Spotting Love

The other day he fell. It wasn’t a terrible fall and in and of itself it would not have been a big deal. The problem is that the fall was not an isolated incident. Along with falling, his speech has been slow and mangled, his memory has been weak and his strength has been deteriorating rapidly. What does this all mean? We simply do not know.

Yesterday we went to see a neurological specialist on the Upper East Side. After a series of tests she said that he did, in fact, have a neurological disorder. To pinpoint exactly what it is will take a series of even more tests -- a MRI, a spinal something or other, extensive blood work, etc – and it could be a few weeks before they can diagnose him specifically.

Getting anywhere on the far east side of Manhattan is a bit of a hassle. We took the 4 to 59^th where we transferred to the 6 up to 68^th. At 68^th we walked east – all the way east – to York and 70^th. It would normally have been inconvenient but now that one of us has trouble walking, it was grueling.

Usually we walk at an extremely quick pace. We always have. New York is unforgiving to the slow. If you move to New York you accept certain unwritten rules, one of which is the requirement of a speedy gait. If you move slowly you pay the price.

Through the years when we have navigated the city together I usually walked a few steps ahead. And when I arrive at the destination I look back and he is just a few steps away. I never worried that he would fall…or stop…or forget where he was. That has now all changed.

Yesterday I made sure he walked ahead of me. My eyes never left his body. When he ascended stairs or an escalator I positioned myself just a few feet behind in case he lost his balance. If he were to fall, I was there to catch him. And if someone were to get aggravated by his slow pace I could step in so that they would be aggravated with me instead. I would be his strong arm when his became too weak, his legs when his quit working, his mind when his went blank.

On our way home, after we stepped off our last escalator, he leaned in and whispered “Thanks for spotting me, babe”. Up to that point I was unaware he noticed. In fact I did not want him to notice. I wanted him to feel as normal as possible and did not want him to perceive me as acting any way but normal.

And as we walked out of the station I began to cry. Thankfully my sunglasses were able to shield my tears from anyone noticing, especially him. But I began to cry because I am scared. I am scared out of my fucking mind. I have never been so scared about anything in my entire life. He has been through health scares before but nothing like this. And this is not the way it was supposed to play out.

The love that I have for him is something I cannot put into words. I never knew such a love ever existed. And if it did exist it certainly would never find me. But it did find me.

It found me on a Sunday afternoon in August of 2001. On that day I wandered into Hannah’s Lava Lounge in the Hell’s Kitchen area of Manhattan. They were playing BINGO and I thought it might be fun. However, when I sat down I noticed someone sitting a few feet away. He was cute, had an infectious laugh and he intrigued me. We began talking and we have been together ever since. Nearly seven years later, one day at a time, together.

I have had so many problems over the years, many of which I have put on blogs such as this. My issues, every single one, were issues he took as his own. If I was sick, he fed me. Dirty, he bathed me. Sad, he comforted me. Angry, he calmed me. He was always the rock, the foundation. The most charming of all the princes, the shiniest of all the knights.

He was the one that kept the red bucket by my side and washed it when it became full. He was the one that held me the night I sobbed over my grandfather’s death. He was the one that came to find me the night I was so drunk I did not know where I was and the one that made sure I had ginger-ale to drink when I was parched. He is the one that made me a bouquet of flowers out of paper napkins because we did not have the money for real flowers. He is the one that made me a cake to celebrate my anniversary of moving to New York. He is the one that left me a handwritten note on the kitchen counter every morning before he went to work. It always said I love you. I always knew.

But now I am the one. The one that makes sure I am never more than a few feet away when he is taking a shower in case he falls. The one that calms him when he can’t remember where he is. I am the one that makes sure he eats healthy food. I am the one that watches him while he sleeps to make sure he is still breathing and worries every time he coughs. The roles have changed, forcibly and by no decision of ours. The warrior is now the child. And the child, the reluctant warrior.

Today, like clockwork, the Mr. Softee ice-cream truck went by our building. Like a young boy, he perked up and said “I want an ice cream cone. Do you think I will be able to make it out there before he leaves?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…” Before I could finish my sentence he was out the door. Dressed in his slippers, pajama bottoms and a hoodie he went downstairs to find the ice-cream truck. I grabbed my camera and opened the window.

I wanted the picture. Not because I think he might be gone soon, though he might. Not because I don’t have enough pictures of him, though I don’t. Not because he looked so innocent and sweet, though he did. I took the picture because a day will come, no matter what comes of this, and I might forget.

I might forget just how adorable he looks in his pajama bottoms. I might forget that he loves ice cream. A lot. I might forget how cute he is when he eats from a cone and how cute our dog is watching him eat from the cone. No matter what, I don’t want to forget.

So tomorrow we go for the MRI. And as we go I will be just a few feet behind. I will make sure he doesn’t fall and that he gets to where he needs to be. I can’t promise I won’t cry. In fact I know I will. But through it all I’ll be spotting him. Because through it all he has always spotted me.

UPDATE: A continuing story on Ric's condition here

What's wrong with this picture?

(Photo by: Marcio Jose Sanchez-Pool/Getty Images.)

How you feel when you see this picture of two women -- together for 55 years and finally able to marry yesterday -- speaks volumes about your humanity.
Do you see love that can finally speak its name and two women who are no longer second class citizens in the eyes of their state? or...
Do you see two "sexual perverts" in an "alternate lifestyle" intent on "destroying marriage"?

Those that see the latter, what is it like to have such darkness in your heart, and to live amidst such darkness in the name of God?
Those that see the former, what you see is also what the future holds. And it is pure and good and so vibrant that darkness cannot reside there, no matter how hard it tries.

For Such a Time As This....

JON MARC MCDONALD'S baking blog can be found here.

Otherwise, keep reading

Andy does it again. Every single word!:

As a child, I had no idea what homosexuality was. I grew up in a traditional home--Catholic, conservative, middle class. Life was relatively simple: education, work, family. I was raised to aim high in life, even though my parents hadn't gone to college. But one thing was instilled in me. What mattered was not how far you went in life, how much money you earned, how big a name you made for yourself. What really mattered was family and the love you had for one another. The most important day of your life was not graduation from college or your first day at work or a raise or even your first house. The most important day of your life was when you got married. It was on that day that all your friends and all your family got together to celebrate the most important thing in life: your happiness--your ability to make a new home, to form a new but connected family, to find love that put everything else into perspective.

But as I grew older, I found that this was somehow not available to me.

I didn't feel the things for girls that my peers did. All the emotions and social rituals and bonding of teenage heterosexual life eluded me. I didn't know why. No one explained it. My emotional bonds to other boys were one-sided; each time I felt myself falling in love, they sensed it, pushed it away. I didn't and couldn't blame them. I got along fine with my buds in a nonemotional context, but something was awry, something not right. I came to know almost instinctively that I would never be a part of my family the way my siblings might one day be. The love I had inside me was unmentionable, anathema. I remember writing in my teenage journal one day, "I'm a professional human being. But what do I do in my private life?"

I never discussed my real life. I couldn't date girls and so immersed myself in schoolwork, the debate team, school plays, anything to give me an excuse not to confront reality. When I looked toward the years ahead, I couldn't see a future. There was just a void. Was I going to be alone my whole life? Would I ever have a most important day in my life? It seemed impossible, a negation, an undoing. To be a full part of my family, I had to somehow not be me. So, like many other gay teens, I withdrew, became neurotic, depressed, at times close to suicidal. I shut myself in my room with my books night after night while my peers developed the skills needed to form real relationships and loves. In wounded pride, I even voiced a rejection of family and marriage. It was the only way I could explain my isolation.

It took years for me to realize that I was gay, years more to tell others and more time yet to form any kind of stable emotional bond with another man. Because my sexuality had emerged in solitude--and without any link to the idea of an actual relationship--it was hard later to reconnect sex to love and self-esteem. It still is. But I persevered, each relationship slowly growing longer than the last, learning in my 20s and 30s what my straight friends had found out in their teens. But even then my parents and friends never asked the question they would have asked automatically if I were straight: So, when are you going to get married? When will we be able to celebrate it and affirm it and support it? In fact, no one--no one--has yet asked me that question.

When people talk about gay marriage, they miss the point. This isn't about gay marriage. It's about marriage. It's about family. It's about love. It isn't about religion. It's about civil marriage licenses. Churches can and should have the right to say no to marriage for gays in their congregations, just as Catholics say no to divorce, but divorce is still a civil option. These family values are not options for a happy and stable life. They are necessities. Putting gay relationships in some other category--civil unions, domestic partnerships, whatever--may alleviate real human needs, but by their very euphemism, by their very separateness, they actually build a wall between gay people and their families. They put back the barrier many of us have spent a lifetime trying to erase.

It's too late for me to undo my past. But I want above everything else to remember a young kid out there who may even be reading this now. I want to let him know that he doesn't have to choose between himself and his family anymore. I want him to know that his love has dignity, that he does indeed have a future as a full and equal part of the human race. Only marriage will do that. Only marriage can bring him home.

It's not perfect...

but come on over anyway and excuse the mess.

www.BakeItTilYouMakeIt.com

Happy one year, babe!

Today is our (Ric and me) one year wedding anniversary. I made a little video for him.

Moving a few miles down the road on the 'internets'. Once everything gets set up just the way I like it I will invite you all over for a site warming party.

Now, go bake!

The Cheesecake Edition

Part II


Recipe: (My changes are in red)
New York-Style Cheesecake

Recipe adapted from: Better Homes and Gardens Great Cheesecakes , 2006

1/2 cup butter, softened
1/4 cup packed brown sugar
4 eggs
1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
4 8-ounce packages cream cheese, softened
1-1/4 cups granulated sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons vanilla
2 8-ounce cartons dairy sour cream
1/4 cup granulated sugar
Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degree F. In a large mixing bowl beat butter on medium to high speed for 30 seconds. Add brown sugar. Beat until fluffy. Add one of the eggs; beat well. Slowly beat in the 1-1/4 cups flour until combined. Divide dough in half. Cover and refrigerate one portion.
Spread remaining portion onto the bottom of an ungreased 10-inch springform pan with sides removed. Place on baking sheet. Bake for 10 minutes. Let cool completely.
When bottom crust has cooled, attach sides of pan. Press chilled dough onto sides to a height of about 1-3/4 inches. Set aside.
Increase oven temperature to 450 degree F. In a large mixing bowl beat cream cheese and the 1-1/4 cups granulated sugar until fluffy. Beat in the 1/4 cup flour at low speed until smooth. Add the remaining 3 eggs and 3 teaspoons of the vanilla all at once, beating at low speed until just combined. Stir in 1/2 cup of the sour cream (Crème fraîche). Pour batter into the crust-lined pan. Place on a shallow baking pan in oven.
Bake for 10 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 300 degree F. Bake for 30 minutes more or until center appears nearly set when gently shaken. Remove from oven. Stir together remaining sour cream, the 1/4 cup granulated sugar (superfine sugar), and the remaining 1 teaspoon vanilla. Using a spoon, spread mixture evenly over top of baked cheesecake. Return to oven and bake for 15 minutes more.
Remove from oven. Cool on wire rack for 15 minutes. Loosen crust from sides of pan. Cool for 30 minutes more. Remove sides of pan; cool completely. Cover and chill at least 4 hours or overnight. Let stand at room temperature for 15 minutes before slicing. Makes 16 servings.

New York Style Cheesecake a no-go

Links to things mentioned in this video:

Alison Nelson’s Chocolate Bar
Chelsea Market
Crumpler Bags

My, how times have changed!

Thought this little article about me from PR Week was interesting. Just a few short years later and, my soul, how life has changed!

Paula Deen Cream Biscuits, y'all!

Again, sorry about the sound quality. It will get better soon...promise!

Recipe for Paula Deen Cream Biscuits (Original in black. My changes in red)

2 cups self-rising flour, plus more for dusting

1 tablespoon sugar

1 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream

Preheat oven to 500 degrees F.
In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, sugar (sift both), and cream until the dough forms a ball. Turn the dough out onto a surface dusted with additional flour. Fold the dough in 1/2 and knead 5 to 7 times, adding just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to your hands. Gently roll out dough to 1/2-inch thickness. Using a 3-inch ( I use a 2-inch) biscuit cutter coated with flour, cut dough into biscuits. Place on baking sheet coated with cooking spray (Silpat or parchment work best. Also brush off excess flour with a pastry brush) , leaving at least 1-inch between each biscuit. Bake for 10 minutes, or until golden brown.

Just an update talky

Sorry about the sound quality.

The recipe for the Greek Salad Pita Sandwich is:

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 tablespoon red wine vinegar

1 1/4 cups chopped seeded plum or cherry tomatoes

1 cup diced seeded peeled cucumber

1 cup chopped green bell pepper

2/3 cup chopped red onion1/2 cup chopped radishes

1/2 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley

1 cup crumbled feta cheese (about 4 1/2 ounces)

4 8-inch-diameter whole wheat pita breads, halved

Whisk olive oil and red wine vinegar in large bowl. Season dressing with salt and pepper. Mix tomatoes, cucumber, bell pepper, red onion, radishes, and parsley into dressing. Stir in feta cheese.

When Bad Cakes Happen To Good People

Or as I like to call call it: Gateau Oh No!I think I am going to try and sell it on Ebay and say after the cake fell apart a visage of the Virgin Mary appeared (although, when I embiggen the picture I totally see Mona Lisa).

I'm Jon Marc McDonald and I bake

NOTE: JON MARC MCDONALD HAS A NEW WEBSITE. PLEASE GO TO WWW.BakeItTilYouMakeIt.com for more

The before video for my Panna Cotta Layer Cake.

The finished product of my Panna Cotta Layer Cake.

I'm Jon Marc McDonald and I bake!

Merry New York Christmas!

Too funny!

Here’s the reason why you shouldn’t order a custom cake from Wal-Mart:

Some people that work here had a going away party the other day for a woman that is leaving.
One of the supervisors called a Walmart and ordered the cake. he told them to write: “best wishes Suzanne” and underneath that write “we will miss you”. here’s the cake that was delivered.

Story here

"The fierce urgency of now..."

Don't count him out yet

Camera Shy

Trotter, hiding from the pup-arazzi

Loft Transformation, day three

Loft transformation, day two

Trotter is about to have a heart attack due to the chaos in the loft

The beginning of the loft transformation

Tune in a few days from now to see the end result