30 Years

Today is the thirtieth anniversary of my meeting R Man in the back room of a sleazy bar in New Orleans called Jewels. Thirty years. I wasn’t even thirty when I met him. While the moment is poignant, I’m trying not to be all mopey and stuff and I seem to be doing ok. Still, when he was cremated and I got the ashes back (doesn’t the funeral industry’s preferred term, “cremains” seem creepier than something as straightforward and accurate as “ashes”?) I couldn’t face scattering them, so I decided to wait for this anniversary instead. In April it was plenty far off enough to be safe somehow. Now that it’s here, I still dread the whole sad idea, so I’m putting it off indefinitely. My plan is to stand at the top of our backyard, where there is almost always a breeze and toss them down into the yard, someday. Turns out that is illegal in San Francisco which adds a tiny frisson to it, but not much.
To mark our anniversary, I’m going out to dinner tonight with a gang who also loved R Man. We’re headed over to Berkeley to the reliably fabulous Chez Panisse. I’m taking Vicodin and a camera with me. Details to follow.
In the meantime, here’s some houseboy pussy, complete with Stupid Hair, the bane of cute boys everywhere.

10 responses »

  1. It is always difficult to know what to do in such situations. However, thought I would share a story.

    Many years ago a close friend of my Mum died and she was cremated. It was her wish to have her ashes scattered from Edinburgh Castle. So Mum and a group of friends of the deceased went with the ashes to Edinburgh Castle.

    Of course scattering the ashes was illegal but the old ladies conspired together and had a small impromptu ceremony as they huddled together at one of the castle ramparts. Waiting and then releasing the ashes over the castle edge.

    The deceased was a bit of a trickster and a wind whipped up and the ashes they scattered to the wind blew back in their faces. They all scurried away laughing, trying not to draw to much attention to themselves. She had the last laugh. Can't you just imagine the scene?


  2. I had my late partner's ashes (not “cremains”, what is it with people these days that they feel the need to make up words?) in an urn as a nifty doorstop for ages. He didn't mind. He would have liked the boy with the stupid hair, though..! Jx


  3. Ah….my dear peenee.
    I'll be thinking of you two when I'm passing that sleazy bar this weekend.
    I'll say a little prayer to the god of sleazy bars everywhere for you both.


  4. After an amazing 30 years together, you don't have to rush any decisions as what to do with his ashes.

    As for your celebratory dinner, i'll raise a virtual glass of champers to you and r man, to a remarkable 30 year love affair, relationship and friendship!

    stupid hair is stupid.


  5. Peenee – you know I've been mopey over the anniversary of Mom's death. When she died, she died. I miss her. Per her wishes, she was cremated. Per her wishes “Don't you waste a lot of money on that funeral nonsense.” So she got a “value priced” ash container that was cultured marble, which was fitting because Mom loved cultured marble and used it whenerever she redid a bathroom. Then when it came to the burial of the ashes (the family owns a sizeable lot at the cemetery) the funeral director wanted me to spend $750 on a “cremains Vault” – in Ohio you can't inter ashes in just the urn, you have to also have a vault to prevent a collapse. But her final wishes were her final wishes and used a “value vault”. I don't feel bad or like it's over, it just is.

    The husband and I have decided that our cremains are to mixed and then buried together in his family plot in Wellesley, Massachusetts.


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