From the proposal on the Rim of Crater Lake to the actual Union in Vermont, follow along as we develop plans for our Union Ceremony scheduled for August 2004, celebrating 10 years together.
Anniversary, of Sorts. Today is our anniversary, of sorts. It was two years ago that we acknowledged our relationship before our family and friends, and now we get cards and greetings from our friends and family, celebrating this milestone.
But we don’t think of it as a milestone. In our minds, this was just the convenient date we could do it. To us, our anniversary is December 9, and for years, we’ve acknowledged our love for each other on that day. And today, we forget. But our friends remember.
It is when they remember that I am reminded of the amazing network of support and love we have around us. While it has always existed, I find it a bit unusual that it never presented itself so blatantly until we actually formalized our relationship. While there have been a lot of hidden surprised that have come from going through a ceremony, this is one that continues on, now two years later, and always manages to surprise me.
The Right Thing. Sunday morning, we got out of bed early by the measure of the time we went to bed. We saw all of our guests off. In hindsight, the weekend wasn’t as crazy as people make planning weddings out to be. We didn’t have a major crisis. Everything happened as planned. Our guests came together and embraced each other in the way we had hoped. The Bride horror stories simply weren’t there to be had. Maybe it’s because we plan large-scale events all the time. Maybe it’s because we so often thought about what would our guests want. Maybe it’s because of the people we invited. Maybe because it was simply just the right thing to do at the right time.
Short-Sheeted Long-Term Vision. With the band finished and packing up, the bar closed, and most of our guests off to bed, we retreated to our Best Men’s suite for one last cocktail. Dan managed to unconsciously utter a few last conscience words before crashing in his bed: “Don’t tell Tim.”
We were only a few paces behind Dan. Climbing into bed, we discovered it had been short-sheeted, and I quickly pondered who on the guest list could be junior high-enough to do something like that. I quickly decided that it could have been any of our guests.
A quick-fix of the sheets, and we climbed in bed together. We read through all of the cards people had given us, and the guest book. We had instructed our First Ladies that if anyone simply signed their name in the guest book, they failed the assignment and would be put on the next plane home to parents. As a result, the outpouring of love captured in our guest book was simply amazing.
Lying there with my man in our short-sheeted bed, soaking up the love from our guests was simply the perfect ending to a perfect day marking ten years of being together, and launching us into the next ten.
Star-Struck. A few hours into the festivities, the manager of Hartness House suggested during a break of the band that we all go into the basement to the Turret Telescope that sits in front of Hartness House. James Hartness built an underground tunnel form the house to the telescope, which had an underground apartment. He would spend hours there, alone, tinkering with his inventions. So, with that, we all set down our cocktails and head to the basement, where there is an entire telescope museum. A bit surreal, but at this point, completely expected.
Kick Our Heels Up. Following dinner, we had to again herd people out of the dining room into the library, where Patty Carpenter and the Dysfunctional Family Jazz Band was waiting. When I came across Patty on the website and saw the name of their band, I hoped they would be good because they simply had to be hired with a name like that.
We had decided we would not have a first dance. Neither of us wanted fifty sets of eyes staring at us while we danced. So we decided each of us would dance with our mothers first, hoping people would join us, then we would quietly dance with each other.
But for some reason at that moment, Tony felt the need that it had to be announced, which then involved waiting until someone could tell the band what to announce, but who knew what they were supposed to announce. All this waiting and confusion led to people standing around looking, waiting for the first dance, which is exactly what we didn’t want to happen. I didn’t understand what there was to announce, because at this point, it seemed all our guests would figure out we’re dancing with our mothers. It’s not like they had never seen our mothers before. For not having a first dance, it certainly seemed to be over-engineered, or at least heading in that direction.
Joe and Eunice asked if there would be a first dance, and I said there wouldn’t be and they should start dancing immediately. And with them out in the middle of the dance floor, I finally grabbed my mother, despite Tony’s insistence to wait for something I didn’t understand what or why we had to wait. And with that, the dancing began.
People seemed to enjoy their conversations more than dancing. I grabbed Joe, who has been ballroom dancing with his wife since their first date before World War II, and we cut up the floor. Patty Carpenter and the Dysfunctional Family Jazz Band was certainly great, and if no one else enjoyed the band or dancing, it didn’t matter, because I certainly enjoyed dancing with Tony, Dan, Sean and all the other men and women in my life.
Dinner Conversation. After the Ceremony, we quickly climbed into a getaway car and headed back to the Hartness House with the Best Men. Very shortly, our guests followed, where a cocktail party and appetizers were waiting. We shared a cocktail in our room, a brief moment with our men before facing the guests.
We were not even off the stairs before being surrounded by our guests. As the sun went down, we enjoyed a cocktail before moving into the dining room for dinner. Throughout the weekend, it was a challenge to interrupt everyone’s conversations to get them to move to the next activity at hand. If not for herding, we would have never eaten dinner.
We started off with another blessing from Ron, which summed up not just the day, but the weekend as well. And then, the toast from the boys. When you love people so profoundly, to have it returned is a gift. The power of their words will live in our hearts forever.
Dinner was terrific, and served at a pace that allowed us to visit each table. We had placed people at tables where they wouldn’t know each other. On their name cards, we put a random fact about the other guests sitting at their table. These facts were different than the facts in the weekend’s program book, and by this point, our guests were maniacally competitive in trying to figure out which fact belonged to which guest. The result was engaging conversation that had every guest believing we had placed them at the perfect table.
In the course of visiting each table, we had the chance to speak with all of our guests. It’s no surprise that guests who’s weddings we have attended said the day reminded them of their wedding day. It’s because we’ve taken the best part of ever wedding we’ve ever attended over the past ten years, and incorporated that into our weekends.
Fleeting Moments from the Ceremony. The Ceremony is one of those moments that simply can’t be summed up. It was powerful, meaningful, and every word simply hangs with me. But these are the highlights that I can recall.
The Rockingham Meeting House – We simply could not have had a better location. Ted and Lydia debated whether the day was right out of a novel or a movie. The weather was perfect, sunny, with clouds dotting the sky; a cooling breeze creating a soft static through the trees. It was a simply and purely elegant location that fit our ceremony and guests perfectly.
Ron’s amazing sermon – Ron spoke so eloquently of this moment we were creating. There, in a place that has seen the nation’s history, we were making history. And it wasn’t just about us coming together in union, celebrating our relationship and proclaiming it real before our guests. And it wasn’t just about our guests witnessing this moment, supporting us and our relationship. But it was about everyone coming together, making history together, and proclaiming their commitment to not only help protect our relationship, but to become an advocate for our relationship. All of our guests were making a commitment to help advance the ability of gay men and lesbian women to take this step and many more in the future in the name of civil rights.
Ron spoke so eloquently and in such an inclusive logical manner, gays and lesbians everywhere should be proud to have him on our side. They should be proud to call him our own.
Mom reading “A Friend Is Someone Who Likes You.” – We really went back and forth on what to read, and this book kept coming back to us. I was concerned that it simply wouldn’t fit. But following Ron’s thoughts, there was nothing else that was appropriate.
Mom reading “Love is Forever.” – It’s just a beautiful book that articulates a powerful sentiment in such a powerful way. This book, both books, being gifts from me, just carried a weight that was simple, elegant, meaningful beyond the words.
Tony’s Vows – He freaked out when I told him I would not put words in his mouth as to why he loved me, and that he would have to write them himself. His words were amazing, and while he read them, I found myself wondering if I would be able to read mine after being choked up with emotion. The irony – the first draft of my vows started in the exact same way as his vows did.
My Vows – I was so concerned I wouldn’t be able to read through them. Practicing them over and over again on the day of the Cermony, I was constantly tripped up by the weeps. They’d attack on key words, as if fireworks choreographed to a musical soundtrack. In the car on the way to the Rockingham Meeting House, I closed my eyes and visualized reading at the Rockingham Meeting House with power and authority. It worked, for the most part, only tripping up on the last lines. And somewhere in the middle, too, but I took just a moment to breath. Something about the words, “I am you friend” that just get me. Folks later pointed out that I appeared to be so relaxed, calm and not nervous at all. Dan, who had another perspective, said I didn’t once stop moving during the entire Ceremony. I remember consciously thinking, “I can’t seem to get my feet comfortable.”
Feminine Tone – Throughout the Ceremony, the Feminine Tone Choir, which brought many more women than originally arranged, leaned over the balcony. It was supposed to be six or eight, but then there were twenty, hanging on to every word, weepy and teary-eyed right along with all our guests. How powerful, when your love is so powerful, strangers who have never met us can see it flow.
Picture This Moment. We were snapping family photos when the Feminine Tone Choir arrived. They showed up in their cobalt blue dresses and their 4x4 pickup trucks. “Who’s that?” my mother asked.
“Who do you think? The feminist choir,” I said.
While we snapped family pictures, Dan and Janet battled over placement of the flowers in the church. A Best Man with a creative flair vs. a Cheerleader with experience. I wondered if we were moments from a Chick Fight. In our absence, it worked out peacefully, and the placement of the bamboo shoots was simply perfect.
With everyone waiting in the church, I practiced reading through my vows with force and authority to an audience of headstones surrounding the Meeting House, which had been in place since the 1700s. I kept choking up on key words, and I wondered if I would even be able to read through the entire story. I closed my eyelids, and placed myself before our friends and family and pictured in my mind reading with conviction.
I saw the feminists arriving in their trucks, Dan and Janet battling over perfection, family posing for pictures and myself getting choked up in front of an audience of headstones. But then I saw that moment with Tony and Dan and Sean in the cemetery. That precious moment where all is quiet, where nothing is said, and I breathed in soaking up the energy flowing between us. The Vermont sky a vibrant blue, the trees and grass, a deep green. The wind blowing a gentle breeze, letting us know we are alive. And there, I stood with the most important men in my life. The man who I had changed enough to know I could commit to him. And the two men who showed me he’s absolutely perfect the way he is.
Dan grabbed me, and together, we walked down the aisle of the Rockingham Meeting house to meet up with Tony and Sean.
Photo Essay. The photos are beginning to come in from Zach. I've gone back and added photos to the appropriate posts, so those reading along might want to scroll down through the page to see images no associated with what I've written.
Unwrinkling Last Minute Problems. At the last minute, we needed ironing expertise. Dan and I only had four hands, one each had to be on a cocktail, and someone had to stamp the wrinkles out of what we were going to be wearing. It’s times like these that focus is needed. Complete focus. And as we focused, we recalled the Jill, my math professor from college days, said that she was prepared to help – sewing buttons, whatever – just so long as she could feel the love.
One of the great benefits of buying out a resort is that you have complete access to the room roster and who is staying in what room. I pulled out my master list and Dan dialed her room. “We’re in the main house. Second floor. Charles Lindberg room,” Dan said to Jill.
Within minutes, she appeared, ready to iron every piece of clothing with wrinkles that needed to be stamped away. Dan sat there, sipping his cocktail, amazed that I had a former college professor ironing my clothes.
I paused for a moment, along with Dan, and pondered the moment unwrinkling before us. I’m sure Jill would have ironed our friend Roger’s clothes if he had asked when he got married.
Earlier, when we discovered the jazz guitarist needed electric to play his guitar, and it occurred to me there is no electric in the Rockingham Meeting House where the ceremony and therefore, by definition, we have a problem, I turned to my Straight Men. Engineers in every sense, they were quickly on solving the problem, about to harness electricity generated from rotting oranges.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” said my Straight Boyfriend.
I looked at him quizzical. “Loving what?” my face must have said.
“You know, barking orders and watching people jump.”
I looked at him quizzical. “How is this any different than back at home?” I asked.
Swimming in Love: Private Toast with Parents and Attendants. Mom and Dad were late to the private toast. Seems they took a wrong turn and thought they were on 106, but really were on 11, or some sort of excuse like that. As we all gathered in Dan and Sean’s suite, and I counted the folks in the room, realizing we were only missing two before we could get started, that’s when the call came in. I think it was relayed from the front desk of the inn, anticipating that no matter who the messenger, their head would be lopped off.
So there we were, having re-arranged the day of some dozen people, staring at each other, waiting for Mom and Dad to show up so we could get started. I, of course, tried to get started without them. But the entire room was against that, so I just sat there and bit my lip.
The last thing I needed was sitting around. Time to think. Time to get all emotional. I told Tony just moments before we entered the room that he was going to have to do all the mooshey talking. In the middle of running through my vows, I was in no state to confess love or thanks or appreciation with out the floodgates holding back the reservoir of ‘I’m nothing without out’ opening up and releasing a tidal wave of emotion.
Knowing that Bride-zilla was sitting and stewing, my parents burst into the suite, preceded only by their ‘got lost’ excuse that escorted them through the door. With that, I went through the schedule of how things would happen, and then Tony got on with the mooshey stuff, toasting our parents and everyone for being there to support us.
With that, we presented the Moms and Dads with framed photo of us; Ron, our officiate, with a Vermont pewter book mark; Zach, our photographer with a photography gift certificate; our Straight Men and First Ladies with restaurant gift cards so they could enjoy a date night; and our Best Men – we gave them key chains. As the keepers of the key to our heart, we felt it was only appropriate that they have key chains engraved with the special code 243.
And completely unexpected – probably because I failed to read the wedding protocol book – the Best Men presented us with a gift: tie clips engraved with “Communitas”.
It’s rare that one is ever so deep in the love, he might just possibly drown in it. I was gasping for breath.
Post-Rehearsal Cocktails Close Down the House. Waiting for our guests in their room was a hand-written note from us, 6 greeting cards with images from Vermont, a music CD with a collection of some of our favorites, and a guide book we had gathered together. The book not only had the schedule and background information on the locations and people involved, but it also had a list of our guests and a random fact not connected to other people. In the original information we sent out, we had included sidebar facts about us and our relationship, which was the most popular part of the booklet. Running low on general facts about us and knowing that we probably couldn’t fill 30 pages with facts on us without underwear sizes, we decided to list facts about our guests. We knew it would start conversation, but we had no idea how competitive our guests would get, trying to figure out all the facts. Not only were our guests trying to figure out the facts, but a few other random guests at the Hartness House who had found a random book and also read it cover-to-cover were trying to figure out the facts as well, eavesdropping at breakfast and in the lounge.
When the bar closed, we retreated to the Best Men’s suite for quiet conversation and even more cocktails.
Rehearsal A Hit. Dad State’s Toast – He welcomed all our guests with open arms. Unplanned, he said exactly what needed to be said, and hinted at the power of the collection of people who had traveled to so far to be with us on this wonderful occasion.
Dad Dornacher’s Toast – It was simply a cup of joy that filled up and overflowed. How wonderful to have two Dads who embrace not only our relationship, but who we are as individuals. If only all the world could know that feeling.
Ron’s Blessing – He set the stage for a powerful weekend with his eloquent comments (which I coached him on). We were so touched and moved by the people who came. At first, they may think we are strangers. But our guests really do know each other and have a common bond, because they have a bond with us. They have each given something to us and our relationship. This weekend was the perfect chance for everyone to put a face and a name together. And Ron set that up in a context that reminded everyone how lucky we were to have this time, this space, this food in which to celebrate over.
Dan Mastering the Ceremonies of the Evening – He’s a pro, and has a talent for orchestrating a room like a conductor at a symphony. While his smile is enough to command a room’s attention, he layers on style, intelligences and wit that is compelling, dramatic and funny.
The Amazing Food and the Amazing Service – At first it was a bit hard to simply set the parameters by describing the atmosphere we were trying to set, and then setting our florist, the caterers and the restaurant free. But once we overcame that hurdle, the creative, talented experts came in and took over and delivered a wow that titillated our guests at every moment. Naomi and Mac at the Morning Star Café set a high standard for the weekend, and we were lucky to be able to keep raising the bar throughout.
Working the Room – It was nice to be able to have a crowd small enough, and a pace slow enough that we were able to get around to each table at least once, and in most cases twice. Both as a couple, and as individuals.
Picture-Perfect Opening. I am constantly amazed at the diversity of photos and how they grab and move people differently. Having one room dedicated to my work, and covering a wall was a huge accomplishment. A hurdle overcome. And being able to share it with the very people who came this weekend was simply grand. Nothing is more fun than a lazy Friday evening, good wine and conversation and being able to kick-off the weekend with our friends and family with a creative flare set the tone we had hoped to have for the entire weekend.
We drank Oregon wines – our favorites from Blue Moon Winery in Cave Junction, Oregon, and had fine Vermont cheeses, and it all complimented the art wonderfully.
Reflections Of... Looking back, it all went to so fast. The special moments, crammed together, like a power-bar breakfast of love and admiration. How does one package it? How does one contain it? They cannot be linked together into a cohesive story, but when spewed out together, maybe a common theme will begin to emerge.
These moments are stored in my heart forever, belonging to me. I think on days of challenge and gloom, for many years to come, I will be able to look back and remember the moments on this list. I will be reminded of the love that surrounds me, not just from Tony, but from my family, my friends who are family, and my community who are my friends. And in that moment, I will be able to tap into that tremendously endless well that exists. It will lift me up, and thrust me forward.
Toast of the Best Men. Sean There is very little left for us to say since everyone else has spoken at some point this weekend and Tim has always written everything down… but we’ve come up with a couple of things.
Dan Our best friends, our best men, have surprised, challenged, and at times shocked us since the night we met them. Now seems like as good a time as any to share a few of these special traits that have endeared Tim and Tony to us and surely to you.
Sean First, Tony. We all know what a wonderful host Tony is, and the painstaking care he takes to ensure his guests have the best hors d’oeuvres. Even when his plans to showcase a fabulous table centerpiece that included beautiful flowers and live fish went south when the fish died, Tony was able to quickly correct the situation by fluffing the table cloth around the vase to hide the corpses. Truly, Tony has talents that could enable him to stand-in for Martha during her incarceration.
Dan We also know of Tony’s commitment to everything healthy. His commitment to shield his guests and Tim from harmful radiation by living without a microwave is commendable, though some of us wonder if he has his facts straight, as he lives with a cell phone surgically attached to the side of his head.
Sean Then there is Tim. Oh, that Tim. He is so dependable. You can rest assured if you tell him you deepest, darkest secrets, no less than 2 websites, 3 weblogs, and a twenty-paragraph e-mail that takes an hour to read will be sent with the quickest of speed to a few 100-thousand of his closest friends.
Dan Tim is also very adept at utilizing the skills of his network of friends. For example, he has no shame in contacting his closest friends when in dire straits trying to feed himself. Fortunately, I am always here to guide him through the tough task of “simmering” a can of Campbell’s soup, and when necessary, Sean can whip a meal for him in a jiffy that actually includes meat. You know, meat, the part missing from Tony’s diet and therefore not always available for Tim…
Sean You can always count on Tim to be the life of the Party. Tim can stop a room with his dancing ability. Note that I said ability and not skill; though he may have a hard time finding the beat, and his style may be a little too Annett Funicello, he definitely inspires those around to laugh and smile. And you can always count on Tim to break a few rules, like standing on the bar before the first three notes of Dancing Queen have been heard. John Belushi, eat your heart out.
Dan But on a more serious note, we must borrow a page from this weekend’s program, we quote the description that they wrote about us having realized these things that they accuse us of applying equally to them. “These two exceptional individuals showed us romance when we thought romance was dead. They showed us forgiveness when we thought forgiveness was impossible. Showed us love when there was none.”
Sean Romance. Apparently it lives on if Tony’s dance frame is any indication throughout our few weeks of ballroom dancing lessons. Dan and I would look over at them while they were practicing and we always noticed that no matter how many times he was admonished, his arms always drooped as he pulled Tim closer and closer into his dance space, seemingly trying to make every dance resemble some kind of cuddle on feet.
Dan Forgiveness. The best way for anyone to teach another about forgiveness is to give them something to forgive. Obviously knowing this truth, Tim and Tony have provided us many lessons in forgiveness, perhaps most notably by interrupting our movie night at midnight to run over to Barnes Place because Tony is out of town, the alarm is going off, Tim cannot be found having left his cell phone behind while he’s gone slumming with another friend, and two unknown dogs are running amok in the house. Or something more serious we’ll have to forgive them for – moving out of Atlanta, Chicago better know what it’s getting again.
Sean Love. This is the only point in the weekend’s program that we would quibble with Tim and Tony over “love when there was none”. Everything that has happened this weekend only proves that there has always been love – between them, by them and for them. There love for each other is the only example that we havee seen that rivals our own and has inspired us to deeper affections as surely you have also been moved by their demonstrations of devotion.
Dan As our last duties for the weekend, we invite you to join us in raising our glasses in celebration of this Union and to offer our love and honor to our best men.
We Will Eat Ice Cream.I wrote a story for my vows.
Somewhere in the process of planning for today, I forgot what this all means. I think it happened when people began asking me what our colors are. What our song is going to be. Who’s going to cut the cake first. Are we going to dress the same? And who’s going to wear the garter belt?
I thought to myself, “My god, somewhere along the line I’ve failed miserably.” We don’t have a color. We don’t have a song. I don’t want to cut the cake; I’d rather have a professional who knows what they’re doing do that. We never look good in the same outfit, and given the choice, I’d much rather take off a jock strap than a garter belt.
At first, panic set in as I began to think we have absolutely nothing in common. We don’t even have something as simple as a color with some deep, sentimental value. Working through the anxiety, which for a brief moment had me believing I was a straight man, I pondered the meaning of everything we’re doing today.
To be before our friends and family who have sacrificed so much to share this moment with us as we publicly proclaim our love for and commitment to each other is huge. I put a lot of thought into understanding why it so important that we take this step to celebrate and protect our relationship, which simply cannot be taken for granted.
I couldn’t help but wonder if couples who have always had the ability to marry put as much thought and soul searching into the meaning of what they’re doing as I’ve put into today. I wonder if they consider not just the colors, but the heavy part of marriage that provides couples with a legal responsibility to each other.
Today, in the State of Vermont, I am granting you legal responsibility to me. And you are doing the same in return. It’s a daunting thought, to think I am not responsible for just myself, but we are now responsible to and for each other.
When I think of today in this context, it makes colors and cake and songs seem silly and trite. Our relationship cannot be summed up by such symbols. Those traditions can do no justice to the relationship we have. I realized our relationship is much bigger. Our colors are pretty and prettier. Our song is the one that gets our foot tapping and lifts our spirits. And the cake, well, let them eat cake if they really want it, but we’re having ice cream.
In sorting through my qualms over customs and rituals, I began to understand a deeper level of commonality that exists between us. What we share is a unique outlook on the world that compliments and embraces. We surround ourselves with people who recognize our potential and encourage us towards realizing it, even on days when we cannot see it ourselves. We throw ourselves into uncomfortable situations so that we can learn more about who we are. And we are constantly pushing to be more and do more in a world that we make happen for us, rather than allow it to happen to us. We provide each other the space to allow each of us to be fully who we are as individuals. What we share in common is not on the surface, but is deep down at our very core.
In the process of discovering what we share, I found myself and I found you. I don’t know what today means to others who go through this, but in preparing for this day, I’ve come to learn what it means to me.
Today’s proclamation is more powerful than a legal document. It is a public declaration of my word. It means you have my heart in my ongoing commitment to you and the life we continue to build together. It is a life building upon each other’s strengths and those of our families, our friends and our community around us. It means every day I will strive to understand you and to know you more completely.
It means to me the trust between us continues to grow into the future, as in the past. It is a trust founded in love, integrity, openness and inclusion. And with that comes my pledge to work through life’s challenges together, with respect, creativity and integrity.
It means I am whole and complete with you. I am whole and complete without you. I accept you as you are. And I accept myself as I am. I join you in union, not to become one, but to become two complete people lifting each other up, expanding our spiritual beings and horizons.
I cherish you. I’m captivated by you. I’m challenged by you. I honor you. I respect you. I am your friend. I am your partner. I love you.
That is what today means to me. Now let’s eat ice cream.
Tony's Vows.We wrote our own vows, and kept them a secret until the Union. Here is what Tony overwhelmed me with.
Our adventure began twelve years ago at the Chicago Halsted Street Market Days when your current boyfriend introduced us. Our friendship blossomed over the next couple of years with each infamous Tim State hair flip. On that chilly December evening in 1984, the stars were aligned; we were both single, and ready for a new adventure.
Every day has been like a scenic drive on a windy mountain road. Every time we round another curve, it’s filled with oohs, ahhs and a few eeks. Yet we always go wow at the end and get back in the car and search out another windy road.
More than 3,502 days, some 84,048 hours or a mere 5,042,880 seconds later, I stand before you, our family and friends to celebrate and honor my love for you. You continue to make my laugh so much louder, my smile brighter and dreams more vivid. I look forward to creating more miracles in the coming chapters of our adventure together.
Timothy State & Tony Dornacher Communitas Saturday, August 7, 2004 6:00 p.m. Rockingham Meetinghouse, Rockingham, Vermont
Tim State & Tony Dornacher Ron Miller, officiate
Daniel Preister, Best Man Sean Sprague, Best Man
Shaun Green, Straight Man Nelson Burke, Straight Man
Janet Kinard-Green, First Lady Jennifer Burke, First Lady
Mike Dornacher & Jo Kraft Tony’s Parents
Tom & Kathy State Tim’s Parents
Draa Hobbs, Solo Guitarist The Feminine Tone Chior
Musical Prelude "Ma No Efe Dusime" (I'll be your right hand) This is a Folk song from Ghana, and it reflects on the virtues of love and care. Its proverbial meaning is that "perfect love should be made available in time of good and bad" literal translation: I will be at your right hand side. I will place my left arm on your neck.
Introduction
Reading Kathy State, mother of Tim A Friend is Someone Who Likes You by Joan Walsh Anglund
Jo Krafft, mother of Tony Love is Forever by Joan Walsh Anglund
Meditation
Declaration of Intent
Exchange of the Vows
Musical Celebration "En Mil Años" (In One Thousand Years) This song was written by Rafael Flores. The musical style is a Cuban Rumba. Translation: In one thousand years we will hear praises to this love, an endless song.
Exchange of Rings
Blessing of the Couple
Dismissal
Musical Celebration "How do I Love Thee" This Jazzy setting of Elizabeth Barret Browning's poem was written by American composer Nathan Christensen, at the age of 20. This piece won him the Diva Complex Composition Contest in 1996.
Lump of Love. The band has gone. The bar has shut down. And most of the guests are in bed. I’m lying here trying to go to sleep, exhausted, but wired. My throat is feeling sore, but as I read through the guest book and the comments left, I think that lump in my throat I feel may very well be love.
The Buzz of Town. The entire town is talking about the folks who were having the Gallery opening. The florist. The choir. Walking down the street in Springfield, folks were saying hello, and congratulations. Frank Poole, the Justice of the Peace we almost killed yesterday, was there working the crowd anticipating election day, and stopped to say hello and congratulations.
Ron, who is officiating our Ceremony a little later today, no longer has his paperwork that indicates he is ordained, which he had to produce in order to be able to legally officiate the Ceremony. So we decided to simply have a small, private legal moment, which we did yesterday morning.
Dan, Sean, Zach our photographer and Justice Poole traipsed into the woods yesterday with us for a private exchange of vows. It was a little more of a hike than a stroll, and about halfway up a steep hill, he stops, huffing and puffing, his face purple. I wondered if the paramedics would go this far into the woods if they had too.
We finally made it to a bridge over a brook. And there, before Dan and Sean, the early morning dew still clinging to the grass, unbeknownst to our guests, we did the dead, and legally tied the knot in Vermont.
Bride-zilla and Just The Facts. About an hour before things were supposed to kick-off, we learned that most of Tony’s family was about an hour-and-half away. And that’s when I turned into Bride-zilla. Maybe it was a last minute panic that set in. But it was going to start, and it was starting without Tony’s parents. But just as we were about to head out to Gallery at the VAULT, they pulled in. Exhausted, tired and frustrated.
There are days when it’s easy to put yourself in other people’s shoes. And there are days when it’s virtually impossible. And yesterday was one of those days.
All the family finally here, things started moving again.
Downtown Springfield was all-abuzz. The Moonlite Madness Car Cavalcade had antique cars lining the street in downtown for blocks. There were bands, raffles, and contests. In the Gallery, where we had great Oregon wines, Vermont cheese, pleasant conversation. We moved to the Morning Star Café, and that’s when the love began.
Dan orchestrated the evening like a pro, with class, flair and wit. He was at his finest, which always puts me in complete awe. Tony and I were able to soak it up for just a moment. The power was overwhelming, being bombarded with love from every direction, from the people we most love.
The evening simply would not stop. Waiting in everyone’s rooms was a guidebook, with information for the weekend and the schedule, a music CD, a bottle of Blue Moon Riesling, and six greeting cards. In the guidebook, we included a list of guests, and random facts about people. Folks have studied the guides, and are trying to match facts and names. The facts are fueling conversation for hours. We had no idea how compulsive it would become.
We finally moved on to the Hartness House, where the owner Alex kept the libations flowing, and folks laughed and giggled into the wee hours of the morning. Trying to discover the facts, but in the process, discovering more about each other.
Freaking Out. I don't know what it is, but I'm totally freaking out about this having to walk down the aisle thing. I think if I can do that, then maybe I can get through this. I'm really more of a behind-the-scenes guy. Not a front and center.
Lossing Weight In Silk. Dan spent the afternoon hiding all the silk in his room. There’s a glutton of silk in some of these rooms, and as you know, the Gays don’t take to kindly to silk. And sometimes less is more. At first, he moved it to one corner of his room. And then we all decided it was too much a fire hazard, all that silk. So he moved it to the closet.
Calm Before The Storm. Spent a lazy afternoon relaxing with the Best Men. A hike in the woods, and the lounging in the James Hartness Suite, watching, of course, Bring It On. We headed out to dinner at the Morningstar Café, where we were greated by Eddie Spaghetti. Neither were able to head out to meet us at the Rainbow Cattle Company. Eddie met us 16-months ago at the Rainbow Cattle Company, and he recognized us right away. It always strikes us as odd how people remember the four of us wherever we go. But then people say we’re quite memorable.
Our server said Eddie’s her “gay Puerto Rican Husband.” He said she’s his “bitch straight wife”.
It was nice to have a quiet moment over dinner with the boys. As Sean said, the calm before the storm, which hit like a Carolina Hurricane. Dan so astutely observed, “You were supposed to be showering. Wanna be fucking. But ended up on the phone.”
Quiet moments behind, us, we greeted all our guests who arrived on Thursday, and then headed out to the Rainbow Cattle Company, which appears to have changed its name to the Rainbow Lounge. It was very lounge-like with Karaoke, and soothing vocal seductions of Sprague.
Multiple Occasions. The Best Men have arrived, and the first order of business was to get all the paper work done. So we had a quick lunch at the Morningstar Café, walked through the Gallery at the VAULT, and then walked down the street to get our Civil Union License. Bonnie wasn’t in, but another woman was able to help us out.
I found myself suddenly nervous as we walked in to the Town Clerk’s office. It’s funny how at these profound moments, you learn the must amazing things about your partner. As the woman who was filling in for Bonnie asked us questions, Tony was hung up on the a few, such as the spelling of his mother’s name. Who would have known?
We completed the form, she printed it out, we signed it and Tony paid with 23 $1-stripper tip bills left over from Montreal as Dan and Sean looked on. The woman replacing Bonnie called around to find us someone who could conduct the legal Civil Union, and set us up with a Justice of the Peace for 9 a.m. tomorrow at the Hartness House.
We were not aware that the license and the Civil Union were not the same. Ron is not able to actually conduct the legal part because he needs to prove he’s actually ordained, but he no longer has that paperwork. So, we’re having to conduct a small, legal Civil Union, and the big, public ceremony will actually be fake. But Sean reminded us a lot of people do it that way.
The problem this lends itself to is multiple anniversaries. Gay couples, as a practice, don’t have a date to celebrate their anniversary. Often it’s the first date, or the first time they actually met. Often, couples can’t remember the date of their first date, or the day they first met. For us, it was at the Halstead Street Market Days, sometime in August. If we pulled out a calendar from 1993, we could figure it out. Then the anniversary we officially recognize is in December, the date of our first date. And now we’ll have the date of our legal Civil Union and then the date of our public Ceremony. But we’ll have multiple occasions now to celebrate. Either that or multiple occasions to accidentally forget.
Then, like every loving couple, we headed to Shaw’s Grocery to stock up on beverage supplies and argue about the price of bottled water.
An Old Flame. Mom and Dad showed up last night, just as we were putting the finishing touches on all the place cards for the reception dinner. We took the opportunity for a quiet evening with them, driving to Woodstock, and then on to Quechee.
We stopped at Simon Pearce glass blowing gallery, where they have a restaurant. The collection of glass lamps, vases, candlesticks and more were incredible. And the food in the restaurant matched appropriately.
In the center of the table was a beautiful glass flame. It was a sculpture of sorts shaped like a flame. And on it was Bob Keeshan’s name. Most probably know Bob as Captain Kangaroo. We asked why his name was printed on the flame, and learned that we were sitting at his table. Three or four times a week he would come in to dine and Simon Pearce’s, and this was their way of remembering him.
Bats In The Belfry. When we returned from dinner last night, there was a visitor in our room: a bat. We had left the window open in the bathroom, which doesn’t have a screen. At first I thought it was a sparrow, but then when it latched on to the plaster molding, it was quite clear that was no sparrow.
Tony reminded me that he was probably more scared of us than we were scared of him. I’m not quite sure as he looked pretty relaxed on that molding to me.
A check with the front desk and the Hartness House Manager nodded, and said, “Yes. A bat. We’ve had this before. You have to knock them out – that’s the only way.” With that, he grabbed a broom and for the next 10 minutes, we watched as he swatted, attempting to knock him out. When the bat flew into the bathroom, he and the bat confined themselves to that space, and within five minutes, the hotel manager had won.
Everything But The Parade. We’ve been in Springfield now for about 24 hours. We arrived late yesterday, after buying our obligatory duty-free vodka (there is something about the sound of duty-free that makes it a duty that one has to buy something that is duty-free when the time arises), traveling across the state in terrible rain, and of course, the chalk-o-lat factory tour. We spent a low-key evening unpacking and then took a stroll through town.
After an early bedtime and early wake-up (made all the more difficult with Tylenol PM residual), we were off to meet with all the people we’ve corresponded through e-mail to make sure all the details are set.
First stop was the Gallery at the VAULT, where we met Nina, the Executive Director. They have graciously cleared a wall for me to hang some of my photography so that we can have a gallery opening on the night of our rehearsal dinner. Tony and I pulled out all the photographs we shipped, and then displayed them in the former President’s offices of this former bank space. I’m not sure if she liked my photography because she thought it is actually good, or if she liked it because we’re donating $150 with a matching gift donation from the American Express Foundation to use the space. Regardless, the pictures are hung, and if nothing else, it’s going to a totally unique and fun night.
Next, we stopped in to visit with Mac and Naomi at the Morning Star Cafe. Much to our surprise, they have been able to get three Oregon wines for us to serve the night of the rehearsal dinner. While we did discuss a few details, most of the time we spent gossiping about the town. After reading the Springfield Reporter for a year, we feel like we know the people of Springfield and what’s important. It was exciting to finally get the insider’s perspective on what’s really going on in Springfield.
From there, we headed to Coger’s Sugarhouse Gardens to visit Gail, who is handling all the floral arrangements. She’s incredibly talented and seemed to be a bit thrown by our direction, “Just make it look nice, and make sure the scale is appropriate for the use.” She’d look at us funny. “You know, people often don’t realize so much of it is about scale.” You’re not going to find a Bridezilla here micro-managing the creative talent.
We stopped for lunch at the Precision Valley Corvette Museum, which is attached to the Springfield Royal Diner for a toasted cheese and BLT. The ‘Vette Museum would have true museum directors gawking in shock at what really just comes across as one person’s hobby and passion on display.
After lunch, we sat down with Patty at the Hartness House to go over the final details, then assembled the table cards, and about the time Mom and Dad showed up, we were almost complete with all of today’s tasks.
It’s exciting to see everyone’s enthusiasm build for our weekend. We’ve been careful not to micromanage, but to coach these folks on the look and feel we’re hoping to achieve. In the process, their creativity has been sparked, they’ve been inspired, and we’re going to get so much more than we ever bargained for.
Anticipating closing Main Street in Springfield, Vermont will be a problem, everyone along the way asked if we had warned our guests about what’s happening on Friday night – the Moonlight Madness Car Cavalcade Parade – an parade of antique cars. While we haven’t spread all the details, we think is going to be one of the highlights of the weekend. As we tell people about the weekend and what is going on, people say facetiously, “But you’re not going to have a parade?”
Of Fine Chalk-o-lat and Shed-dar Sheeze. We are heading to Vermont in the morning, and Tony is forcing me to stop at a chocolate factory on the way. God, how that works my nerves. He pronounces chocolate - chalk-o-lat, which I'm convinced he thinks it will taste better when you pronounce it that way. Now if you visited Barnes Place, then you would know the top shelf of the refrigerator contains nothing other than fine chalk-o-lat from around the world. And because Tony doesn't like sweets, it sits there and sits there and sits there. I think we have chalk-o-lat in the fridge from before we moved into Barnes Place. It's no wonder I'm fighting high blood pressure. Every time I look in the fridge, all that is there is fine chalk-o-lat and beer.
Anyway, I know that when we stop, we will go on the tour and at the end we will have to exit through the gift shop and he will say, "This is REALLY, I mean, REALLY GOOD chalk-o-lat." And then we'll spend lots of dollars on chalk-o-lat we'll never eat. It never fails! We could be in Ethel-M Chocolates in Las Vegas and he falls for it. Now, anyone who's anyone knows that Auntie Ethel-M is a fictitious aunt created by M&M/Mars to sell their M&M's chocolate at a higher price point.
So now he's called me an ass for revealing the truth to you. "Hey," he says, "you drug me to a god-damned cheese factory and filled the car with Tillamook Cheese that we couldn't eat." Okay, but Tillamook Cheese - you can't get that everywhere, and I'm convinced they have the best cheddar cheese in the world. Oh, I mean, shed-dar sheeze.
Bonjour, Zzentleman!. One of the benefits of traveling with Tony is his extensive experience in the travel industry. While the perks have dwindled next to nothing in recent years, and they are nothing like the glory days of travel long before I met him, he’s occasionally able to swing a deal. Most often it comes in the form of an upgrade at a hotel when the property is nowhere near full.
Whether we stay in the monster suite with multiple rooms, power curtains, and a door-bell, or we’re in the cinder-block room with a Wal-mart print providing ambiance, it generally costs the hotel the same to house us, comfortable or not.
And for the professional ass-kiss who knows his business, the college-aged front desk hospitality management major is simply putty in his fingers. So once again, he batted his eyelashes as we checked in, and we’ve landed on the 25th Floor with a view of the Fleuve Saint-Laurent. Outside our window is a crane. The gigantic type used to build skyscrapers with. Hanging out on the end is a college student (a hospitality management major, I’m sure) trying to raise funds for tuition. The police and firemen have been hanging out, yelling at him through a bull-horn, trying to talk some sense into him. When they approached him to negotiate, he through objects at them.
We watched the stand-off come to an end from the 26th Floor, in Club Exécutif, the breakfast/cocktail lounge that was the upgrade Tony got for free. I’m not sure which show was better: the college student coming down and the police and fire squads rejoicing as if they had won (I tend to think not. I mean, it only took 36 hours to talk him down.), or the age-old executives who are trying to woo tart-like women with the free cheap chardonnay, and cream cheese daintily squirt on stale bread cut into circles and referred to as an hors d’voure by the French. The women are all, of course, concerned about the safety of the student. The men are all, of course, concerned about the dessert they hope to get after dinner.
Tony and I are sitting in the corner at a table watching this unfold. He’s playing his gameboy, and I’m fixing my need to document everything on my laptop. Clearly, we are in a place we don’t belong. Again. Ironically, we can’t afford this cheap free wine we’re drinking.
There is a part of me that identifies with the college student sitting on the top of the crane outside the window. In fact, I’m envious of his entrepreneurial spirit. This isn’t the first time he’s gone to such extremes. Last Fall, he scaled the roof of the Biodome and hung a banner asking for assistance. It was much easier for police to reach him there and arrest him for being a public nuisance.
Tonight, he’s the ultimate public nuisance, drawing the attention of the women in Club Exécutif away from the age-old men swirling cheap chardonnay in their wine glasses.
Three-quarters of a bottle of cheap chardonnay later, I said something that made Tony slink back to our room. Three-quarters of a bottle of cheap chardonnay later, I announced to the room, “Bonjour, Zzentleman! If youz really wantz to impress de voman, denz youz write de boy a zcheck with yourz zcheck book.”
There is probably a reason we can’t afford to pay for this cheap chardonnay, and it’s probably rooted somewhere in my ability to hold it.
The Lite Shines Free for Pride Everywhere. Today is a holiday, of sorts, for us. It’s the Gay and Lesbian Pride Celebration in Montreal and that means there is cause for celebration: there’s a parade. After a late breakfast and a morning swim in the hotel pool, we walked the four blocks from the hotel to Boul René-Lévesque, catching the parade mid-route as it traveled along one of Montreal’s most important streets, cutting through the business district and meandering toward the gay neighborhood.
While it’s filled with local tradition, it’s filled with global themes. Leading the parade, as all Pride Parades around the world, is the Rainbow Flag. The flag was created in San Francisco in 1978 by Gilbert Baker and has been adopted world-wide as a symbol of unity, aspiring freedom from discrimination and hate for the gay and lesbian community. For a moment, a lump forms in my throat knowing that this is a powerful American symbol that has been embraced by cultures everywhere.
Standing in a foreign country watching their pride parade, I wonder about My America. My America touches cultures around the world not only with the export of a Rainbow Pride Flag, but with products that define the world. Gay men in Montreal march down the street in Nike shoes. Lesbian women in Quebec drink Dansani, a Coca-cola product so they don’t dehydrate. The parade’s VIPs are escorted in Chrysler convertibles. A Leather Daddy chooses a Mustang convertible. We all dance in the street. To the sounds of Madonna, Diana Ross, and other American disco classics. A group of American Cowboy-inspired two-steppers waltz down the boulevard in time with LeAnn Rimes.
It’s hard not to feel a smidgen of pride for My America, with its economic prosperity that so clearly leads the world, with its vision and ideals for freedom. I thought of the line from Emma Lazarus’ poem written in 1883, “The New Colossus” which every American child learns in grade school. The line bronzed in a plaque at the base of the Statue of Liberty. The line that sums up what Americans collectively believe about freedom and exile. The line that has become a part of American culture: “Give me your tried, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”
The irony hits me. The United States of America, birthplace to the Rainbow Pride Flag, is trailing behind the rest of the world in guaranteeing gays and lesbians the same freedoms and rights the rest of our society take so for granted, they can’t even articulate them. The irony is bittersweet and it tastes like bile on my tongue. While the balance of the world embraces and acknowledges gays and lesbians as productive members of their society, my country is leading the charge to ban my relationship.
Give me your tired, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breath free. Except for your same-sex married. Don’t want ‘em. Can’t have ‘em. In fact, we have a President leading the charge to ban ‘em in the Constitution. Not only is he against homosexuality, he’s against homosexuals. The citizens of Georgia are voting on amending the State’s Constitution to officially ban the married gays.
It makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed. Not for me; I’ve resolved those feelings long ago. Rather, it makes me feel ashamed of the new passport I just got so I could come here to Canada and return with little hassle. The passport that says the United States of America is my homeland. The homeland that doesn’t want my relationship. The homeland that was founded on inclusion and freedom and has spent centuries expanding and protecting those concepts, but is now leading the world in exclusion.
Here, in Montreal, in Canada, they embrace same-sex relationships and help to protect them. It’s because they understand the value of relationships in helping people get along in the world, and protecting those relationships is not only good for those individuals, but all of society as well.
Tony and I returned to our hotel, and I looked up the entire poem by Lazarus, which rang true with such timeless wisdom in 1883. I reread her powerful words.
The New Colossus By Emma Lazarus Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame With conquering limbs astride from land to land; Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame is the imprisoned lighting, and her name Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command The air-bridged harbor that twin cities fame, “Keep ancient lands. your storied pomp!” cried she With silent lips. “Give me your tried, your poor. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send theses, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lite my lamp beside the golden door!”
In this northern land where uniformed police officers lead the crowd in Pride chants, and so many straight people attend the pride parade, if not for the mullet hairstyle, I would question if lesbian women were even in attendance, I re-read the poem and wonder what have we forgot? I wonder if we are no longer free to accept those who, because of religious beliefs, or political sentiments, or skin color, or lifestyle, are considered wretched refuse, and find themselves homeless, tempest-tossed? Does our light beside the golden door still shine true for everyone’s freedom? Is it a proud day to be an American? Maybe I should ask the Canadian standing next to me.
Shots I Wish I Captured WIth My Camera. Stopping at the Filling Station in Massachusetts, a 24-hour diner highlighted in USA Today as one of the top ten places to eat (almost) anytime, we spot a gentleman sitting on his hemorrhoid pillow on the bar stool.
Last Minute Fashion Flair Up. Tony is blaming his last-minute acne flair-up on the number of outfits I’m bringing along. But what am I to do? We’re leaving for an extended week, and the weather forecasts are all over the radar range. He’s saying I’ve over-packed.
“What do you think? I’ve got four pair of shoes. Maybe I should throw in two more,” I suggested. “You know, in case a pair gets wet.”
“I think you’re going to have to make four work. I’m not packing any more than four pair,” he explained. When it comes to fashion and comfort, better to be safe than sorry. That’s my mantra. It’s really a simple math equation derived from a fifth-grade storybook problem:
Two gay men travel 1,100 miles from Atlanta to Vermont for a total of 11 days. Daytime highs are in the 70s, with overnight lows in the 50s. There is a chance of thunderstorms during the first part of the week during a three-day side-trip to Montreal, followed by partly cloudy and partly sunny alternating days during the second half of their week. How many outfits should they bring?
(3 x 11) x 2 + (2 x 2) = 70
3 outfits per day, with accessory layers multiplied by 11 days and an emergency roll of quarters in case laundry is needed mid-week, times 2 gay men, plus 2 additional disco outfits for good measure equals 70 outfits.
Hello? Any fifth grader scoring above no-child-left-behind scores can figure out that one. And that doesn’t even include the themed outfits and audio-visual equipment.
“If you’d plan properly, you wouldn’t need so many clothes,” Tony pontificates.
Plan properly? He is completely underestimating my ability to plan. With a proper fashion forecast, when I return home, I can still have four days of clean clothes in my bag. And that’s four more days I can put off doing laundry.
On The Road. We spent last night having a casual dinner with the Best Men, then wrapped up and headed home to pack. Up early this morning and then off to the airport to fly to Hartford. We spent the afternoon waltzing through Vermont, and found this very amusing gallery in Woodstock.
After 8 hours of casual driving and a very frustrating interpretation of a French map, we are finally at our hotel in Montreal. Will update more later once we eat dinner.
No Shoes. No Shirt. As if shopping for clothes for the Ceremony was not taxing enough, Dan’s shirt finally arrived. Only two-and-a-half weeks after it was supposed to be here. He motored his cute little smile over here to try it at the close of the workday, and thankfully, it fit perfectly.
This whole ordeal speaks to the sorry state of customer service in our society. If Bloomingdale's can’t get a shirt order called in from a sales associate in one store to another store correct, then is it even possible anymore? The only
With everything super-sized in our society, clothing no longer comes in petite. We should have anticipated this going into it, selecting one Best Man who is shaped like a V and the other who is as thin as a rail. If we wanted clothing shopping to be easy, we should have picked overweight couch potatoes to stand up with us.
Oh, wait. We don’t know any overweight couch potatoes.
It’s Just A Silly Party. Last week, I went to a networking luncheon. Actually, I was the moderator of the discussion. “Emerging Trends in Retail Real Estate Marketing.” Another yawn-producing program sponsored by the International Council of Shopping Centers. The Chair of the State Committee came in as we were setting up and flashed a ring.
“We did it!” she squealed like a sorority girl. She and her boyfriend got engaged the weekend before at Walt Disney World. Everyone gathered around, jumped up and down, and wanted to know every detail of the engagement. Followed by a rapid succession of questions.
Have you set a date?
Big wedding or small?
Where?
What kind of dress?
What are you colors going to be?
I started to say, “My partner and I are celebrating our 10-year anniversary with a Union Ceremony in a little romantic meeting house on a hill overlooking a valley in Vermont with 50 of our closest friends and our colors are pretty and prettier.”
But I couldn’t even get ‘My’ out without being cut off by someone gushing over the “antique-style but totally new with somewhat modern look to it” ring.
So mouth cocked open ready to spew forth my excitement, I stopped. Mid-breath. And that’s when I remembered that I was not standing in the lobby of a sorority house. Rather, I was standing in a professional networking environment, and I was about to bring up a topic that might be too controversial.
And that’s when I became ashamed. Ashamed because I didn’t have the balls to deal with the awkwardness that would come shortly after my riveting statement. I wondered if they would squeal and jump up and down as if I just won the Showcase Showdown on a network game show when I told them the story of how we got engaged on the rim of Crater Lake. Would they giggle when I told them I presented Tony with a ring and a card suggesting that we tie the knot in Vermont? When Tony opened the card and started laughing, would they relate to me nearly vomiting because I thought he was laughing out loud at the concept, but later came to find out he was laughing because as he opened the card, he ripped the most obnoxious, altitude-induced fart he thought most certainly echoed off the rim of Crater Lake?
I thought not. I thought I would see dropped jaws like those you see when a joke simply doesn’t fly. And that’s when I became mad and sad.
I’ve thought about my relationship beyond the colors and the colors and the size of the reception and what sort of music will be there. I’ve pondered the true meaning of those traditions and the messages they send. And I don’t get to talk about my relationship. But she gets to talk about hers.
But then it dawned on me. Maybe they really don’t care whether she’s happy or not. Maybe all they want to know is the flavor of her cake and be done with it. And maybe I’m thinking about this too much, and if I could just make it about the party, everyone would be happy. After all, who can’t relate to a silly party?
Going into the closet. Our Best Men are going to host a bachelor party, of sorts. “Boys Night Out” a few days before the Union, we’ll be heading to the Rainbow Cattle Company in East Dummerston. It’s one of two gay and lesbian bars in the State of Vermont. We thought it would be a fun little excursion, and I’m sure it will be.
But in counting up the R.S.V.P.s, we’ve got 4 gay boys and about 18 straight people who will descend upon this establishment. Our Best Men are going to prep the Rainbow Cattle Company about our pending presence, but the challenge is prepping the Straights, who simply have never had to think twice before walking into a bar. Or who have never had to drive back and forth on a street, looking for some sort of signal that indicates what’s behind the door with a single light fixture above it and no sign is a bar that welcomes men who love men.
Our photographer was excited about getting some great candid shots that night, but I said no, that cameras would probably make people uncomfortable and cause a scene. And given our reception last time we went, loading this bar with straight people and then bringing out cameras might simply throw them over the edge.
How do you explain to straight people around us who have been nothing but accepting and supportive of us and our relationship that not all gay people are as comfortable with who they are as we are? How do you explain that many gays and lesbians in rural areas live a life of secrecy, and this bar is the one place where they can relax, let down their guard and be themselves?
For these folks at the Rainbow Cattle Company, to have their straight friends and family share in their gay life (as we will do that weekend) is simply an unimaginable dream. Our guests might see the things they would see in a straight bar—dancing, flirting, kissing—only between two men. What happens there will stay there. Hopefully, our guests will realize for one night they will be going into the closet with us and will experience how many gay men and lesbian women have to live.
The Celebration Around Us. We had a lovely evening down the street at the Burke’s house last night. They threw together a great little shin-dig in about three days, and about a dozen people were able to attend. What struck me is how much celebration around us exists for us to be us, and for us to be the couple we are. It was just the right crowd for many heart-felt conversations, some really good food and wine.
I wish we could take a bus of people to Vermont, and everyone who came last night could be a part of our celebration. One of the books we’ve selected for a reading during the Ceremony is a children’s book by Joan Walsh Anglud, A Friend is Someone Who Likes You. The theme of the book is about how friends are all around you, sometimes you might not know it, but if you simply look, you’ll see they are there.
There are many people who are not comfortable with the concept of two people of the same sex having their relationship confirmed publicly in front of friends and family, and bound by a legal document. But one thing is becoming clear: we’re realizing who our true friends are, because they are celebrating with us—loudly, clearly, proudly.
Becoming one? I think not. I just polished up my vows. Exhausted, that’s when my latest anxiety attack hit. We’ve decided not to share our vows with each other before the Ceremony, and as I was saving them onto my laptop, that’s when it hit me like a stripper at a bachelor party. What if what I wrote in my vows completely contradicts Tony’s vows? How foolish we will look. “These folks are doomed,” people will most certainly think.
Just to make sure I’m not completely off base here, I sheepishly asked Tony, “You don’t have anything in your vows about becoming one, do you?”
“Hell no!” he said, his face making a horrible grimace. I was so relieved, and that’s when I realized how silly I was being. Of course he doesn’t have anything like that in his vows. We’re completely separate people with our own identities. We allow each other to be our own individuals and that’s why our relationship works.
In an odd way, preparing for this weekend is building my confidence in us.
Great Advice. Our friends were married by Ron as well. He gave them some great words of wisdom before their wedding: "It's the last time you will be in front of an audience that is 100% on your side."
Catastrophic Failure?. So I’ve lost complete faith in the U.S. Post Office. We’ve now heard from three different people who have said they never got the invitation in the mail. And with only 70 invitations to address, I distinctly remember writing out the envelopes for some of these people. One is now involved in a three-way relationship and Tony and I discussed for five minutes what was appropriate: Mr. Smith and Guest or Mr. Smith and Guest(s). (I put “and Guests”.
But it all has me wondering: what is the proper thing to do when the post office fails?
The Same Box Step, Really. We’re not the only ones with two left feet when it comes to ballroom dance. Dan and Sean, who got us hooked, were there first male-male couple to be taught at Fred Astaire. We’re the second. So tonight, during our group lesson with the boys and one other couple (a male-female), our instructor was trying his best to alter convention.
“Okay, now gentle—ah, leads, you’re going to step like this.”
“Now, ladi—followers, you’ll do exactly the opposite.”
For a brief moment, I felt bad for the opposite-sex couple. One of the best ways to learn is to switch off partners. And with five men and one woman, well it didn’t exactly match-up on a traditional level. We were able to switch off with Dan and Sean with great ease, but the opposite-sex couple—they were the odd ones out.
I was telling a friend about our private lesson on Tuesday. It was at 9 p.m., and we were the only ones in the dance studio. When the play let out at neighboring Actor’s Express, people flocked to the windows and peered in at the two of us box-stepping around the floor. You could read the expression on their faces, “Oh, look. They’re ballroom dancing. [Pause] Oh, LOOK! THEY’RE ballroom dancing.”
"You know," my friend said, "if you were Republican, you'd know men are not supposed to dance with each other and the whole situation would be avoided."
After the group lesson is the group dance party. The lights are turned down low and the music up as everyone is given the opportunity to practice what they’ve learned the hour before. And, we get the chance to switch off, dancing with different partners and instructors. Right now, I’m learning to follow, so come my turn, the female instructors would lead.
It’s the same box step really, just executed a little differently.
Taking Pride.We're travelling to Vermont the weekend before the Ceremomy, which will give us a few days to relax while making sure everything is in order. At the last minute, but not so last-minute I couldn't get my passport, Tony suggested we drive to Montreal for the weekend prior to the Ceremony.
An excellent idea that I'm very excited for. Tony wanted to get hitched while there, but it just so happens your intent has to be published in the paper at least 20 days prior to the event, which we've passed.
Tonight, Tony spent two hours on-line looking for a hotel. When I got home from work he said there is some sort of major convention taking place, and all the hotels are booked. After some investigation, the convention is DIVERS/CITÉ, Montreal's lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered Pride celebration. What could be more appropriate?
Best Reasons. I understand the difficulty in deciding whether or not to attend a wedding. For a few years until all our friends were married off, we were attending three or four weddings a year. Some in remote locations. Some easy to get to. But all at least a plane ride or a day’s drive away. Weddings can easily drain vacation funds and gobble up vacation time. So we know from experience what we’re asking our guests to do when they join us in Vermont.
However, just as they are expecting something creative from us, we expect nothing less from them. So far, here are the best reasons given as to why folks on the invite list will not be attending:
“I’m in the middle of a major back-to-school fashion initiative.”
“I’m in the middle of buying a house and all my account balances are exactly where they need to be.” (We’ve got this from two different parties.)
"Union Labor might strike at midnight and I will have to report for strike duty."
Yin. Yang.He is the most amazing wedding photographer around. Not only because he's technically good, but Zach has the amazing ability of blending in to almost any situation and making the people around him feel at ease. I've worked with many photographers before, but he's got a true talent. We're lucky to have snagged him for our Ceremony, and we're even luckier to have him as a friend.
This photo he snapped of us the last time he was in town is going to serve as our thank you card. Art Official said he thought the picture is a photographic metaphor for our realtionship and how we compliment each other. I tend to agree.
Growing Up Quietly. One of the most enjoyable aspects of planning for Vermont is the occasional quiet moment of reflection with Tony that are built into the process. It’s the 15 minutes spent over soup in a bread bowl at the mall, or the 30 minutes watching mindless TV as we assemble gifts for all our guests.
It’s then that we truly begin to soak up how wonderful this day is going to be, surrounded by people who so clearly love us. (Yes, those worries about whether or not our guests would get along are silly.) What sticks out for both of us, though, is how self-selecting those who are most important in our lives are. For those are the ones who are coming to Vermont, and for those who are not able to make it, but truly are significant, they are in constant touch and simply asking about the details.
It’s odd, really. I had no idea how huge this would be simply working through all the aspects of the weekend and trying to decide what it is that “we” want to do. In hindsight, I could have been a better attendant at a number of weddings I’ve participated in, if by no other measure, simply by picking up the phone and asking how the planning is going, what option the couple is considering and such. It’s hard to know what to do, particularly when I’ve always been on the other side of the country and unable to actively participate in the planning.
It’s a growing up process, really, that I think is one of the unintended side effects of planning a Ceremony. Many gay men don’t go through it, and I’m wondering if other couples ever go through it. Writing the vows, considering the weight and the enormity of it all, it’s really not about my needs or desires, but our needs and desires. While I’ve always known that and feel it to be true for the most part in our relationship, “Us” seems to be taking on a whole new meaning.
Straight Shower. The Straights have decided to host a “send-off Shower” for us this weekend. Of course, typical to the Straights, it’s last-minute. I don’t know what it is about Straight folk that allow them to plan soccer matches months in advance, but they can’t plan a dinner. Don’t they know if they aren’t on the Gay’s calendar a week in advance, the Gays will be booked up?
Regardless, it’s a very nice and kind gesture, and they will be inviting all sorts of folks from the neighborhood who can not make it to Vermont to celebrate with us. We’re really excited about the evening and looking forward to spending the time those around us.
Dance, Baby. Dance. We had our second private dance lesson, and I have to say it was much easier. Tony seemed to have more confidence, and was actually a much stronger lead. We were reviewing what we had learned already, and at the same time learning a few additional steps.
We were looking good. And when the play at Actor's Express broke for intermission, we suddenly found ourselves with an audience looking in as just the two of danced with our instructor. It was a good warm-up for what people will most likely be doing during the reception in Vermont.
All going well until about 20 minutes into the lesson when my body decided it was bedtime. It was difficult to concentrate on where my feet were supposed to go next, let alone keep my eyes open. And with Tony leading and me falling, everything I’ve learned in the past I have to think about backwards. But with sleep nudging me, I kept going back to what I first learned when I took ballroom dance years ago.
But despite the pending sleep, it did go much better and Tony seemed to be more comfortable and confident. And that’s the key.
Rare Gifts. We were in a total panic about the gift for our Best Men. It needs to be profound and meaningful. But in the process of writing my vows, the theme of their gift came together. We just had to execute it. I have to say it was a lot of fun going from store to store at the mall, shopping for what will be absolutely perfect. I normally don’t like shopping, but when you know what you want, I’m not completely pressed f or time, it was actually enjoyable. Especially when we had salespeople who were actually helpful in the process. Something that is rare these days. But then, friends like our Best Men are also pretty rare.
Kvetch Lunch. We had lunch with Reese and Nick, an absolutely lovely couple who is planning a commitment ceremony for Labor Day weekend. Sitting there at the Silver Skillet, we swapped plans, trials, and tribulations. And while we’re all completely scattered in trying to pull it together, one thing is clear: it’s a lot easier to decide what to do when you don’t have people around you asking questions and offering suggestions based on straight wedding standards. Since we’re traveling to Vermont, that seems to solve a lot of problems. We are planning for all our guests to travel, where as they are having to plan for only a few to travel, and then balance are from right here in Atlanta. That in itself significantly decreases the size of the event, which makes planning not only a lot easier, but also allows us to do a lot more.
Grounding Myself. There is so much to do, I can’t even talk in complete sentences. The biggest challenge seems to be simply completely tasks. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Picking up pictures, Wolf Camera made copies of the wrong photo, which requires a return trip. Putting together the gift for our parents, it can’t happen while we wait, rather, we have to come back to pick it up. So there seems to be a lot of running around and multi-tasking without much time to focus on getting things done.
So this past weekend, I decided I had to focus on my vows, figuring if nothing else, that would be one major task out of the way. But, I was also hoping completion of the vows would ground me spiritually in what is about to take place. Vows behind me, it seems to have worked, and now all these tasks that need to come together seem to not only fall into place, but also seem to be fun.
Becoming Fred and Ginger. Tonight was our first foray into Ballroom Dance. Okay, so we're a little behind the 8-ball on this one; we only have two-and-a-half weeks to become Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. But, I figure if we're spending two grand on a band, we should at least look like we've put in an effort to dance.
Once we check our insecurities at the door, it's actually quite fun. We've signed up for a few more sessions and hope to cram before the Ceremony weekend.
Of course, the world of Ballroom Dance is not without its own unique idiosyncrasies. Much like the world of cheer, beauty pageants, or dog shows, it comes with its own social hierarchy, and expectations. Nothing makes one look like a newcomer quite like shorts and Converse Hightops. But, still, the ballroom dance hobbyists embraced us.
One lady, and I didn't get her name, has been dancing for a year-and-a-half. She said it took her a year before she was confident enough to dance without thinking. In the meantime, she's embraced the ballroom culture, and dons glitter eye shadow, teardrop rhinestone earrings, and a sassy cocktail dress with leg warmers underneath (it is only practice, after all).
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Nods to our Best Men for not only dragging us there, but finding this resource.
Why I Love Growing Up in Springfield. We’ve been researching Springfield for well over a year now. Each week, we receive a copy of the Springfield Reporter, Springfield’s weekly newspaper. On June 23, 2004, they printed “Why I Loved Growing Up in Springfield” by Joe Mittica. Joe recently graduated from Springfield High School. The editorial first appeared in the graduation issue of the SHS student newspaper, The Greenhorn. We think it’s priceless, and thought you would enjoy reading it as well.
"Why I Love Growing Up in Springfield" By Joe Mittica
I have lived in Springfield now since the winter of 1990 and I would like to share that I cannot say there is another town I would have rather grown up in. For all the negatives people like to point out, I want to say that Springfield is a great town for a boy to spend most of his first 18 years in.
Springfield certainly doesn’t make my national top ten lists for best places to live in any of the magazine publications but I don’t think anyone here cares. Springfield, with just under 10,000 residents, is the perfect size. We don’t experience traffic jams, or long checkout lines at Shaw’s, and usually we can find the movie we want to rent at VideoStop or Video Time. Springfield is, in a lot of ways, just ordinary Small Town USA.
Ordinary Small Town, USA, is just what I want to remember when I look back at Springfield in years to come. Springfield has given me the opportunity to grow up in a natural setting. For a young boy this town offers a lot. We have our baseball fields, our tennis and basketball courts. We have fishing holes and the boy scouts. There are campgrounds, a bike path, pizza shops, a movie theater, and ice cream, indoor and out. We have our Alumni Parade, a golf course, and a downtown café with live music at night. Twice a year our high school puts on a play and the community band plays for us in the summer. On the Fourth of July we have fireworks at the airport and we raffle off expensive sports cars, compliments of our Corvette Museum. I see all of these things and I wonder, “Why would anyone want to grow up anywhere else?”
The quality of the schools in this town are often overlooked. And I don’t mean they are perfect or offer the education a top tier private school would offer. However, Springfield’s schools have the quality of making a student feel safe, supported, and part of a community. Never have I felt intimidated by large hordes of kids or lost in a crowd. Here in Springfield you’re somebody and for the most part everyone knows your face just like you know theirs. Students here feel attached to their teachers and have the support of a town behind them. I cannot imagine it any other way.
The character of the people in Springfield also needs to be credited in this article. Over the last several years I have been heavily involved in helping to build a state of the art recreation center on Clinton Street. I have met many people and I have come in contact with an amazing trait that people in this town share. After all the years of factories closing and industries crumbling, the people of Springfield have not stopped showing their commitment to the future of this town through this project. To many in this town this project represents a beginning to an improved future, a way to open doors for this town to enter. In their support for this recreation center, residents have volunteered their Saturday mornings to paint, sweep, campaign for votes, and wash windows on countless occasions. This exhibition of character blows me away and makes me believe that although Springfield has had a rough period over the last thirty or something years, the future is in the hands of people like this and I have no reason to worry.
So, to close, I thank Springfield. It is a great town with great people and whether I come back after college to live or not, I am excited for this town’s future and for those who live here still.
Vermont Anxiety Attack of the Moment. What's keeping me up at this moment now: the fear that all the guests won't get along. Do you know how silly this is? We have been so super-selective in who we invite, that of course they're going to get along. It will be a collection of people who care about us the most. They will get together, they will mingle, they will have a grand time. Yet, I'm sitting here, wide awake, unable to sleep because I'm afraid they won't get along. Well, that and the fact it's 85 degrees out at 12:16 in the morning.
This is a challenge. It’s Monday, and I’m totally exhausted. I’m back in the office now after 10 days off, and four of those days were pretty intense planning, getting things done days. We’ve managed to knock the to-do list down to about two pages, and I’m happy to report that things are coming together, and Vermont in August may just happen.
This is a lot harder than I ever anticipated. Planning a party with a food drive, that’s a piece of cake. Organizing a parade down Main Street, can do it with my eyes closed. Coming up with a hook that gets every network news station out, toss it together before I shower in the morning. But planning a ceremony that symbolizes, captures and celebrates our life – not so much.
Everything has to have some meaning, some underlying theme. What song is important to the two of you, people ask. What is your favorite color, they wonder. I don’t know. We don’t have a song. We don’t even have a show, let alone a color. He is touch, I am feel. I’m coming to find out the only thing we really have in common is nothing. It’s our shared past, our friendship, our respect that we share. Finding ways to symbolize and celebrate these intangible concepts—that’s a challenge.
What is Change?. We’re four weeks out, and the enormity of what we’re about to do just hit me. It hit me in the dressing room at Bloomingdales. I had just had my pants sized after spending close to four hours selecting shirts, ties and pants. Part of the challenge was simply not knowing what to wear. Rent tuxedos? Buy tuxedos? Are tuxedos too formal? What about suits? Should we be matching? Complimenting? And what will our best men wear?
As we wondered, we worked through all of these questions. It also occurred to me just how opposite both of us are. Complimenting, but hardly ever on the same page. As I sat there, alone in the dressing room, I wondered exactly how this changes things. And while nothing changes, everything will be changing.
Finding the Music. Finding musicians in Vermont and trying to track down samples of their music is proving to be a bit harder than I expected. However, this guy might be good for the reception during dinner.
The Intrinsic Value of Place. After not moving forward on anything for weeks, Tony finally has a draft budget constructed and every single task we could possibly imagine entered into a Microsoft Project Database. (Of course.) While he’s been working on many different aspects of the weekend – he’s paid the deposit on the Hartness House, he’s schedule an invitation consultation, he’s already determined the menu – I haven’t been able to do a damn thing. Well, that is, unless you count subscribing to the Springfield Reporter, Springfield’s weekly paper, and reading it cover to cover.
What I’ve discovered in the two months I’ve been reading the Reporter is Springfield is a town desperately trying to recover from 200 years of solid manufacturing and innovation that has not only left town, but the country. The community is struggling to define a new economic future, and they’re realizing it’s hidden somewhere in their past. In the process, they’re discovering the value music, theatre, and art bring to a community. It is those qualities that give meaning to the lifestyle that is uniquely Springfield. A life along the Black River, the life force that has powered Springfield long before there was such a thing as electrical power.
It’s this solid sense of place that drew us to Springfield over the other Vermont locations we considered. Sense of place is not created by national companies located within a town’s boundaries. Nor is it created by the brand-name shops within a shopping district. It is created by knowing what you have and looking beyond the face value to discover its uniqueness, understanding its intrinsic value. When you come across a genuine place, it’s not just a place you see, but a place you feel. It’s what Tony and I have strived to discover and build in our lives. In the end, it’s not just a place where we exist, but a place where we live and interact with friends and family.
Today I spent most of the afternoon firing off e-mails to the different organizations calling Springfield home, in hopes of finding the best local entertainers—the undiscovered greats that exist in every community who, if given another time or another place could very well be leaders in a much greater arts scene. But instead, they’ve found a life in Southern Vermont, where they practice perfecting their craft, developing their talents and transforming into a stage front porches throughout Springfield, the “Front Porch Capital of the World.” Genuine performers for genuine people. Art, music and theatre that not only can you see, but you can feel pulse through your body, adding meaning to life.
As long as Springfield has that sort of energy pumping through its veins, it will always be a place worth living and visiting. It is a place we will gladly define publicly before friends and family the existence of our relationship, its uniqueness, appreciating its intrinsic value.
Yesterday, after blowing up at Tony for not moving forward and hording the details to himself (a trait I discovered in year three of our relationship, and yes, one that I am guilty of myself), I finally got our draft budget. All $19,350.24 of it.
And so now the process begins for me. As Tony hammers out all things logistical, I will begin to hammer out all things, as he says, touchy-feely. And at the same time, we’ll begin to figure out how we can whittle that total down, while raising the bar, and forging new territory. Make something out of nothing, so-to-speak. Should be easy though; that’s what we do best, and we have a great place from which to start.
Date Confusion. It seems our letter has created some confusion. Even though we listed 2004 at least three times in the letter, there are many people who are thinking we are hijacking their summer vacation this summer and not next summer. This weekend, I was working on a follow-up letter to reiterate that it is a year from now. I think it will clear things up, but frankly, I'm a bit embarrassed. Am I the only one who looks at calendars more than a year in advance?
Mountain Top Inn is Out. Went to the Mountain Top Inn. And the more I think about it, the more I didn’t like it. Likes and dislikes aside, it was a very bazaar experience. We were the only people staying at the Inn, making it like something right out of the Shining. The lights were off, and they had discontinued all their services.
There was a great deal of attitude, and every staff person we met seemed a bit put-out that we were even there. It didn’t appear to matter that we were looking to buy-out the entire resort for a weekend. In fact, the wedding planner even said in August they have no problem filling in the Inn, wedding or not.
The rooms were very nice, the food excellent, but everything was about three-times as expensive as we were expecting. But despite the stuffy fru-fruness, we had a spectacular time. The four of us enjoyed a spectacular dinner next to the fire place, ran around the resort barefoot, and played ping pong, pool and phoosball long after the sun had set on the mountains. I only sustained one phoosball injury, and I think I came down with a case of ping pong elbow, but it was nothing another cocktail couldn’t fix.
At 5 a.m., the sun began to peak over the mountains, and Dan and I both watched the sun rise as Tony and Sean snored away. For a moment, I thought of a sunrise ceremony. But it was just a brief moment. “We’d do everything in our power to try and be there for a sunrise ceremony, boys,” said Dan.
Rut of Charm in Rutland. We pulled into Rutland just a few minutes ago, and are a little undewhelmed. While it is the second largest city in Vermont, Rutland has only 18,000 people. We were anticipating a quaint little town, which is what the travel brochures had pictured. We were thinking with the Mountain Top only five miles out of town, there would be plenty to do for our guests. What we found was a fair downtown area completely closed because it is Sunday, and a Walmart at the end of downtown’s Merchant Row, and that was in the center of the town. Surrounding the town was every type of over-fomulated national chain sprinkled about in sprawl. It could have easily been Anytown, U.S.A. We looked for the charm, but failing to find any, we’re headed north on U.S. Highway 7 to Middlebury.
We're travelling to Vermont the weekend before the Ceremomy, which will give us a few days to relax while making sure everything is in order. At the last minute, but not so last-minute I couldn't get my passport, Tony suggested we drive to Montreal for the weekend prior to the Ceremony.