T-Time
Kitchen was a success today, but, not necessarily because of Operation: Vivien Leigh. In fact, it got off to a rocky start when it became obvious at half past nine this morning that Huggy Bear would not be leading the Morning service. Herb was. Things went briskly enough once the service started - there were no hymns or homily - not even a Peace. There were some embellishments thrown in by Herb from what source, I couldn't tell. But, for the most part, it was all recited out of the BCP.
The service was over before the traditional Saturday Kitchen opening circle. When I stopped by the actual kitchen, I saw Robert first and waved to him and his motion in my direction alerted Crosby who waved also. Without Huggy Bear, however, I didn't have the heft needed to summon him from across the room. The good news is that, ultimately, I wouldn't need Huggy Bear to play wing man for me; things worked out all by themselves.
Things seemed moderately under control; the line outside did not seem overly large. There seemed to be just enough volunteers. I really wanted to go home. Had Pale Male not arrived at that very moment when I was making my way out, I probably would have.
In point of fact, Pale Male didn't want to be that any more than I did, but, for reasons he wouldn't explain to me. Something happened at Midnight Marauders last night, but, I don't think that had anything to do with it. At any rate, we both delayed the other just long enough to keep us lingering in the lobby just as the bell for opening circle rang.
It was a fairly conventional morning. I was back on place mat duty. There were no storm surges like last week. The only surprise was the sudden return of a giant kettle of soup, the first that I had seen in months.
"We've always had soup." Crosby interjected as he single-handedly hauled it in from the kitchen, "Where have you been?" I turned to Pale Male as if to say, "Am I completely crazy or what?" He gave a diplomatic shrug of the shoulders.
I don't particularly like many of the volunteers. Very few of them are St. Michael's members. They're task-oriented and kind of humorless. There are two women who commandeer the double sink where dishes are washed. You cannot go within five feet of them without incurring a rebuke of some sort. I asked for a little soap and water for the sponges and they directed me to a different sink. When I returned a thick terry cloth towel that had barely been used (to dry the inside of the coffee and tea urns) they tossed it into a pile of far dirtier items at the bottom of the sink, insisting it now had to be "sent to the laundry". After one use? Seriously?
The one saving grace of the entire morning was that Crosby was in excellent good humor. Something you would expect of someone getting laid on a regular basis would be.
He has gotten very good at needling me. Only a good friend can get away with that. And, he knows just how to do it. He can't stand it when I'm looking shy or withdrawn - as I was when asking for the soap and water - and, will proceed, at will, to make me so self-conscious that I have no choice but to come out of my shell.
"Hello, Mr. Medley "
"I think I'm going to call you by your last name from now on."
"You don't mind do you?"
I thought I knew where he was going with this. Most people when they kid me about my name, go off on a musical tangent. "Well, it is a very musical name", I tried to counter. But, no. He went off on this riff about it reminding him of a "high school English teacher" One who "reads poetry out loud to his class."
I don't remember how the riff ended, but, I couldn't wait to start wiping down the tables oh, yes I do: I had so much trouble trying not to laugh that I almost used The Lord's name in vain. I said something like, "You know, if we weren't in a church right now, I'd have an answer for you.", and hightailed it back to the tables.
A little while later as Kitchen was actually winding down, Crosby came back to inform me that there was some leftover spareribs which apparently were very good; I'd overheard several guests say so. He gave me a choice between coming back with him and having some or allowing him to "put some aside" for me. As I was right in the middle of clean-up, I chose the latter. I thought it was really sweet of him.
I spotted the beverage urns sitting by the Pantry Room sink. They would stay there if no one took the job of rinsing them out. This was how I got into trouble about the used towel. As I was doing so, Crosby came into the rather enclosed space to do some text messaging. It was obvious to whom he was texting and I called him on it.
"Oh, was that too obvious?"
Yes. And, I notice you answered to the word, "girlfriend".
"Yeah, she's my girlfriend."
That was news since two weeks ago, he was saying they were just friends.
As I was returning the soap dishes and sponges I needled Robert a little bit about the Men's Breakfast. He has acquired a reputation - deservedly, or not - as the resident cynic. This led to a conversation about teaching and leading seminars. He admired the way Frontpage was able to summarize everyone's thoughts at the end of his talk at the Men's Breakfast on Thursday. Robert feels that this is a much overlooked art as many of his students complain that such conversations "don't go anywhere."
Crosby joined us and we had a serious discussion for about fifteen minutes. Pale Male would not get drawn into it and waved a silent farewell once his coat was on. At one point I noticed that Crosby was examining his fingers for new cuts. I thought it would be a good way to open up a conversation about tattoos, but realized I was being rude to Robert who was in the middle of making a point.
Crosby ad I managed to be among the last to leave and I'm not sure whether it was because I was waiting for him or because he was waiting for me. Before we left, however, we had one more bit of business to settle. He asked, could he have one more spare rib to take home. I hadn't looked very carefully when I got around to collecting my plate which was sitting unobtrusively on the kitchen counter when I saw it. George helped me wrap it in some tinfoil so it wouldn't leak all over me in the subway. So, when I lifted the foil I was surprised to see five fat pieces of meat huddled together. It was more than enough to share. Crosby asked demurely whether he could take the biggest piece, sitting on the top. I said, "Sure." and, Crosby explained that he wanted to share with his roommmates someone back in his apartment.
I asked him about his Super Bowl party and whether he had a good time. He said, he did, that it was a small gathering. I got a sense that it was a small apartment. But, he also said that he was especially "happy" this morning because he got to come home to Innamorata, who was now living with him at least temporarily while her own apartment building was being fumigated (this is a very common New York phenomenon.) I could see the anticipation on his face.
"This is so great, to be able to just come home and share some food with my girlfriend."
"Let's get naked and eat ribs!", I interpreted for him. He blushed.
It occurred to me that he had mentioned her name shortly before; it was as the recipient of the fat spare rib. It was an unusual name and I had mistaken it for one of his male roommates. The whole thing made much more sense now.
Once out on the cold, icy streets, I could see just how happy his eyes really were. they were. the bluest I have ever seen them. half-way down the block I remembered that the red line was not running past our stop and that Crosby wold likely have to wait for the shuttle bus or walk uptown to Spanish Harlem. He chose to walk. And, I walked with him a little bit. It reminded me a little bit of those times when Father Shellito used to let me walk with him after church. They seemed to live in the same general part of town: up and to the right hand side of the island somewhere.
We covered a lot of territory in the conversation that followed. We geeked out on the Super Bowl a little bit ("It kind of left me hanging.") He took the time to ask me how I was doing (maybe, because he was tired of me asking questions about his sex life) and I talked a little bit about deciding to shave my beard that morning. Again, I thought it might be a great way to talk about tokens of masculinity - of which I think tattoos are a part. Imagine my surprise when Crosby said that he'd actually liked my scraggly, gray beard. This masculine/feminine dialectic is a hot topic between us.
"Yeah, I would have liked to have seen a little bit more of the 'Medley beard'", he said, "What made you decide to shave it off?"
I wasn't really sure why I had shaved it off, except that both he and Huggy seemed to have made similar decisions over the past month or so. At first, I blamed the end of the NFL season ("Time to end the whole masculinity thing.", I opined.) But, he wasn't buying it. Then, I alluded to his own late, lamented mustache.
"Did your girlfriend make you shave it off?"
"No. Matter of fact, she met me with it on." This led to another riff:
"The fact is, women have a hard time with hair on men. They may put up with it, but, basically, they love us in spite of it - not because of it."
But, my favorite part of the whole walk - which ended at 104 Street because I was tired of carrying the spare ribs - was when Crosby, still gushing over his new found love, described the moment when they both decided:
"I looked at her and she looked at me and we both said, 'Do you really want to do this?'"
Do what? Inquiring minds want to know!
The service was over before the traditional Saturday Kitchen opening circle. When I stopped by the actual kitchen, I saw Robert first and waved to him and his motion in my direction alerted Crosby who waved also. Without Huggy Bear, however, I didn't have the heft needed to summon him from across the room. The good news is that, ultimately, I wouldn't need Huggy Bear to play wing man for me; things worked out all by themselves.
Things seemed moderately under control; the line outside did not seem overly large. There seemed to be just enough volunteers. I really wanted to go home. Had Pale Male not arrived at that very moment when I was making my way out, I probably would have.
In point of fact, Pale Male didn't want to be that any more than I did, but, for reasons he wouldn't explain to me. Something happened at Midnight Marauders last night, but, I don't think that had anything to do with it. At any rate, we both delayed the other just long enough to keep us lingering in the lobby just as the bell for opening circle rang.
It was a fairly conventional morning. I was back on place mat duty. There were no storm surges like last week. The only surprise was the sudden return of a giant kettle of soup, the first that I had seen in months.
"We've always had soup." Crosby interjected as he single-handedly hauled it in from the kitchen, "Where have you been?" I turned to Pale Male as if to say, "Am I completely crazy or what?" He gave a diplomatic shrug of the shoulders.
I don't particularly like many of the volunteers. Very few of them are St. Michael's members. They're task-oriented and kind of humorless. There are two women who commandeer the double sink where dishes are washed. You cannot go within five feet of them without incurring a rebuke of some sort. I asked for a little soap and water for the sponges and they directed me to a different sink. When I returned a thick terry cloth towel that had barely been used (to dry the inside of the coffee and tea urns) they tossed it into a pile of far dirtier items at the bottom of the sink, insisting it now had to be "sent to the laundry". After one use? Seriously?
The one saving grace of the entire morning was that Crosby was in excellent good humor. Something you would expect of someone getting laid on a regular basis would be.
He has gotten very good at needling me. Only a good friend can get away with that. And, he knows just how to do it. He can't stand it when I'm looking shy or withdrawn - as I was when asking for the soap and water - and, will proceed, at will, to make me so self-conscious that I have no choice but to come out of my shell.
"Hello, Mr. Medley "
"I think I'm going to call you by your last name from now on."
"You don't mind do you?"
I thought I knew where he was going with this. Most people when they kid me about my name, go off on a musical tangent. "Well, it is a very musical name", I tried to counter. But, no. He went off on this riff about it reminding him of a "high school English teacher" One who "reads poetry out loud to his class."
I don't remember how the riff ended, but, I couldn't wait to start wiping down the tables oh, yes I do: I had so much trouble trying not to laugh that I almost used The Lord's name in vain. I said something like, "You know, if we weren't in a church right now, I'd have an answer for you.", and hightailed it back to the tables.
A little while later as Kitchen was actually winding down, Crosby came back to inform me that there was some leftover spareribs which apparently were very good; I'd overheard several guests say so. He gave me a choice between coming back with him and having some or allowing him to "put some aside" for me. As I was right in the middle of clean-up, I chose the latter. I thought it was really sweet of him.
I spotted the beverage urns sitting by the Pantry Room sink. They would stay there if no one took the job of rinsing them out. This was how I got into trouble about the used towel. As I was doing so, Crosby came into the rather enclosed space to do some text messaging. It was obvious to whom he was texting and I called him on it.
"Oh, was that too obvious?"
Yes. And, I notice you answered to the word, "girlfriend".
"Yeah, she's my girlfriend."
That was news since two weeks ago, he was saying they were just friends.
As I was returning the soap dishes and sponges I needled Robert a little bit about the Men's Breakfast. He has acquired a reputation - deservedly, or not - as the resident cynic. This led to a conversation about teaching and leading seminars. He admired the way Frontpage was able to summarize everyone's thoughts at the end of his talk at the Men's Breakfast on Thursday. Robert feels that this is a much overlooked art as many of his students complain that such conversations "don't go anywhere."
Crosby joined us and we had a serious discussion for about fifteen minutes. Pale Male would not get drawn into it and waved a silent farewell once his coat was on. At one point I noticed that Crosby was examining his fingers for new cuts. I thought it would be a good way to open up a conversation about tattoos, but realized I was being rude to Robert who was in the middle of making a point.
Crosby ad I managed to be among the last to leave and I'm not sure whether it was because I was waiting for him or because he was waiting for me. Before we left, however, we had one more bit of business to settle. He asked, could he have one more spare rib to take home. I hadn't looked very carefully when I got around to collecting my plate which was sitting unobtrusively on the kitchen counter when I saw it. George helped me wrap it in some tinfoil so it wouldn't leak all over me in the subway. So, when I lifted the foil I was surprised to see five fat pieces of meat huddled together. It was more than enough to share. Crosby asked demurely whether he could take the biggest piece, sitting on the top. I said, "Sure." and, Crosby explained that he wanted to share with his roommmates someone back in his apartment.
I asked him about his Super Bowl party and whether he had a good time. He said, he did, that it was a small gathering. I got a sense that it was a small apartment. But, he also said that he was especially "happy" this morning because he got to come home to Innamorata, who was now living with him at least temporarily while her own apartment building was being fumigated (this is a very common New York phenomenon.) I could see the anticipation on his face.
"This is so great, to be able to just come home and share some food with my girlfriend."
"Let's get naked and eat ribs!", I interpreted for him. He blushed.
It occurred to me that he had mentioned her name shortly before; it was as the recipient of the fat spare rib. It was an unusual name and I had mistaken it for one of his male roommates. The whole thing made much more sense now.
Once out on the cold, icy streets, I could see just how happy his eyes really were. they were. the bluest I have ever seen them. half-way down the block I remembered that the red line was not running past our stop and that Crosby wold likely have to wait for the shuttle bus or walk uptown to Spanish Harlem. He chose to walk. And, I walked with him a little bit. It reminded me a little bit of those times when Father Shellito used to let me walk with him after church. They seemed to live in the same general part of town: up and to the right hand side of the island somewhere.
We covered a lot of territory in the conversation that followed. We geeked out on the Super Bowl a little bit ("It kind of left me hanging.") He took the time to ask me how I was doing (maybe, because he was tired of me asking questions about his sex life) and I talked a little bit about deciding to shave my beard that morning. Again, I thought it might be a great way to talk about tokens of masculinity - of which I think tattoos are a part. Imagine my surprise when Crosby said that he'd actually liked my scraggly, gray beard. This masculine/feminine dialectic is a hot topic between us.
"Yeah, I would have liked to have seen a little bit more of the 'Medley beard'", he said, "What made you decide to shave it off?"
I wasn't really sure why I had shaved it off, except that both he and Huggy seemed to have made similar decisions over the past month or so. At first, I blamed the end of the NFL season ("Time to end the whole masculinity thing.", I opined.) But, he wasn't buying it. Then, I alluded to his own late, lamented mustache.
"Did your girlfriend make you shave it off?"
"No. Matter of fact, she met me with it on." This led to another riff:
"The fact is, women have a hard time with hair on men. They may put up with it, but, basically, they love us in spite of it - not because of it."
But, my favorite part of the whole walk - which ended at 104 Street because I was tired of carrying the spare ribs - was when Crosby, still gushing over his new found love, described the moment when they both decided:
"I looked at her and she looked at me and we both said, 'Do you really want to do this?'"
Do what? Inquiring minds want to know!