I usually share the more Hollywood-ish times of my life with you in this blog. But I reserve the right to write about the less glam parts of life once in awhile. I had some events planned for this weekend in LA but my 5-year-old nephew, just the light of my life, has a cough and couldn't go on a long-planned day at Universal Studios for his big sister's 14th birthday. He asked if his uncle Greg could babysit him.
Schedule instantly cleared.
I took him to my mom's house in the OC on Saturday evening and we had just an enchanted time watching "Shrek" and "101 Dalmations" before he drifted off to sleep, looking like an angel. But before leaving LA, my friends Michelle and Mark (I wrote about their blog M&M on Friday) called and wanted to know what time we were meeting for dinner. They were just into LA from Seattle.
Me: "You're HERE? Now? I thought we were having dinner NEXT Saturday!"
Uh oh.
We agree to have sort of a late lunch at the Farmer's Market so I could still fetch my nephew at a reasonable hour. We have been in touch but not seen each other in the flesh for FOUR YEARS. We just start blabbing away. Michelle is here to speak at a journalism conference at USC where she used to teach and she is full of useful technical advice about my new blog, Hollywood Joe. Mark looked far better than I expected him to since he has been battling brain cancer for nearly a year. He was very much his smart and witty self and I enjoyed catching up and talking about movies and I wanted to know about his treatments. I loved when he told me that since his illness, he eats ice cream whenever he feels like it.

Speaking of dessert, Michelle went over and bought us a half of a pecan pie from Dupars and I had intended to have just a bite or two since, lately, I've been feeling about as fat as Shelly Winters in the "Poseidon Adventure." Well, this pie is like crack cocaine - competely and utterly addicting. Seriously, one of the most delicious pies - ever! Michelle even took a picture of it!
OK, flash forward to Sunday morning. I'm feeding my nephew breakfast and the doorbell rings. It's my mom's next door neighbor, looking stricken. His longtime partner, who had lived next door to my mom for nearly 40 years, had just died like an hour earlier. He was 91.
The reason this had some significance for me was that he was the first gay person I ever knew. He had moved to our cul-de-sac with his wife and four kids initially but after a few years, they divorced and he embraced his gayness with abandon.
I remember being maybe 11 years old and him throwing a big party one summer night. All of us kids on the street were out playing what we called Ditch 'Em, a team version of Hide and Seek. We all got intrigued by the fact that all these men were pulling up and parking on our street. Me and one of my neighbors who would end up being the first boy I ever slept with, crept up to the front door as the party was underway and peaked into the kitchen window. I saw two men making out. I was just fascinated, not grossed out at all. This is in the 70s when there were not many images of gay men kissing in the media.
We ran and told the others because, well, that was what you were supposed to do. It became kind of a show and most of the other kids were acting grossed out etc. I was just quietly fascinated.
His children began arriving throughout today, my mom went over to console the widowed partner, and I tried to keep my nephew entertained all day. What's so fun is that when they're five, they think it's really fun to watch you do your laundry and wash your car and watch you blog.
The circle of life I guess...