Christmas: the lights

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Ain't That America, Detroit, Fun, Me, My Favorite Things, Nostalgia, Philadelphia and The 12 Ways of Christmas
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[Part 8]

This is disgusting to me now, but it would have delighted me as a kid.

It wasn’t December if my family and I were not driving around looking at other people’s Christmas lights.

We started in our own neighborhood, admiring the wild and colorful houses, and the simple monochromatic houses in white, gold, red, blue. In my little kid’s logic, I always assumed the blue houses must be Jewish. Or something. Just a feeling. I wanted to say so, but it seemed rude. I never knew any Jews growing up—at least none that I knew of.

My mom and I especially loved the ones that looked like gingerbread houses with sidewalks lined, every angle of the roof highlighted, doorways and windows lit. Our house should be like that. I studied them carefully as we slowly passed, making mental notes between audible gasps every time a new extreme came into view.

I really appreciated the people who did their trees. Those were the ones who really cared. Random placements among the branches were popular one year. Then our neighbors began to include the trunks, too. A few years later, a tightly wrapped cluster of lights on the trunk with a contrasting color densely filling up the branches was en vogue. Continue reading ‘The 12 Ways of Christmas: the lights’

04
Jan
12

O’er the fields we go, packing all away

By Eric Leave a Comment
Categories: Me, My Favorite Things, Nostalgia and Philadelphia
Tags: ,

We just finished un-Christmasing the house. I have never before seen so many dead pine needles all at once. It’s weird to have things back to normal, but I’m getting used to it.

I came home to find Jeff pulling ornaments off the tree. He was putting them in the wrong boxes, but I didn’t say anything. It may seem like it does’t matter, but I have a system. They should go back in the boxes they came from. Different colors should be distributed evenly to ensure equally even distribution next year when we hang them on the next tree. But at least they’re all put away. We can deal with it next year. Continue reading ‘O’er the fields we go, packing all away’

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the untallied hours