Pen and Ink

Scary Halloween.

The first set of Halloween pictures John sent were cute.  These?  Not so much.

Halloween fun.

John sent these to me a few weeks ago. I've been saving them for today. Happy Halloween!

In memorium.

A frequent question among fundraisers is, "How did you get into fundraising?" We often ask each other because no one -- and I mean no one -- intentionally decides to do this for a living. Every person's story is different.

My story has to do with two men. One, a development professional at a major New England university. The other was the dean of a college within that university.

I had interviewed to become the communications manager for the school, making it all the way to the final interview with "Dean S." As I left his office he said, "It was nice to meet you. I certainly hope you're the person we'll be working with." 

Can't ask for better than that, can you?

The next day the call came with this message: "We're giving that job to someone else, but the dean would like you to consider becoming our development officer."

Long story short, I took the job, even though I had no fundraising experience. That was ok, because the school had no experience with it either. It was the blind leading the blind.

Dean S gave me simple instructions. "I don't care if you raise a penny. Just get our alumni reconnected with the school."  He gave me an office, an assistant, a computer, and a budget. And then he left me alone.

About a year into my tenure there, I learned that at the time of my interview, Dean S had no intention of hiring a development officer. He created the job for me.

Wow.  That had never happened before.

For seven years I stayed in that job, doing all sorts of crazy-ass things. Working like a dog, getting people connected with the school. I traveled the country. I created events. I engaged volunteers. I did pretty much whatever I wanted.

Dean S gave me free reign. He allowed me to fail, if that's what it took for us to learn something. I don't think, though, that we ever failed. On the contrary, we had a lot of success.

A few weeks ago I received the school's newsletter, in which it was announced that the Dean was retiring after 30 years in that position. He had joined the school in 1962, the year I was born. Who stays anywhere that long?

I started crafting a letter to him in my head. It's often how I write. I wanted to share with him how much my experience working with and for him meant to me, how much it has enabled me to do in my life.

Then last week, while at work, I checked my personal email and found a message from my former assistant, with whom I am still in touch.

Dean S passed away last weekend. Complications from a brain tumor.

I sat frozen staring at my computer screen. Someone came in and asked what was wrong. My eyes welled up with tears as I related what had happened.

Dean S was someone who saw something in the 28-year old me. He gave me an opportunity and left me to figure out what to do with it. We had our dust-ups, to be sure. But I learned a lot on so many levels.

I'm sorry that I never got to send him the letter. It will still be written. I'll mail it to R, his wife.

To Dean S: rest in peace.

Decadence.

Last week, while talking with Christopher on the phone about the dinner party he was hosting last Friday, I inquired about the menu.

Chris is one of those rare people who can cook and bake equally well. Dinner was to be minestrone, salad, green beans and lasagne. All good things in my book. Dessert, he offered, was to be cheesecake and chocolate pie.

I'm not a cheesecake person and I assumed that chocolate pie would consist of chocolate mousse in a pie shell. I'm not really into chocolate mousse either.

Well, I was wrong.

Chocolate pie was really "decadent fudge pie."  Oh my. Was it ever so good. And healthy too; it only had 1 1/2 sticks of butter! 

Calories aside, it was amazing. For you chocolate lovers, let me know and I'll send you the recipe.

A wink and a smile.

I'm not a voyeur. I swear. But I just had to tell this story.

Recently I had been at a couple of meetings and met this guy named A. He's in his mid-thirties, I'd say, and is a community activist and currently running for his first political office. He's a nice looking guy -- gay -- and pretty well educated from what I could tell.

I was at the city's Oktoberfest a few weeks ago and A was there with his partner D. Like A, D is very nice looking but I would say is a bit younger, maybe late 20s. I know they've been together for a few years and are a really good looking couple.

Much of my time at Oktoberfest was spent behind the table that our coalition of homeowners groups had set up. Generally I don't get into events like Oktoberfest, but I attended to help out this fledgling coalition. I saw A and chatted with him for a bit, but I didn't meet D.

While I like people watching, I don't like to invade people's privacy. But from my vantage point behind the table, I witnessed a heart-warming interaction between partners, lovers.

"I'm going over there," said D to A.

"OK, I'll be there in a minute," responded A.

Then there was the moment. They winked at each other and smiled.

It happened in the blink of an eye and they moved away from each other. But it spoke volumes. These two are a couple. They're in love. They're a team. (And they're just too cute for words.)

It was special to see and made me smile. I wanted to say "aaaawwwww" out loud, but didn't dare.

Back in Boston

I'm back in Boston this weekend.

After getting to Chris and Drew's place on Friday evening, I went back out for a quick walk to the supermarket. It was a perfect fall evening.  Leaves on the ground, the brisk air, the smells of fires emanating from chimneys. I do miss it.

The occasion of my trip is a co-mingling of "family" events. My mom turned 70 earlier this month; my uncle -- her brother -- turns 60. So they decided to get together to celebrate these milestone birthdays.

I flew up as a surprise for my mother. I do like surprising my parents in fun ways. My father knew I was going to be here, but Mom didn't have a clue. Chris and Drew called them a couple of weeks ago and invited them to dinner for last night. Martin and Michael were here too, along with Martin's parents. Our parents have known each other for years as we were all members of the same church.

When my parents pulled into the driveway, I hid myself upstairs in the bedroom. I could hear Mom and Dad come in and then be surprised by seeing the additional guests they didn't here.  Then I made my move.

I called the house phone from my cell. My mom got on the line and I asked the obligatory, "How was the drive up?" questions.  She asked what I was doing and I told her I was on the highway driving home from work.

Then I started to sneak down stairs.

She said, "Oh, guess who's here? Martin and Michael and Martin's parents."  Then she asked if I wanted to talk to Martin.

By this time, I was downstairs. I said, "No, I already talked to him."

Now I was standing in the doorway, behind her." "Wait," she said, "say that again?"

At this point, everyone just started laughing and she turned around and saw me.  She couldn't believe it.  She was even more surprised that everyone -- my father, my uncle, my aunt -- knew about it and she didn't.

Tonight I'm off to dinner with Peter and Liz (uncle and aunt) and to meet my cousins Evan and Anna. I last saw Evan when he was an infant (I'm not even sure how old they are now). It should be fun.

Tomorrow I'll have breakfast with Chris and Drew and then meet the family in Boston to hang out before my flight back to Fort Lauderdale.

It's good to be back, even though it's chilly. I'm really missing this city.

And away I go.

It's been a killer week and I haven't had any free time to write.  I'm dying to, but it just hasn't happened.

I'm off in the morning for a weekend in Boston. I may write a bit while I'm up there. If not, look for new postings next week.

Have a fab weekend.

Soon, very soon.

I'm sitting in bed with my laptop. It's 11:37 p.m. I haven't written in days. 

New posts coming soon, I promise.  I have a bunch of idea ticklers in the system, but just haven't gotten to them.

iTunes is dangerous.

As I wandered through the internet the other day, I stopped by the website for one of my favorite singers, Annie Haslam, the former lead of Renaissance. I noted that she had a new album out, so off I went to iTunes.

Dangerous place, that iTunes.

Not only did I download the album I was looking for, but found another by the same artist. It's so easy to press that little "Buy Now" button. Of course, once I was there, I had to browse a little more.

Hmmm...duet album with Marin Mazzie and Jason Danieley. Well, sure, OK.

This isn't good. So I stopped.

Later that night John and I found ourselves with time to kill before theater, so we went to Barnes & Noble. There I perused the CDs and picked up Courage by Paula Cole. I hadn't heard of her before, but really liked her sound.  And then, much to the chagrin of B&N (if they knew about it), I started making notes on some other performers that I took a fancy too.  Ben Lee, Sophie Millman, Pink Martini.  Oh, and then there's the new Annie Lennox. (It may come as a surprise to some of you, but I do listen to more than Broadway cast albums.)

Yeah, iTunes, is a pretty dangerous place.

What did I do?

Unanswered questions frustrate me to no end. Especially when I'm a key part of the question.

Years ago I met a guy named David. He worked for a major non-profit in Washington, DC, and I worked for a university in Boston. We became acquainted because our two organizations worked together on a major national initiative. While others took the glory, David and I really were the brains behind the project.

We struck up a very nice relationship. There was a certain chemistry between us (don't get the wrong idea; we were both "married" at the time). He was smart, articulate, had a great Aussie accent, and worked for a Major American Family.

Whenever I would have to travel to DC, I would stay with David and his partner. David, in turn, would stay with Mike and me during visits to Boston, one of his favorite American cities. We became very close friends.

The friendship was real. The barometer for was that our relationship flourished after we were no longer working together. In fact, we never had to rely on our past work history to keep us together as friends.

David bounced around from job to job, eventually landing in Palm Springs. He was doing freelance work, but just couldn't focus. We'd have so many conversations about his work and creative ideas, but I swear, he had adult ADD. So bright and creative, but he just couldn't get it together. David was struggling and essentially broke. At one point he had suicidal feelings and reached out to me for help.

'Round about that time, I was planning my move to Florida.  I had to simultaneous job offers -- one affiliated with a university, the other leading a gay and lesbian organization. I chose the former, believing that it would be better for my career (it was, as it turns out). However, I suggested to the president of the board of the gay group that they talk to David.

He flew down for the interview and stayed with me in my little transition apartment. He got the job, and moved to South Florida at the beginning of March with his mangy but likable McTavish. Mac, rescued from the dog shelter, wasn't in the best of health. He smelled and shed like crazy. But he was David's companion.

I invited them to stay in the transition apartment for a month until David got settled and until Mike joined me from Boston.

I extended myself to David in every way possible. Being a good friend and confidant when he was feeling low. Giving him some money when he needed it. Helping him find a job and give him a free place to stay until he could get an apartment.

Three weeks into our planned four-week co-habitation something changed. David stopped talking to me. Just whatever he had to say and that was it. I kept asking what I did wrong, but he told me that it was nothing. He went with me one evening to Barnes & Noble, but that was the last thing we did together.

I reminded him that he needed to move out because Mike was arriving, so he arranged to get another room in the guest house where we were living. After that, I never saw him or heard from him.

About a year later his name was in the press, as he had a key role in running the gay organization into the ground. There were weird accusations, and knowing him as I did, it would not surprise me if they were true.

But since then, there's nothing about him. I Googled him the other day, but nada. I don't know where he's living. Or if he's living.

It's so perplexing. I can't imagine that he and I would ever be friends again, but I still would like to know what I did to offend.