January 1996 begins quietly with my job at the family business stable, more money than ever coming in and a life quietly going nowhere.  At the beginning of February, I take a trip to Denver to see Mark Enos; he has moved there with his new boyfriend, Ken, from Los Angeles.

Thursday, February 29, I’m on United flight 87 at 8:30 in the morning, winging my way, non-stop to Los Angeles.  The movie is “Get Shorty” with John Travolta; if you haven’t seen it yet, it should be in the stores soon if not already.  I had seen it already, but it’s still one of the best [even with all the language cleaned up].

I arrive at LAX around noon and pick up a Mustang convertible; the weather cooperates just enough to keep the top down and the stereo blasting.  Ah, California!  I spend a restful afternoon at my friend David Littler’s, where I will be staying for the duration.

Notes on David, whom I have known 20 years:  I originally met David through my friend John Hood [who died a few years ago]; we got to know each other well because he and John co-owned a co-op in soho [NYC] and a beach house in Fire Island.  Generally, John would pass out around midnight and David and I would sit up and talk [or sometimes go out and enjoy the NYC nightlife].  Most importantly [at least for much of this story], he introduced me to the Episcopal church [a long story in itself] and we have remained good friend on many levels ever since.  David’s originally from Colorado, where his father had a real-life ranch and his mother was Colorado’s first woman state representative [a fascinating woman in her own right].  After moving to the west coast a few years ago, he eventually settled into a nice condo in West Hollywood up the hill from Spago’s on Sunset Strip [with gorgeous views of LA].

Boy, that was a helluva digression, wasn’t it ... it’s appropriate to note at this point that David tells me that I should learn something about editing.  Thursday night, we decide to make a turkey and stay home, but he gets a phone call from his friend Tony Jewiss+, chaplain and assistant to the bishop of Los Angeles.  We invite him to join us for dinner home and he arrives a few minutes later.

Friday, March 1, David and I decide to take a road trip and drive down to Laguna Beach for the day.  We drop in at the offices of St. Mary’s Episcopal [the church I was received at] and go shopping downtown.  I always buy my summer clothes at Hobie Sports, the surf shop and, once again, I have staved off the economic demise of the store!  We have lunch at Villa Romana where the owners remember my parents and have a wonderful lunch; we’re back in L.A. around 4 for a nap.

Friday evening, we have dinner with internationally-recognized interior decorator, Ron Collier [check out your Architectural Digest] at Orso’s in Beverly Hills … great Italian food, a bottle of Italian red [Sassacaia – look around for it when you hit megabucks] … and in close proximity to John Bon Jovi [looking particularly good with his new shorter length hair].

Saturday, March 2, a restful morning and then a visit to the refurbished All Saint’s Episcopal in Beverly Hills [church of Candace Bergen, the late Fred Astaire, Jeff Foxworthy, etc].  Then a drive up the Pacific Coast Highway from Santa Monica to Malibu and a lovely walk on the beach, watching the surfers.  We were going to have lunch at Gladstone’s on the beach, but it is ridiculously crowded so we go back to Santa Monica.

So what amazingly exciting thing do we do on Saturday night in Los Angeles?   Watch videos [by choice] — David has a friend who’s a voting member of the Academy [the folks who own that little guy known as Oscar] and we watch “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” [which was beyond incredible] and the first half of “Immortal Beloved” [the fictionalized account of Beethoven’s great un-named love — does anyone know if this is true?] which we finish on Sunday afternoon.  Shockingly, we are asleep by midnight [David, even an hour before that].

Sunday, March 3 in Laguna Beach … I wake up early to drive down to 10 am mass at Saint Mary’s.  Arriving at 9:30, I wait at the front door of the church and greet people as they arrive … a most thrilling experience, as I hadn’t warned many people of my arrival. Father Ray Fleming is my mentor, and the man most responsible for my committal to the army of God.  Plus, I know most of the parishioners and we have a great time talking before and after mass.

Around 1 pm, I go over to the senior warden’s house, Ms. Jean Kaye.  Jean is around 70, a professional lawn-bowler and an extremely feisty woman.  She is being visited by another feisty senior from Vancouver, Canada (although originally from Edinburgh, Scotland); many bourbons are tossed down in the couple of hours that I’m  there.

Around 3, I go over to the Boom Boom Room/Coast Inn, the bar/hotel I managed while living in Laguna.  Fortunately for me, my two favorite people from those days are hanging out and we spend a great couple of hours reminiscing.

Back to Los Angeles by 5:30 and a five minute nap before David and I are joined by David’s old friend John de Carlo, an interior designer.  I’ve met John a few times already and have always been very attracted to him; over dinner at Bienvenuto [L.A.’s latest hip Italian], I even tell him that had I continued living in the area, I would have made things progress further.  After dinner we go back to David’s [who goes to sleep] and we sit up talking [only talking] for a few hours.

Monday, March 4, it rained all day in L.A., so David and I decide it’s a perfect day to watch movies at home.  We lunch at Palato Alto on La Cienega, a new and well written about Italian place [notice how we keep eating Italian?] and it’s back to the vcr.

We finish Immortal Beloved and watch the first half of “The Piano.”  [David, Father Craig tells me the ending and explains much of the reasoning behind it; I won’t spoil the ending for those who haven’t seen it, but it makes much move sense now.]  Then “Philadelphia” before going to sleep around midnight.

Tuesday, March 5, it’s breakfast at the French Market on Melrose avenue … the place to see and be seen by my species.  By noon, I’m off to LAX and the trip back to Newark; the movie going east was “The American President” with Michael Douglas and Annette Bening — excellent, excellent and, by the way, excellent.

This is the story (ooops, that’s Gilligan’s Island), well, anywho, this is all about the trip I took to Santa Fe, New Mexico with my friend John de Carlo, with whom I shared one of the nicest weekends in years (thanks, John!).

Friday, April 24, 1996:  The Plane Trip ... I got to Albuquerque via Chicago on American Airlines; John came in from L.A. on Southwest. As it happened, both of us were about an hour late, worrying about the other!  Anyway, around 4 pm, we were safely out of the airport and in our rented Chevy Blazer (cherry red) and on our way to Santa Fe.  The ride was relatively short, only a little over an hour with not a lot of scenery (unless you’re a particular lover of scrub!).

Reading Material  I always like to read one full book on a cross-country plane trip, generally half on the way and half on the way back.  This time it was Our Tribe: Queer folks, God, Jesus, and the Bible by the Rev. Nancy Wilson.  It was suggested to me by my friend, Fellow Vestryman, and Southern Gentleman, George Bartley, Jr. (hi, George!).

She is the senior pastor of the Metropolitan Community Church in Los Angeles, a Protestant sect with special outreach to the gay and lesbian communities (basically, THE gay church).  Other than a sub-text of propaganda for MCC, the book is very objective in its exegesis of biblical texts vis-à-vis gay hermeneutics.  The most obvious example is the sin of Sodom and Gomorra, which in the past was thought to be homosexuality, but is now generally accepted to be the sin of inhospitality.  An exciting and well-written book (much better than this paragraph!).

The Hotel Santa Fe  We got into Santa Fe around 6 pm, and checked into our hotel, the only one owned by Native Americans in Santa Fe.  When I had last seen John in Los Angeles, I had wanted to send him some roses upon my arrival back home, but it was too complicated (he’s never home during the day, and has a post office box).  So, romantic that I am, I had the hotel prepare for us with a dozen roses (half red, half white) and a bottle of Perrier-Jouet.  After a brief rest, we lit off to see the town.

Santa Fe  The town itself is rather small.  We were able to walk the length and breadth of it over our two day stay.  Since we didn’t know this when we arrived, we drove downtown for dinner (all of five minutes!).  But even on a Friday night, we had no problem finding a parking space.

We ate dinner at the Coyote Cafe, one of the places most recommended by our friends.  And can you imagine a town where the maitre’d allows you to make a reservation and walk around outside and come back later!!!  The food was traditional New Mexican, and very tasty, although I believe the chilies caused John to toss and turn most of the night.

Saturday, April 25  After a leisurely morning of coffee and Oreo cookies and chocolate-covered pretzels, we went back downtown.  Our two most important stops were the local Woolworth’s, where I got a souvenir spoon for my cousin Patty (don’t ask), and the local Chuck Jones animation gallery (he’s the director of most of the Bugs Bunny and Dr. Seuss cartoons that you know).

Then we were off down Canyon Road.  It’s a long street running to the east out of Santa Fe, where most of the galleries are.  Although, to be honest, there are more galleries per block in Santa Fe than in all of most towns!  We had a delicious light lunch at Geronimo’s and walked back to the hotel.

The Hot Springs at Ojo Caliente  After a nap, we drove north about an hour to a little town called Ojo Caliente, and I do mean little!  But the reason we went was to go to their local hot springs.  First into the soda pool at 106 degrees, then to the iron pool outside (just as hot, I believe).  Then to our private tub for an arsenic bath.  No, it’s not poisonous at those low concentrations; in fact they encourage you to drink from spigot at each of the pools.

Gay-friendliness  I didn’t know where to put this in, so I’ll just add it here.  One of the nicest things I noticed about Santa Fe and the surrounding area was their easy acceptance of gay people.  I’m so used to being “ghetto-ized” that it really surprised me to be in an environment where no one seemed to care.  Not even an eyebrow was raised about John and I sharing a private room at the springs, even way out in that rural area.  I really felt comfortable everywhere John and I went, which really amazed me.

Dinner  We left the hot springs at sunset and drove back into Santa Fe to the hotel.  After a quick change of clothes, we went for dinner at the Inn of the Anasazi, considered by most of our sources to be the best restaurant in Santa Fe (they claim four stars/four diamonds, although Michelin or AAA we’ll never know!).  We were not disappointed!  Very modern preparations and a bottle of 1984 red from the vineyards of Francis Ford Coppola made for a lovely evening.

Dancing  After dinner we walked down to the Club 414 on Old Santa Fe Way to check out the local gay action.  From what I can gather, depending on what year (or maybe month) you are there, the club action can change dramatically (like most small towns).  The crowd was very mixed (men and women, straight and gay, etc), but we only stayed a short while as I was still on Eastern time!  Not exactly a big city club, though.

The High Point of the Trip  So, you may ask, what WAS the high point of the trip!  (John, don’t be mad at me for sharing this!)  When we got back from dinner, I flopped on the couch and John walked over, sat down next to me, then threw his legs over the side-arm of the couch, put his head in my lap, and grabbed my hand and put it on his chest.  Yes, I know, I’m a sentimental fool.  Well, I hope I never change!

Sunday, April 26  A very lazy morning, up around ten.  I hear a few of my correspondents already.  “What about church!”  I was simply following the dictum to go forth and love others as He has loved us.   Frankly, to me, church is community, and what could we have offered the local community by our very brief presence (we wouldn’t even have the time for coffee hour).

Anyway, we did look at every church we passed and said, “Oh, we have to tell David (our mutual friend) we saw this church!”  We did go to see the Loretto Chapel, but there was a wedding in progress.  It’s a famous chapel with a self-standing circular staircase (it’s a giant wooden spring).  The “story” behind it is that it’s miraculous, built by the apparition of St. Joseph (in other words, the carpenter came and went without leaving his card).  Since John is an interior designer, however, it probably would have been nice to see it.

After finally rousing ourselves and checking out of the hotel around noon, we decided to go for brunch.  But, of course, most of the places suggested to us had long lines.  But the Cowgirl Hall of Fame was practically empty.  And, no, it’s not a Hall of Fame at all, just the name of the bar/restaurant.  To our delight, the food was good and the service fine.  Who knows why it wasn’t crowded (maybe the country music!).

Which reminds me about music.  I made some cassette tapes for us of dance music while we drove around.  Thankfully, John feels the same way about country music as I do (to paraphrase “Fiddler on the Roof,” God keep country music far away from us!).

It’s now time to head back home.  Around two o’clock, we drove back to “Alba-koo-koo” (John’s phrase), figuring we’d see what the town looked like.  Ever see Providence, Rhode Island?  Not exactly the tourist capital of the country!  I wish I could say more, but there isn’t much to say!  We dropped off our chariot (John drove the whole trip, which I loved!), and headed into the terminal.

My flight left first and I made all my connections, arriving in Newark a little after 1 pm.  So now it’s back to work with church meetings every night this week!  Oy, vey!