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.
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.
Cocktails and Conversation. Driving along U.S. Highway 4 across Vermont, Dan keeps asking if I’m okay; he says I’m being awfully quiet. As we pass tree-covered hills, and clear rushing streams called rivers here, the list of things we have to do is compiling in my mind. And with the list comes all the associated costs.
During the tour yesterday, Patty brought up alcohol service. Do you want an open bar? An open bar during the cocktail hour then going to a cash bar during dinner? Open beer and wine, with cash mixed drinks? Or do you want to give out drink coupons, and when the drink coupons are gone, guests can purchase more coupons? I don’t know! I haven’t thought about these sort of things, and nor do I really want to. How complicated can we make cocktail service?
Truth is, I’m not okay. Thinking about all the details, I feel like I’m having a heart attack. Under normal circumstances, I could toss this together with my eyes closed in an afternoon. Although I’m quickly realizing this is not a normal circumstance. This is not a wedding defining something new, or something we are beginning. Instead this is a celebration of where we have been and where we continue to go. We’re asking those closest to our hearts to join us in celebration. Thinking about how the details of the weekend will come together in celebration, my emotional sentimental side wants to say it won’t be complete if one person is missing from our guest list. As a result, I really want to send a plane ticket and travel arrangements to 120 people and simply say, “We’ll see you there.”
Of course, logic takes over. Not only can we never afford this, I know not everyone will be able to make it. And I know the decisions we make will influence people’s ability to join us. I also would like a weekend where people come together, catch up with old friends, connect with friends they have always heard about but never had the chance to meet. The latter is more a form of structure - placing people together in the same space, and planning activities that force interaction.
Bringing all these elements together feels like trying to land a 747 without having the instruction book. Knowing people will have to drain their savings traveling across the country to be with us, it seems the simplest thing we could do to extend our appreciation for such a sacrifices would be to buy them their cocktails.
I don’t know why pondering the multitude of upcoming decisions creates so much anxiety. We bring people together every day, and with great success. Although, bouncing around in the back seat of this Ford Explorer as the country drifts by, maybe it’s not anxiety at all. Maybe it’s just constipation.
Herding The Gay Boys. The four of us have become accustomed to entire rooms stopping when we enter. We’re not sure why, sometimes, it’s just something that happens. Last weekend us four were rendezvousing at Mary’s. As Tony and I were approaching the door, a guy I recognized as a regular but don’t know walked out. “Dan and Sean are inside already, guys,” he said. I turned to Tony and we both asked if we knew him. And when we all gather together inside, there is a moment when the bartenders acknowledge us as if the evening can now begin because the Kirkwooders have arrived.
So we were not surprised by the turning heads and dropped jaws when we entered the Rainbow Cattle Company in Dummerston, just south of Springfield. One of two gay bars in Vermont, we stumbled in on their monthly Leather Night. It was quite a scene - a line of martini glasses, dropped jaws and pink hard hats, the latter an effort ‘to butch it up.’
We paid our $3 cover and walked to the bar. “Could I open a tab?” I asked.
“We don’t do tabs, honey. It’s pay as you go, and cash only.” The line of pink hard hats giggled. Their eyes had not left us since we walked in the door.
“Oh, well, then, one of my men will pick up the tab,” I said, punctuating with a confident hair flip. “___ sent us. From the Hartness House.”
“Oh, China. Yeah, we know him.” The entire bar exhaled, they nodded and collectively acknowledged that we were okay. In this one moment, we transformed from misplaced strangers to the freshest cuts of meat available off the delivery truck.
From that point on, we were the attraction. The highlight of the night. The bartenders welcomed Tony and versed him in an oral history of Drag in Vermont, pointing to their “Drag Wall of Fame” containing four photos taken at their monthly drag show. They walked him through their DVD collection, which was lacking in some gay staples, which we pointed out and offered friendly suggestions.
Sean cut up the dance floor with heavily sideburned Jayson, a floral designer, interior designer and event planner (read weddings) who lives in Vermont. The black woman living in Sean’s ass came alive, showing Vermont a thing or two, teaching boys who could not dance how to dance.
Dan got the story on the gay scene from a gentleman in a black mock turtleneck, who liked his martinis slightly dirty, and slowly sipped it through the night.
And I, of course, gravitated to the the only ‘straight’ guy in town, who had moved from Florida and was not happy with being in Vermont. He and his wife were there, and I later pieced together it was a marriage of convenience and they both enjoy swinging with others. From what I could gather, they had managed to sleep with everyone on the bar, and at the same time, piss them all off.
Later, a boy from an area college, who professed to be straight but progressive, tried to convince us to go to another bar in town. As much as he shunned our flirting and tolerated it in good spirit, he really wanted us to go with him to hang out. “It’s a straight bar, right?” I’d ask. “Yes,” he said. “Hello, have you ever seen the Laramie Project?”
Once the bartender sat down and started drinking with Tony, he got the story on all the folks at the bar. Driving back, we reflected on the evening, and came to realize when you live in Vermont, you’re on your own. You develop what ever sense of community you can, and out of respect for protecting that community, you guard its privacy, including the privacy of others. And that’s when we realized, yet again, we were not just bar-hopping, but bar-stopping.
