My apologies, dear readers, for having cheated you out of a post of my Sporting Rants and Raves. I was not able to give you my humble opinion about Mr. Watson's rather remarkable charge at age 59. Nor was I able to speak to the Sounders loss to Chelsea. Nothing about the Yanks. Nothing about Mr. Vick. And nothing about Lance Armstrong's attempt to win another tour.
But I can't cheat you out of the answers to last week's Trivia of the Week...
Mr. Ron Fairly holds an interesting distinction in the history of baseball. He was the first person to have played on each of these teams. And, he was the only person named an All Star from both teams, a feat that no one else can achieve - at least for now.
Toronto Blue Jays and Montreal Expos
Now for the recap of last week's birthday celebration.
I suppose the celebration actually began on July 10th. Seven years to the day that I had arrived in Seattle. Also the day Joseph's mother arrived in anticipation of the 35th anniversary of Joseph's birth. We both took the day off. We ate at Ruth Chris. And went home to bed.
The next day, we played our last day of 2009 softball. The Thrusters lost after 3 games. The Buzz made it to the championship game and lost to the Wolves. But if you've read this blog, you already know that story.
Sunday, we did nothing. Joseph's mother made some dinner. And Joseph started coughing. Not a good sign.
Joseph woke on Monday and looked paler than I. Well, not quite. But he didn't look good. I went to work for a half day. Couldn't tell you what I did. Then made my way home to find Joseph sprawled on the couch, hacking up a lung. He medicated. His mother and I lounged.
The next day, we both went to work. I don't think Joseph felt particularly up to it, but it was his actual birthday. And he wasn't going to miss the attention. Not to mention the meal. I left work at 11. A 3.5 hour work day for me. Went home to get his mother. And then traveled back up to Fremont to get Joseph. We went to Ivar's on Lake Union. A nice spot. Great view. Had some blackened salmon on a Caesar salad. And then took Joseph home to rest more. His mother and I headed to Kohl's, Target, and J.C. Penney to do some last minute shopping. Then we returned home, wrapped the gifts, and gave them to Joseph only to see them quickly unwrapped. He liked the stuff.
But I wasn't really planning on getting him much stuff. I had other things up my sleeve.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you of my plan. A plan that would defy Joseph's expectation that I couldn't organize events and a party that he could enjoy. It began before I journeyed to Mexico. Yes, April. That's when Todd, Drew, Matt, Tara, Ashley, Rusty, Andy, Rusty, Fernando, and Grant all received the first email. Little did they know that it would be the first of many. From a project manager... mwahahaha...
I returned from Mexico and sent a detailed email each Friday. Highlighting in blue the changes. Telling them what they could tell Joseph. And what they couldn't.
Another interesting point - and tangent - no one can ever completely surprise Joseph. If I tried to tell him that he wasn't getting anything for his 35th, he'd organize something himself. So, I had to allow for some knowledge. Just not all...
So, back to the story.
We prepared for dinner on the evening of his birthday. He didn't know where he was going. Or even who to expect since he never received the evite. The three of us traveled to the Eastlake Bar & Grill on Lake Union. I hoped for outside seating, but it was too nice a day for us to seat such a large party.
Cookie - as he's know by many of his friends - entered the restaurant to find that all of his friends - all 15 of them that came to dinner - were wearing the same t-shirt. A t-shirt that Rusty and Andy had had created. On the front of the t-shirt were the words 'For Real?' And what did Cookie say when he saw the sight? 'For Real?' Of course. And that's why it was on the shirt.
We enjoyed the dinner. Split the check. Went to Purr. Sang karaoke badly. And journeyed home. A third of the birthday finished.
Wednesday? Uneventful. Worked a half day. Did nothing afterwards.
Thursday? Felt the tingling in my throat at approximately 10 a.m. Walked up to the parlor where Todd, Joseph, and his mother were getting tattoos. By that time, I was downing a cough drop every 10 minutes. And when I got home, I was done.
Friday I spent in bed. Dead to the world. Called into work sick. First time in a long, long time. But I had to be ready for Saturday.
By Saturday morning, I felt better. Well, at least good enough to spring the one surprise I had for Joseph.
Oh, he tried to get it out of me. He pried and pushed and pulled. To no avail. I just told him that we had to leave at 10 a.m. And we did. Then I parked in the garage where I park every day for work. He had no clue. We got a coffee. Walked towards the Space Needle. He thought it was a trip up the Space Needle. Until we walked by. Then he thought we were going to the Experience Music Project Museum. But we kept walking. Then he saw the Duck Tour place. And he guessed. And I said yes.
His mother had already been on a Duck, so this wasn't any really big deal. Just a fun little touristy thing, he thought. And it was. Until he saw some of his friends. Then more of his friends. Followed by more. And yet more. Thirty friends in all. For a ride on a specially reserved Duck. He just about flipped out with happiness. We had a picture taken, boarded the Duck, met our Captain - Matt Agascar (yeah I know) - and ventured through Seattle. Quite enjoyable with a very eccentric group. Joseph even drove the boat in the water. A great time...
Todd took Joseph and his mother up to the hill for a drink while I and many of Joseph's friends hurried back to the house to decorate and prepare for the BBQ. When 4 p.m. rolled around, Joseph reappeared to a house and patio filling with guests.
Still, I had this feeling that there had to be at least one disaster. I just couldn't relax otherwise. And it came at about 4:30. A friend started cooking a few hot dogs and hamburgers. Then, the grill spontaneously combusted. Flames leapt from every direction. Far too close to the dry tree above. And even closer to the propane tank below. I stood there feet from the grill thinking that this thing was going to take out our living room and the people who hadn't scattered, including me. Tara looked at me and asked if we had a fire extinguisher. No, was all I could say. But then Drew saved the day by throwing large chunks of ice onto the grill. The very cold water trickled down and stifled the flame.
We were out of ice, at that point. So I went to Fred Meyer, picked up some ice. And a fire extinguisher. As for the rest of the party, it went splendidly.
We slept on Sunday before attending the end of season softball party at 88 Keys. A good ending to a good season. And a good week.
Joseph brought his mother to the airport this morning. And I went to work. My first full day in over a week. I wonder how I'll fare having to work a full week this week.
But at least I know that Joseph had an enjoyable 35th. And that I won't have to put on a shindig like this for another 5 years...
Showing posts with label Joseph. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joseph. Show all posts
Monday, July 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
How I Met My Partner
So before I tell you how I met who I met, I would like to acknowledge the 'Sunday Scribblings' blog that you will find under 'My Blog List'. It was within this blog that I found this prompt, and it is my intention to use this prompt in the future to describe how I met a number of my friends, enemies, family members, acquaintances, famous people, and even pets throughout the years.
As for this evening, I think it appropriate that I tell you how I met my partner, Joseph. Some of you may know the story. Others may think you know the story but really don't. And yet others have never heard any version of the story. For that I apologize. But no matter your circumstance, I shall give you the story this evening.
The date: March 2002. I lived among seminarians at St. John's Seminary in Boston, MA. But it was in March 2002 that I knew I was no longer one of them. Earlier in the year - either late January or early February - I had made the decision to leave the seminary after my second year of pre-theology. It was not without some hesitation and certainly some regret that I had made that decision, but between my spiritual director, my counselor, my vocation director, and me, we mutually agreed that I would better serve myself and those in the Church by taking my leave. It did not need to be a permanent leave - and I wanted to believe that was true - but it did have to happen.
Meanwhile, I was trying desperately to understand who I was. Why God had made me who I was. Why it was in the seminary of all places that my struggles with my orientation were exacerbated. Why it was my prayer that told me I should leave. Why I couldn't just be normal. And so, I turned to the internet to understand. I sought out people who might help. Medical sites. Alternative living sites. Dating sites. Any site that might help me to understand myself better.
I read incessantly. I posted questions. And I even called one of those dating sites. A national site, as I remember. I spoke to people from Texas, New York, Florida, Wisconsin, California, Washington. I asked questions. I listened as they asked me questions. It was never my intention to date, mind you, just to talk. To discover. To understand.
One night, I came across a charismatic guy named Joseph. He lived in Seattle, WA, had been in the navy, was black. He came from Massachusetts by way of Memphis. He was a paralegal. He worked for a company that did something with bankruptcy. He lived in a rather spartan apartment in West Seattle. He didn't drive. He liked to go out to the bars. He had tons of friends. I hung up that night thinking I'd never hear from him again.
I called about a week later and across whom did I come but the charismatic Joseph once again. I hadn't remembered smiling so widely and so often, as I spoke to him. We agreed that some odd fate had decided that we should be friends. And so we traded phone numbers and e-mail addresses. We began to correspond regularly.
I told no one, fearing that I was doing something wrong. Cheating on the Church, on Jesus. After all, the choice to call that dating line and to explore my orientation... well, they weren't the actions of a true Catholic. Ironically, as I isolated myself from the other seminarians and from my dreams to become a priest, I concentrated on correspondence with Joseph and on my school work. I very nearly achieved a 4.0 that semester. A single A- prevented that feat.
Graduation came and went. I received a paper saying I knew something about philosophy - meaning only that I knew that I knew very little - with a bit of Latin thrown in for good measure. My fellow classmates bid me adieu. I was finished with the seminary. In my heart, I knew it was for good, however much many of those around me hoped that it wouldn't be.
Meanwhile, my friendship with Joseph increased in intensity. We talked at least once a day, causing both his and my phone bills to skyrocket. But not in my wildest dreams did I think there was any remote chance of anything akin to a relationship. The closest we came to that discussion was his insistence that he would venture out to the east coast to visit.
I went home to Connecticut in turmoil. I had been two years out of student teaching with no good leads and no real experience in teaching. I had a history degree and a philosophy degree - not particularly helpful degrees in the work force. It was time to pound the pavement. I wasn't good at it. I went to interviews for God knows how many positions with no confidence and no experience. No thanks, they all said. And I was damn well not going back to the likes of supermarket work if I could help it.
Joseph continued his insistence that he would visit. I felt an odd excitement at this possibility. We traded Fed Exed pictures, letters, knick knacks of all sorts. I called every night on the rotary phone in my grandparents' basement. I sent e-mails when I could get to a computer with internet access. And Joseph encouraged me in my job hunt, convincing me to try again and again.
I got my first job (after the seminary) selling Cutco knives. Whether you know me or not, please know that I am NOT a salesman. I was terrible. Uncomfortable. Not confident. Soft-spoken. Utterly abyssmal. I came home each evening feeling more and more useless, broken, saddened. I was slipping into despair. Until I prostrated myself before God and asked Him what I should do. I heard a reply. I hope to this day it came from Him. Leave...
And so, I started planning. My grandparents knew. My father knew. Not why... no, not why. I was too afraid. But that's another blog entry unto itself. I just knew that I needed to leave. To find myself. To explore. To understand. To do all those things I didn't think I could do in the place where I had grown. I learned the hard way that you can never truly go home again.
I told Joseph I had to leave. And neither of us had to say to which destination I would be going. Our relationship had evolved. No, we hadn't yet met each other in person. But that wasn't particularly important. Could he have been an axe murderer? Yep. But, to him I could have been a raving meth addict. I think we both knew better. It had been four rather intensive months, after all. Joseph and I grew more excited at the very talk of my intention.
I set the date. I would leave on Monday July 8th. And it was my intention to arrive in Seattle before Joseph's birthday on July 14th. As the day approached, I said my goodbyes, feeling badly about my deception but also not knowing how to say what it was I was doing. It is my worst vice, that lack of communication which is itself deceptive. But it was also who I was at that time, for better or worse.
The day came. My grandfather saw me off at 5 a.m. I shall save the trip for another posting as those three days proved to be pivotal in my life. Suffice it to say, I arrived in Seattle, WA a little after 6 p.m. on Wednesday July 10th. I called Joseph from a payphone - now defunct - on 8th and Olive. He dropped the phone on his end when I told him where I was, i.e. a block from his apartment. I walked as casually as I could to the front door of the building. He exited the building with a whoosh, stole a glance at my face, and plummeted back into the building equally as fast. I wondered - if only briefly - if this guy was crazy. But no, he re-emerged and greeted me warmly with a quick kiss.
I often think back to that first meeting, wondering how it is that we're still together after more than six years. The law of averages says that we shouldn't have lasted. That this relationship should have fallen apart at the first sign of trouble. But no. Don't get me wrong, we've been involved in our share of problems. But I think we just complement each other so well. We love each other and put ourselves in God's care. Isn't that the point? Love of God and each other in the midst of the struggle to be good, decent, just men.
And that's how I met Joseph...
As for this evening, I think it appropriate that I tell you how I met my partner, Joseph. Some of you may know the story. Others may think you know the story but really don't. And yet others have never heard any version of the story. For that I apologize. But no matter your circumstance, I shall give you the story this evening.
The date: March 2002. I lived among seminarians at St. John's Seminary in Boston, MA. But it was in March 2002 that I knew I was no longer one of them. Earlier in the year - either late January or early February - I had made the decision to leave the seminary after my second year of pre-theology. It was not without some hesitation and certainly some regret that I had made that decision, but between my spiritual director, my counselor, my vocation director, and me, we mutually agreed that I would better serve myself and those in the Church by taking my leave. It did not need to be a permanent leave - and I wanted to believe that was true - but it did have to happen.
Meanwhile, I was trying desperately to understand who I was. Why God had made me who I was. Why it was in the seminary of all places that my struggles with my orientation were exacerbated. Why it was my prayer that told me I should leave. Why I couldn't just be normal. And so, I turned to the internet to understand. I sought out people who might help. Medical sites. Alternative living sites. Dating sites. Any site that might help me to understand myself better.
I read incessantly. I posted questions. And I even called one of those dating sites. A national site, as I remember. I spoke to people from Texas, New York, Florida, Wisconsin, California, Washington. I asked questions. I listened as they asked me questions. It was never my intention to date, mind you, just to talk. To discover. To understand.
One night, I came across a charismatic guy named Joseph. He lived in Seattle, WA, had been in the navy, was black. He came from Massachusetts by way of Memphis. He was a paralegal. He worked for a company that did something with bankruptcy. He lived in a rather spartan apartment in West Seattle. He didn't drive. He liked to go out to the bars. He had tons of friends. I hung up that night thinking I'd never hear from him again.
I called about a week later and across whom did I come but the charismatic Joseph once again. I hadn't remembered smiling so widely and so often, as I spoke to him. We agreed that some odd fate had decided that we should be friends. And so we traded phone numbers and e-mail addresses. We began to correspond regularly.
I told no one, fearing that I was doing something wrong. Cheating on the Church, on Jesus. After all, the choice to call that dating line and to explore my orientation... well, they weren't the actions of a true Catholic. Ironically, as I isolated myself from the other seminarians and from my dreams to become a priest, I concentrated on correspondence with Joseph and on my school work. I very nearly achieved a 4.0 that semester. A single A- prevented that feat.
Graduation came and went. I received a paper saying I knew something about philosophy - meaning only that I knew that I knew very little - with a bit of Latin thrown in for good measure. My fellow classmates bid me adieu. I was finished with the seminary. In my heart, I knew it was for good, however much many of those around me hoped that it wouldn't be.
Meanwhile, my friendship with Joseph increased in intensity. We talked at least once a day, causing both his and my phone bills to skyrocket. But not in my wildest dreams did I think there was any remote chance of anything akin to a relationship. The closest we came to that discussion was his insistence that he would venture out to the east coast to visit.
I went home to Connecticut in turmoil. I had been two years out of student teaching with no good leads and no real experience in teaching. I had a history degree and a philosophy degree - not particularly helpful degrees in the work force. It was time to pound the pavement. I wasn't good at it. I went to interviews for God knows how many positions with no confidence and no experience. No thanks, they all said. And I was damn well not going back to the likes of supermarket work if I could help it.
Joseph continued his insistence that he would visit. I felt an odd excitement at this possibility. We traded Fed Exed pictures, letters, knick knacks of all sorts. I called every night on the rotary phone in my grandparents' basement. I sent e-mails when I could get to a computer with internet access. And Joseph encouraged me in my job hunt, convincing me to try again and again.
I got my first job (after the seminary) selling Cutco knives. Whether you know me or not, please know that I am NOT a salesman. I was terrible. Uncomfortable. Not confident. Soft-spoken. Utterly abyssmal. I came home each evening feeling more and more useless, broken, saddened. I was slipping into despair. Until I prostrated myself before God and asked Him what I should do. I heard a reply. I hope to this day it came from Him. Leave...
And so, I started planning. My grandparents knew. My father knew. Not why... no, not why. I was too afraid. But that's another blog entry unto itself. I just knew that I needed to leave. To find myself. To explore. To understand. To do all those things I didn't think I could do in the place where I had grown. I learned the hard way that you can never truly go home again.
I told Joseph I had to leave. And neither of us had to say to which destination I would be going. Our relationship had evolved. No, we hadn't yet met each other in person. But that wasn't particularly important. Could he have been an axe murderer? Yep. But, to him I could have been a raving meth addict. I think we both knew better. It had been four rather intensive months, after all. Joseph and I grew more excited at the very talk of my intention.
I set the date. I would leave on Monday July 8th. And it was my intention to arrive in Seattle before Joseph's birthday on July 14th. As the day approached, I said my goodbyes, feeling badly about my deception but also not knowing how to say what it was I was doing. It is my worst vice, that lack of communication which is itself deceptive. But it was also who I was at that time, for better or worse.
The day came. My grandfather saw me off at 5 a.m. I shall save the trip for another posting as those three days proved to be pivotal in my life. Suffice it to say, I arrived in Seattle, WA a little after 6 p.m. on Wednesday July 10th. I called Joseph from a payphone - now defunct - on 8th and Olive. He dropped the phone on his end when I told him where I was, i.e. a block from his apartment. I walked as casually as I could to the front door of the building. He exited the building with a whoosh, stole a glance at my face, and plummeted back into the building equally as fast. I wondered - if only briefly - if this guy was crazy. But no, he re-emerged and greeted me warmly with a quick kiss.
I often think back to that first meeting, wondering how it is that we're still together after more than six years. The law of averages says that we shouldn't have lasted. That this relationship should have fallen apart at the first sign of trouble. But no. Don't get me wrong, we've been involved in our share of problems. But I think we just complement each other so well. We love each other and put ourselves in God's care. Isn't that the point? Love of God and each other in the midst of the struggle to be good, decent, just men.
And that's how I met Joseph...
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