Days of Note

When you think over your life, you can remember days of note; special days both happy and sad, joyful and angry, important and insignificant. And rarely do you realize on each of those days just what you will recall from it, what it will come to mean in the overall fabric of your life. The older you get, the more perspective you achieve, the more understanding you compile and, like anything fine in life, these days of note ripen and your appreciation of them increases. I've had two of those days in the last week, one very happy and one very sad, and both of them milestones in their own ways.

The most recent is the passing of my Aunt Kit. She had been ill for quite some time and knew her disease was terminal, but she kept going until the very end, no matter how weak or tired she was. She will be missed by more people than she probably realized. And while I am glad that she is through her suffering, I am angry at the sickness that took her from me and I reach back in my mind to try to find another day of note; that perfect time when I enjoyed and appreciated her most.

As a kid, I knew her only by reference. She and my mother had been close as kids. When they grew up and each married, they went their separate ways. My father had no qualms about expressing his dislike of Kit and her "irresponsible" ways, dragging her kids around the country from one regional theater to another, never settling down. To me, though, she sounded like an adventurer, my very own Auntie Mame.

I finally met her in my early 20s. She and her husband David were living in Brewerton, outside Syracuse, N.Y., and I had found my way to Ithaca, about 60 miles south. I was quite literally out in the cold, since I was rooming in a Cornell fraternity which was shutting down for the Christmas break and there was snow everywhere.

When I called Kit, I was immediately invited for the holiday festivities. She took me in and gave me more booze than I have ever consumed before or since. She cooked a lovely goose for Christmas dinner, amazed at the amount of fat she was syphoning off the thing. She took me to a Boxing Day party where I hooked up with some shady theater folk. When I ended up stranded after spending the night in a bizarre Victorian house (another story altogether), she drove into town to retrieve me. She took me to the world premiere production of William Gibson's "The Butterfingers Angel..." at Syracuse Stage, and I wrote "Another Little Christmas Story" for her, which I have inflicted upon the entire family each Christmas since. This photo of Kit, me, my mom Paula, and their stepmother Lilian is from around that time. Although very human, Aunt Kit was magical in my eyes.

When she retired and moved out to California, I shared an apartment with her for a short time after I broke up with Dave Mann (also another story altogether). We lived on Hyperion Avenue in the Silver Lake District of Los Angeles. While she tried breaking into commercial acting, she tended bar at the neighborhood gay bar, the Toy Tiger: I was an instant celebrity there simply by being Kit's nephew.

When my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer, she moved up to the Central Coast and became his caretaker. It was really touching to see these two develop such a tender bond after all the long-distance animosity between them. Once my father passed away, the household was referred to as "the moms'," and together they dubbed their home "Hag Harbor." The two sisters lived together for twenty years, until today. I can't think of anything beyond, and I appreciate all the rich years that she spent with all of us on the Central Coast.

I got to direct her in "Steel Magnolias," (although I didn't give her the part she wanted) and it was a delight. She got to direct me in "The Fantasticks," (although I took the part because it was abandoned two weeks before opening night, not because I was cast). Just this May we had a reading of "Arsenic and Old Lace" with the moms playing the roles of the sisters. Most of us involved agree it was awful, but we all loved doing it and had a great time: It was one last connection before Kit left us, and I'm so glad we took the time.

I drove up to visit just two weeks ago, so I don't feel so bad about being absent now. While I was there, she would constantly forget her walker when she went from the living room to her bedroom or vice versa. Was it on purpose? You never knew with Kit. All her life, she kept everyone guessing. She was a bold spirit who carved out an amazing life. She had her share of days of note, as well. I'm glad I got to share some of them with her.

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And after that recollection, the second day of note seems almost trivial, but for me it was a very important one: On Saturday, August 8, Steve and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary. Not only did we make it through the wedding last year, but the California Supreme Court was nice enough to validate our marriage while upholding Proposition 8 and keeping all other gay folks from having one, as well. (You can check out the wedding pictures here in the blog archives or go to Facebook and check them out there.)

We went down to Long Beach for dinner at Parker's Lighthouse, the place where we had our second date (which was the first romantic one). The Long Beach Jazz Festival was happening the same weekend, so parking was absolutely insane. The weather was lovely and, after some confusion, we got our patio table overlooking the inlet and the Queen Mary, ordering our food just as the sun was setting. We had our traditional appetizer (lobster taquitos). It was quite a special evening.

Being married to the person you really love (being able to be married to the person you really love) is such an incredibly important and special thing. I don't think most people understand that; they take it for granted, like it's just part of life.

Fritz Perls, father of gestalt therapy, once described most marriages as relationships of "intimate hostility"; hates and resentments built up over time and intensely shared between only two people. I think that happens because people take marriage for granted and one another, as well.

We are all of us precious, and our loves and marriages even more so. When we lose track of that, we lose track of why we value life so dearly. When status and position and possessions eclipse being alive and loving, things fall apart and life gets cheap and loses meaning.

Here in a time of shitty news and things falling apart, it's easy to despair. But no matter how bad things are (like being unemployed or scraping through the months financially), compared to all the humans on the planet, our lives are truly blessed. If you've lost your perspective of that, it's time to make a fresh assessment and see your life for what it is and focus once again on what you'd truly like it to be. Because, most likely, you're doing a fabulous job.