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name: will baker blogrollin' other sites: |
numbering my days
"When we�ve been there ten thousand years I. An End... Tonight, Miguel and I spent New Year�s Eve with our friends at Candlelight. For those of you who don�t live in San Antonio, Candlelight is a coffee house, wine bar, and caf� that has occupied a bright, cheerful space on a corner of St. Mary�s street for the past 10 years. The open interior, populated with tables and chairs and lined with comfortable old sofas, looks out onto the shady courtyards that surround the building on three sides. I have frequented Candlelight for over 10 years. I have written papers there, read books there, had great conversations there, gone on first dates there, gone on last dates there, hatched countless plots there, held endless committee meeting there...I could go on an on. When I first got sober, I attended a gay/lesbian AA group that met in a little house across the street. I used to go straight from work to Candlelight, where I would chain smoke and drink cup after cup of coffee, white-knuckling it through "Happy Hour" and waiting for the AA meeting to start. My friends and I have played countless games of Scrabble (thanks for all the words, Peter!), held book groups, plotted and schemed, worried and rejoiced over cups of the best coffee in town. In the last 10 years, I have probably eaten more meals at Candlelight than at my parents� house (and Diana�s cooking is just as good as my mom�s). All of this is on my mind because in early December, I learned that Peter and Diana were throwing in the towel. I have never grieved over the closing of a business before, but this news truly broke my heart. It was like hearing of the death of an old friend. I don�t think I ever realized how many of the wonderful moments of my life had happened in that little coffee house. Apparently, I was not alone. The entire community was shocked and saddened by this news. We initially heard that Candlelight was to be closed, but then a buyer came forward. As matters now stand, Candlelight will reopen on January 7 under new ownership. I�m glad it will still be open, to be sure...but I doubt it will ever be the same. The character of places comes from the people who inhabit them, and the character of a place like Candlelight stems directly from the personalities of its proprietors. Peter and Diana, the couple who have owned and managed Candlelight for the past decade, are of a rare sort of people: hard-working, tasteful, unpretentious, and hospitable to a fault. They are the sort of folks that people used to call "salt of the earth," though "pillars of the world" might be more fitting. What sustains the human world, if not hard work, generosity, and care? For me, Candlelight was a sort of home away from home. For gay and lesbian people in San Antonio, it�s been a public "living room", the one place for us that wasn�t a dark, cramped bar full of loud, bad music and loud, bad drunks. It was one of the last places you could smoke indoors, before the Pleasure Police got that outlawed with a city ordinance. So tonight, we welcomed the new year in our old haunt among friends new and old, as has been my habit for the past several years. For New Years, Peter and Diana put out a beautiful buffet and hire a string quartet. Everyone eats and drinks and circulates to greet old friends. As midnight nears, the staff passes out silly hats and noisemakers, and everyone gathers inside to count down to the end of the year. At the stroke of midnight, Auld Lang Syn plays as we all toast one another, kiss and hug our loved ones, cheer and shout, blow paper horns, etc. The quartet then plays a soft, slow rendition of Amazing Grace and the evening begins to wind down. It�s not the sort of big, loud, brassy party that so many people seem to enjoy, but it makes me deeply happy. We greet another turning of the great world with joy and gladness, and I wouldn�t wish for anything else. All in all, it was typical of Peter and Diana, which is to say: suffused with an elegance that springs not from formality, but from a genuine graciousness that is rare indeed. Peter and Diana are, in fact, the most singularly gracious people I have ever known; they exemplify the dying art of hospitality: taking pleasure in the pleasure of others, presenting the very best to everyone without regard for status, and making their place into a home for all of us. They always treated their customers like guests in their home, and that, more than anything, is what made Candlelight special. Because there are so few gracious people left in the world, it is hard for me to imagine that Candlelight will ever be the same. Peter and Diana: Thank you for all these good years. I couldn�t begin to number the important moments of my life that happened in your little caf�. Your graciousness has graced so many of our lives, and I pray that your lives will be filled with grace precisely in proportion to the generous hospitality you have shown to everyone who walked through your doors. We will miss you very, very much. II. An Interlude... "Do not say, 'Why were the former days better than these?' For it is not from wisdom that you ask this." �Ecclesiastes 7:10, NRSV All things pass, and their passing makes them precious. Every moment has its meaning, for even in times of adversity, we live. "For those who are joined to the living, there is hope." God, give me a grateful heart. Open my eyes and unstop my ears. I don�t want to miss a moment of this graced life. Protect me from wasting my days and years with resentment, or wistful remembrance, or fear, or expectation. Keep my arms open to embrace the gift of this very moment. "So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom." III. Beginnings... "In the day of prosperity be joyful, and in the day of adversity, consider: God has made the one as well as the other, so that mortals may not find out anything that will come after them." �Ecclesiastes 7:14, NRSV 2004 has been a prosperous year for me. I have been happier in my 30th year than I have been in a very long time. My financial life has matured a great deal, but that�s not entirely what I mean by "prosperous". My heart feels full. My relationship with my mom and dad has grown and deepened in a way that I can only describe as an answer to prayer. I know who my friends are. My days are taken up by good work, work that I am proud to do. In April, I will have been at BEAT AIDS for 3 years, and my job is still interesting and challenging to me. In July, I will complete the first year of my three year term on the Board of Directors of the Diversity Center (formerly the Gay + Lesbian Community Center of San Antonio). That�s been a challenging position. Former staff and former Boards had practically driven that organization into the ground, and when I was elected, I half-suspected that I was going to help preside over the orderly death of the Center. As it turned out, though, we�ve gotten help and hope from many unexpected sources. Although it�s been a tumultuous time of many transitions, and although we�re still broke most of the time, there is a real sense that the Center has "turned a corner", and I believe that we are on a path to growth and stability. Though I can only claim a small portion of the credit for this, I must admit that I�m very proud of my involvement with the Center this year. This year�s election was a disappointment, but I take comfort in the fact that "the Lord is known by his acts of justice; the wicked are trapped by the work of their own hands. For the needy shall not always be forgotten, and the hope of the poor shall not perish forever." (Psalm 9:16,18) In January, Miguel and I will have been dating for 3 months, and we�ve made a most promising start. I have never been more comfortable with anyone. I�m happy when I�m with him. It�s relatively uncomplicated...we don�t argue much, we spend a lot of time together, and we laugh a great deal. He is kind and funny, generous and intelligent, and exceedingly considerate. And he seems to like me for who I am, lumps and all. That may sound pretty basic, but I have dated countless guys who seemed not to see anything but what I�m not. That starts to hurt after a while. Since I�ve not mentioned Miguel before, I guess I should explain that he�s deaf, and I am in the process of learning American Sign Language. That in itself has been an adventure, but I have a lot of fun with it. Since I�m learning ASL specifically to communicate with Miguel, I have an added incentive and opportunities for daily practice. He says I�m doing well, though of course I wish I was further along than I am. But when worse comes to worse we can always type out what we�re trying to say on my laptop or his SideKick. And for all of that, his smile is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud to me. The future will be what it will be, of course, but I have a feeling Miguel and I will walk through life together for some time to come. Maybe for a very long time. The future will be what it will be. Everything changes. Everything passes. Everything ends. It is our nature to imagine that it can be otherwise, I guess. And maybe that�s the best part of us: our penchant to try to build a world that can endure. It�s a tragic vocation, to be sure, but tragic in the true sense of the word: a doomed cause that is nevertheless great, a calling that is highest and best. And so we hold tight to our friends and family, imagining that we can hold them forever. And so we build traditions and institutions, imagining that they will stand forever. We know better, of course, when we are honest. But no matter. So much of the goodness in our lives comes from the friends and family who have held us tight, and from the traditions and institutions erected by those who came before us. Nothing lasts forever, but some things endure for a time, and they are like the tree of life to those who cling to them. So we too will build and hold and hope. It�s the least we can do. My New Year�s Resolutions: To take pleasure in what is, rather than worry about what is not; If you�ve read this far, I wish you a hopeful and happy new year. "One day tells its tale to another,
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