Calistoga and the fires

Little sweetheart, there are terrible wildfires spreading all through California and today I got an alert on my phone that the beautiful little village, Calistoga, where I took you for your 31st birthday was evacuated.

Known for its hot springs, we drove there from SF the morning of the 13th and checked-in to a nice little hotel before trying out a few of the pools, like Goldilocks - this one too hot, this one just right. You had your enormous black sunhat perched on your head as we took a dip in outdoor one there and you wrapped yourself around me as I carried you across its length, the water coming up to my chin. Later, we went out to dinner at the lovely Calistoga Inn which had a restaurant and brewery (the latter, admitted, I sampled because you'd told me it was alright as long as I was with you, I should only drink when I was happy and how true - I could only ever be happy at your side). Passing through the lobby and peaking upstairs at the cozy furnishings and quaint decor we made a note to stay there the next time. And we took a walk through the sweet little main street. The next morning we'd booked you a massage - a whole hour and a half! - and I waited at a charming little coffee place writing in my notebook.

I so hope everyone in Calistoga is okay, my darling. And I pray that the sweet little village itself that holds such lovely memories of my time with you, our times together, is spared and remains as it was.

Theatre Dreams

I had a dream last night little sweetheart. I was doing a play somewhere. Somewhere familiar from my past, as if I’d been there before. A little bit like DC, I think. The important thing is tho, that it was a play of Tom Stoppard’s and he was there. I think we might’ve been rehearsing and there was a break. I was alone with him in a room, kind of more like a hall. It was quiet and dark as if we’d left the theatre itself and were keeping our voices down and wandering alone with our thoughts when we found ourselves there together. And… I reminded him about you. I spoke your name. I told him how much you loved doing “Rock n Roll”. We hugged and I cried. “She loved you”, I said. And I told him how much I loved and missed you. It was kind of wonderful. It reminded me of your story of him backstage in Boston. Like he was on the other side of a fence or something, came back to talk to you. I love it when you’re in my dreams in any way at all. I brings me near you.

All Roads Lead

Little sweetheart, it's late. I'm watching West Wing and trying not to eat an entire box of gingersnaps. Every thing is about you, little sweetheart. All roads lead there... 

I remember that before I came to SF to do the play and meeting you, I also liked cookies. I didn't have a sweet tooth in all the years I was drinking but I was sober now and I liked Chips Ahoy. They were my go-to. But for some reason when I was living in that little basement back apartment in Bernal Heights where they put me up during the play, I started eating gingersnaps. My grandpa liked them, I remember. I would come home to that place after rehearsal and just be alone. There was a Blockbuster Video a little ways away and I bought a few DVDs marked down as 4 for $20. I'd watch them on my laptop and snack on gingersnaps and sometimes text people I knew asking them to come see the play. They were all out of town. Either in LA or back in NYC. I was lonely. No one would come over. But you did. 

And you changed my life. You were there. You made your way in. I didn't have to ask. 

And I'm still feeling every wave of what you set in motion. Your pictures and things surround me. You are in my first thoughts as I wake and my last as I lay down to sleep. You're not here but in a way - ways I can't entirely describe - you very much are. I need you. You're everything.

Love you forever. 

An Anniversary of Sorts...

Little sweetheart, today is my sobriety anniversary. I have funny feelings about it, especially when I think about what you might say. I was sober for 5 years before I met you and all through our time together you said you didn't think I was an alcoholic, that I should be able to have a drink with you (and you didn't even drink hardly ever, so there's that...) or with your folks at Christmas or on some special occasion and even get a bit drunk. "It's okay when you're happy," you said, "just don't drink when you're sad". And I think I understand that now, my love. Because when I was with you I was so very very happy. I was safe. I think I clung to sobriety at that point because it was tied into who I thought I was. My self-identifying as The Guy Who Doesn't Drink. Like a lot of things I regret, that has more to do with ego than what's real or right. The real thing is love. Our love. The great gift of you and my gratitude - there can never be enough - for your finding and loving me. After the tragedy, my little sweetheart, I'm afraid I did quite a lot of drinking. And I certainly wasn't happy. And didn't you tell me, my darling not to do that? So, I feel a bit better this time having stopped. It's two years today, little sweetheart. I'll wait to have a little drink with you when we're together again. I know you like White Russians, especially at Christmas, or a little mulled wine. Is there a nice cozy place for a drink there in The Forever, my darling? Will you take me sometime? Love you with all my heart and soul...