A Feast Day!
So, they have this thing in the Ecumenical Church called, Lent, where you're supposed to observe 40 days (and nights) of some sort of devotion to God. It can come in the form of a special project or a sacrifice. A lot of people give up meat or alcohol.
This year, I gave up blogging.
But, here's the other thing: technically, they don't count Sundays. Sundays are always a feast day, therefore, they refer to them as Sundays "in" Lent as opposed to Sundays "of" Lent when making up the calendar.
So, before the window shuts, here's a quick rundown on what has taken place in the drama that is largely inside my head. It's been almost a month since Huggy Bear let me know that he and Crosby were planning on getting tattoos. At first, I didn't comprehend the magnitude of the decision. I thought they meant an arm ring of some sort. Even small ones would have amped up their butch quotients in my eyes. But, they weren't interested in anything small potatos. They were going for scale.
As it turned out, Huggy Bear already had a fairly large one on his chest; he wanted an additional one on his upper arm, depicting the Virgin Mary. Crosby's, however, took my breath away. It would take up at least a quarter of his back, including almost all of his shoulder blade.
Until tonight, I had only a vague idea of what it would look like. I only knew it had a nautical theme, perhaps a map of some sort. And, I wasn't sure of the subject matter's significance to Crosby. I was mostly concerned with whether he had discussed it with his parents, who I couldn't imagine being enthusiastic about it.
I had my own selfish reasons for not being overly enthusiastic about it. I'd never seen Crosby's back without a shirt and I sort of resented his ruining my "blank slate" before I had time to render it on canvas. But, an artist can't always control his subject.
There was also a secrecy issue which I wasn't too cool with. There was a two week period beginning with the men's breakfast, when it became impossible for me to look either Bing or Colette straight in the eye. It came to a head during a jazz concert in Founders Hall where I unexpectedly found myself seated at the same table with the entire Bing family. Huggy Bear had earlier accused me of acting like the Aunt Sue character in a SNL skit; I accused Crosby of being a "jerk" for not telling his parents, and Bing clearly looked at us like something "was up".
It was probably the best time I have ever had with the Bing family.
But, tonight was the piece de resistance. The deeds were done forty-eight hours ago and neither Huggy nor Crosby could resist showing them off. For Huggy, all it took was rolling up the sleeve of his t shirt. The Blessed Virgin was as fresh as a new dollar bill. I could practically smell the ink.
With Crosby it was somewhat more complicated. I fully expected to have to wait until we were alone in the Saturday Kitchen storage room again. But, no. He led me around the sanctuary, looking for a private, darkened space - perhaps the Little Chapel, then, seemingly emboldened, decided he wanted "more light". So, we retraced part of our steps and went into the Parish House hallway, underneath a lamp and around a small bend in the hallway right beside the steps to the basement. There, we were partially hidden from anyone coming in from direction of the church and we could hear anyone coming from the direction of the kitchen.
Crosby stopped, faced what I recall was an opaque window of some sort the wall, crossed his hands over his shoulders and began rolling up the back of his plaid Uniqlo shirt with his fingers. It was literally like a curtain rising.
The thing began with a tail pointing directly at the nickel sized bruise he carried near the bottom of his spine and continued up, in serpentine fashion, across his ribcage until ending just short of his left rotator cuff.
It took my breath away. Not just the sight of Crosby's completely bare back and the clearly risky behavior we were indulging in. But, the tatoo itself. It was fine work with intricate details only someone close up - like I was - would ever get to appreciate. I was both moved and grateful that Crosby shared it with me.
The entire experience has caused me to look at Crosby in a different way, and not just physically. I'm still processing what it all means. He's already planning to return to the same parlor for some touch up work.
This year, I gave up blogging.
But, here's the other thing: technically, they don't count Sundays. Sundays are always a feast day, therefore, they refer to them as Sundays "in" Lent as opposed to Sundays "of" Lent when making up the calendar.
So, before the window shuts, here's a quick rundown on what has taken place in the drama that is largely inside my head. It's been almost a month since Huggy Bear let me know that he and Crosby were planning on getting tattoos. At first, I didn't comprehend the magnitude of the decision. I thought they meant an arm ring of some sort. Even small ones would have amped up their butch quotients in my eyes. But, they weren't interested in anything small potatos. They were going for scale.
As it turned out, Huggy Bear already had a fairly large one on his chest; he wanted an additional one on his upper arm, depicting the Virgin Mary. Crosby's, however, took my breath away. It would take up at least a quarter of his back, including almost all of his shoulder blade.
Until tonight, I had only a vague idea of what it would look like. I only knew it had a nautical theme, perhaps a map of some sort. And, I wasn't sure of the subject matter's significance to Crosby. I was mostly concerned with whether he had discussed it with his parents, who I couldn't imagine being enthusiastic about it.
I had my own selfish reasons for not being overly enthusiastic about it. I'd never seen Crosby's back without a shirt and I sort of resented his ruining my "blank slate" before I had time to render it on canvas. But, an artist can't always control his subject.
There was also a secrecy issue which I wasn't too cool with. There was a two week period beginning with the men's breakfast, when it became impossible for me to look either Bing or Colette straight in the eye. It came to a head during a jazz concert in Founders Hall where I unexpectedly found myself seated at the same table with the entire Bing family. Huggy Bear had earlier accused me of acting like the Aunt Sue character in a SNL skit; I accused Crosby of being a "jerk" for not telling his parents, and Bing clearly looked at us like something "was up".
It was probably the best time I have ever had with the Bing family.
But, tonight was the piece de resistance. The deeds were done forty-eight hours ago and neither Huggy nor Crosby could resist showing them off. For Huggy, all it took was rolling up the sleeve of his t shirt. The Blessed Virgin was as fresh as a new dollar bill. I could practically smell the ink.
With Crosby it was somewhat more complicated. I fully expected to have to wait until we were alone in the Saturday Kitchen storage room again. But, no. He led me around the sanctuary, looking for a private, darkened space - perhaps the Little Chapel, then, seemingly emboldened, decided he wanted "more light". So, we retraced part of our steps and went into the Parish House hallway, underneath a lamp and around a small bend in the hallway right beside the steps to the basement. There, we were partially hidden from anyone coming in from direction of the church and we could hear anyone coming from the direction of the kitchen.
Crosby stopped, faced what I recall was an opaque window of some sort the wall, crossed his hands over his shoulders and began rolling up the back of his plaid Uniqlo shirt with his fingers. It was literally like a curtain rising.
The thing began with a tail pointing directly at the nickel sized bruise he carried near the bottom of his spine and continued up, in serpentine fashion, across his ribcage until ending just short of his left rotator cuff.
It took my breath away. Not just the sight of Crosby's completely bare back and the clearly risky behavior we were indulging in. But, the tatoo itself. It was fine work with intricate details only someone close up - like I was - would ever get to appreciate. I was both moved and grateful that Crosby shared it with me.
The entire experience has caused me to look at Crosby in a different way, and not just physically. I'm still processing what it all means. He's already planning to return to the same parlor for some touch up work.