And I wept….

I’ve gotten teary eyed a bit at some of the weddings I’ve performed. Tonight, after performing the ceremony, I excused myself to a corner and wept for a moment. It all just came together in my head and I wept.

For the love these two men share.
For the love of their family.
For the joyful thing happening in front of me.
For the idea that someday I’ll find my own husband.
And for the men who died before this could happen.

I pushed the tears out of my eyes and went back to the party.

Trying to write the wedding ceremony of two men I’ve known for 10 years.

No pressure. Nope. None.

Here’s what I have so far.

——————————————

Friends and family,

I am so honored to be standing here today, celebrating the union of two people I have known in one form or another for almost a decade. I have known them when they were just friends. I knew them when they were roommates. And now I have had the joy of knowing them as they have become lovers and partners.

And now these two men are building a new life together… in a new home… and in a new city. From the way they refer to each other as “my Nick” or “my Yuri” to the way they have quite simply and easily settled into a life together, they are already married in every sense except the procedural one. Today is just the next logical step for them as they publically and legally make their commitment and their vows to each other.

So without anything further

Nick, do you take Yuri to be your lawfully wedded husband?

(I do)

Do you promise love him, honor him, and cherish him for the rest of your life.

(I do)

Yuri, do you take Nick to be your lawfully wedded husband?

(I do)

Do you promise love him, honor him, and cherish him for the rest of your life.

(I do)

Please join hands.

(Stephen hands Nick of them a piece of ribbon)

Nick, repeat after me, “Yuri, this ribbon is symbol of my love, my commitment and my b9ond to you.

(Stephen hands Yuri of them a piece of ribbon)

Yuri, repeat after me, “Nick, this ribbons is symbol of my love, my commitment and my bond to you.”

And now by the power vested in my by the state of California, I now pronounce you husbands for life. Please kiss your husband.

Lazy Locavores

Lazy locavores? Yeah, it makes total sense to me.

Eating locally raised food is a growing trend. But who has time to get to the farmer’s market, let alone plant a garden?

That is where Trevor Paque comes in. For a fee, Mr. Paque, who lives in San Francisco, will build an organic garden in your backyard, weed it weekly and even harvest the bounty, gently placing a box of vegetables on the back porch when he leaves.

Call them the lazy locavores — city dwellers who insist on eating food grown close to home but have no inclination to get their hands dirty. Mr. Paque is typical of a new breed of business owner serving their needs.

Via:

Another Salad

Drop a handful of leaves in a bowl and hum a tune. What’s it from? Oklahoma? Gypsy? It takes a minute while you’re dicing up a carrot to figure out its The Carpenters.

Irony, you think to yourself, is a bitch.

Drop the cut up carrots in the bowl with the leaves and pivot on your heel. Grab the onion and get that reduced down to cubes and tetrahedrons and polygonical bits. You’re good with a knife, but you could be better. Not playing with a knife everyday means less practice and less skill and less proficiency.

Open the bag of precooked chicken from the pseudo hippie-woo-woo grocery store (which is different than the organic grocery store) that you were surprised to see selling smaller portions on styrofoam. You made a mental note to report them to the city and stop shopping there all together. While you listen to the Nightly Business Report (Goodnight Susie!) ramble about the GDP dropping as vegetable prices rose 6% on the 2nd quarter, you shred the chicken with your hands into the big bowl.

Look at it all lying there and once again win the war with the camera. A picture would be nice but not really challenging. You pick up the camera and take a picture of it just so you can say you did it. Still it needs something.

A 6oz container of cottage cheese gets up ended into the bowl with a couple of glugs of olive oil. The green against the white which is against the beige which is against the orange which is against the green again looks great. You take a picture of that too knowing it will never be seen by any one anyway anyhow.

Tongs toss the whole mess. A fork shovels the first bits into your mouth where you’re instantly as bored with the flavor as you would be having to sit through a conversation with Miley Cyrus (Miyllie? Meyley?) The pantry gets yanked open and the seeds and the pods and the leaves and the thistles get dropped in and the crystallized salt and the pulverized pepper follow. The tongs get back in there. Over the sink you get brutal with the mixing just like you used to when you were making salads like this for 100 people. You do it over the sink because just as you expected, you make a huge mess, because like your knife skills, this skill has diminished with time.

You don’t think about how you feel like your beloved skills are gone but instead you grab a beer out of the bottom of the fridge and go into the living room and looks at want ads for jobs you’ll never apply to just to make yourself feel connected and in the game. As you search you hum another tune? The Carpenters? No… Sondheim, West Side Story.

Could be.. who knows….

Hot Salad

Hot Salad

  1. On the way home from therapy, stop by organic grocery store. Plan on flirting with daddy-ish butcher who always takes his time to talk to you but instead get the other guy who barely speaks English. Repeat “one pound of bacon” five times. Get 2 chicken breasts. Bone in is better, but you worked your ass in therapy today and you’re tired.
  2. Walk home. Take the long way past the dog park and laugh as you watch French bull dog puppy terrorize a husky who keeps trying to lie down only to get attacked by this 8 inch tall black furry thing. Ponder standing there to watch this joyful thing a while until you remember you have raw chicken in your messenger bag.
  3. Get home and place cast iron skillet on stove. You know the one you’ve used so much you only have to season it on week ends? Crank up the heat under it. All the way up.
  4. Cut the chicken up into 1″ pieces.
  5. Drop two big soup spoon fulls of bacon fat in the smoking hot pan. As it melts, dice 2 of the small carrots, the left over cucumber and the left over orange pepper from last night. Spy remaining peeled garlic cloves in the fridge. Toss them in the melting fat and then toss the container in the recycling. You do recycle, don’t you?
  6. Let the garlic get brown on a couple of sides. Add the chicken, Season with s&p. Cook through but just barely.
  7. In a large bowl add a big handful of salad greens, the chopped vegetables and some torn up parsley.
  8. remove chicken and garlic cloves to a plate to cool a little. Pour 1/4 rice wine vinegar into pan and reduce by half. Pour hot vinegar and fat over salad.
  9. Add chicken and toss to cover.
  10. Start to open package of herbed organic tortilla wraps until you are once again reminded that your pants are leaving marks on your midsection where they’re too tight. Grab big bowl, plop down in front of cable arts programming. Change channel to watch Days of Our Lives on soap net instead. Enjoy bacony, chickeny, veggie salad. Wonder who the hell half of these people are on this show because you haven’t watched it in years.
  11. Win staring contest with camera when it reminds you to take pictures of your dinner.