From Seattle With Love: Holiday Letter 2013

"We are not born simply for the sake of personal survival. We are here to make life better for everyone."

--Joan Chittister, The Monastic Way, Dec 2013

Dec 24, 2013

Greetings from the Pacific Northwest!

After a drier, and warmer than usual, fall, Seattle did experience a sprinkling of snow last week, but it melted as quick as it came. The mountains in the distance look very white so I comfort myself knowing I can always travel to snow-laden destinations if the mood calls me.

L to R: Patrick, Chip, and Jack
post New Year Polar Dip

2013 began with an annual ritual friends and I adopted over a decade ago: a trip on New Years Day morning down to Lake Washington for a polar bear dip. This time friends Chip and Patrick accompanied me. Chip and I dove into the water and howled while Patrick recorded it on film.  It was sunny and bright for a third year in a row, which I always view as a good harbinger.

Then came India in late February. I joined my friend Jenny and three other couples back East for a twelve-day excursion to the Golden Triangle region: New Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur, or the Pink City as it's called. Glorious weather greeted us, as did curious monkeys near the Indian Parliament! The adventures only got better as we beheld the unforgettable Taj Mahal one stormy morning, toured ancient mosques and temples, dined on delicious Indian cuisine, observed sacred cows perched on street corners, and glided on glorious, costumed elephants. We enjoyed an extended visit in New Delhi at a bed and breakfast while new friend Arnab shared a personal perspective on his native city over three full days.

Jenny and Jack in Awe at the Taj Mahal, India 2013

In June, I marked 50 with my Bond, James Bond birthday celebration in Pioneer Square. Friends I made when I first touched down in Seattle in 1986 mixed and mingled with classmates from my graduate school days in the 90’s along with my swimming, singing, and work friends of today. We danced the night away, and everyone embraced the specialty drink, Pussy Galore. I was happy, and the good feelings and memories of that night lasted the whole year through. I am a lucky man to have such good people in my life who love and support me.

Bond Birthday in June: Chris Nilson, Ellen Stearns
 Hubert Locke, Me, and Suzanne Wolfe Nilson

Summertime brought open water swimming in Lake Washington and my swim team’s hosting IGLA, the International Gay and Lesbian Aquatic championships. While I didn’t compete in any of the heats, I did participate in the one-mile open water swim off Mercer Island, east of Seattle. It was a glorious morning, and I received a third place medal in my age group completing my swim with a time of 32 minutes, 29 seconds. I also made a new friend John, from Canada, during the competition. He returned to Seattle again in early October, and I look forward to visiting him in his native Edmonton next spring. 

Post Swim Meet, John and Jack Ride the Seattle Ferry

In late July I attended the three-day Pacific NW Writers Conference in Seattle. I pitched my book R.J., Farrah, and Me: A Young Man's Gay Odyssey from the Inside Out to a gaggle of agents and editors. Eight of them gave me their business cards inviting me to send them a portion of the book or in several cases the entire manuscript. I forwarded material to one editor and one agent; no word at press time whether they are going to make me a deal. In the meantime I continue to edit and revise my manuscript. I couldn’t accomplish what I have without the support and encouragement of fellow writers Elizabeth and Anne, who are inspirations in their own right.

Reclining in Hammock,
Summer of Solitude

I’ve spent a lot of time in solitude this year, maybe a result of reaching the half-century mark. I like myself, enjoy my work as a fundraiser and development manager, but continue asking the big questions. Where am I being called, and what innate talents of mine are seeking expression? I continue to feel that my interest in community building, spiritual development, and creative expression will lead me in new directions. I practice yoga and meditation each morning, explore my interest in Tantra, and in October traveled to Palisades, a retreat center on the Puget Sound for a three-day silent retreat sponsored by the Jesuit-led Seattle University. I still attend church at my neighborhood parish St. Joseph’s, even though I’m an irregular congregant. And I love the new pope, Francis. He gives me hope, the new pope does.

As the year comes to a close, I’m preparing to travel with my best friend in Seattle, Kevin, to join my Hilovsky cousins Marty and Barb and their families, for a cruise to the western Caribbean. We will visit Roatan off the coast of Honduras and snorkel/scuba, then on to Belize for a cave-tubing/zip line adventure, and from there sail to the Costa Maya and Cozumel, Mexico, for more exploration. I’m excited to be with my family, especially after the loss of my beloved “Aunt” Re-Re, who died on December 8 at the ripe age of 94. Time is short, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to enjoy it with those whom I hold close. I am so grateful for my "blood" relatives and the adopted family I've created here in Seattle. And I am grateful for you.

May the blessings of the season be yours, and continue through 2014.

Love,

Jack

My Forever Young "Aunt," A Tribute

I held a jewel in my fingers

And went to sleep.

The day was warm, and winds were prosy;

I said: "Twill keep."

I woke and chid my honest fingers,--

The gem was gone;

And now an amethyst remembrance

Is all I own.

--Emily Dickinson

We called her Re Re, and she was ours.

With her trademark platinum blonde curls and statuesque figure, Rhea Marie Bazur reveled in showering attention on her seven nieces and nephews: Brian, Michelle, Jack, Kevin, Lori, Betsy, and Angie. She called them her seven "lover buttons." Re Re and my mother Ruth were first cousins, born only three months apart, and grew up like sisters. By virtue of that closeness I was designated the eighth "lover button," lucky enough to see her more often than my cousins who lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Re Re and her mother (my great aunt Loretta) would often babysit for me when my parents snuck out for a date on Saturday nights.

In the early 1990's, Re Re dancing
in front of our Christmas tree

Those sleepovers became a highlight of my childhood. In the early to mid 1970's Saturday night television stood as a beacon of entertainment with All in the Family, Mary Tyler Moore, and Carol Burnett making everyone in America laugh out loud. Re Re and Loretta would play games with me in the early evening and then we'd tune into our favorite shows and snuggle on the white leather couch, the glow of the hearth warming us nearby. For a then shy, quiet seven-year-old boy without any siblings, their love and affection was worth gold. We'd prepare root beer floats in time for Carol Burnett to emerge and answer questions from the studio audience. Sometimes I'd fall asleep in their laps as they rubbed my back or ran their fingers through my hair.

While devoted to family, Re Re had a life of her own.  She worked in the accounting department for Standard Oil. Never married, she had a posse of girlfriends, and some guy friends.  She loved playing golf, would join in a game of tennis now and then to placate my mom, took ski vacations to exotic places like Yugoslavia, and loved to dance, embracing disco as if it were the next form of the jitterbug and in later years showcasing a bumper sticker that read "I'd Rather Be Dancing" on the back of her white Trans Am.

Re Re loved bright colors, and like my mom, enjoyed fashion and dressing up. She gobbled up pop culture. I remembered spotting Valley of the Dolls on her bookshelf and knowing even at age eight it was a scandalous, sexy novel. She liked reading about Hollywood and celebrities, much like I did, as evidenced by her collection of Photoplay, and later Star, magazines. I loved that even into the 1980's she told me she liked listening to the radio so she could keep up on the latest music. While she saw classic entertainers like Frank Sinatra and Beverly Sills in concert, she never lost interest in what was new and happening.

16 year old niece Angie and Re Re raid the
attic closet and go vintage for the camera

While we shared frivolous interests in music and entertainment, Re Re also imbued in me some important life lessons. One summer afternoon in 1975 en route to a family vacation I threw a banana peel out the back window of her lemon Dodge Dart. She pulled the car over. "Jackie," she began, "I'm surprised at you. We don't litter on our highways. Don't ever do that again." I felt embarrassed and ashamed, that somehow I'd disappointed her.  I never threw a piece of trash out the window of a car, much less trashed the environment thanks to her light, appropriate approach to seizing a teaching moment.

A child of the Great Depression Rhea conserved resources and often demonstrated parsimonious behavior. Whenever we visited McDonald's, a big treat for a kid in the 70's, she would ask to share my chocolate shake. I begrudgingly would allow her to take sips, understanding down deep that it was good to share, but also wanting my own. I laugh now, recalling my frustrated reaction. Maybe she was conscious of her budget, or simply wanted to watch her waistline on that statuesque figure she maintained for so long. Whatever, I learned how sharing brought people together.

I'm most grateful for her youthful, optimistic energy. Re Re took the time to spoil us with her attention without the distraction of her  own brood to mind. I would pull out the chalk board and play teacher while she and great aunt Loretta took on the roles of dutiful students. I recited by memory the entire story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs while they gave me their devoted attention and applauded my storytelling abilities. In later years we'd travel to Huntington Beach or Lakewood Park on Lake Erie and sit by the water enjoying the sound of waves and wind, or just soak in the sunshine, one of our favorite activities. Re Re's freckles all connected into one glorious tan, which she prized.

In 1997, Re Re left Cleveland to settle in Fort Wayne, closer to her most immediate family, my godparents and her seven nieces and nephews. She lived independently for several years and then moved into assisted living as her memory worsened. The last seven years she needed graduated nursing care. I visited her most recently in 2010 to celebrate her 91st birthday. I brought a cake, and she blew out the candles. She recognized me the minute I arrived. Pointing to the gray in my temples, she instructed me "to get rid of that." Neither she nor Mom were fans of "going silver." I laughed, and imagined my mother might have done the same. Young at heart, they both liked keeping up youthful appearances.

Mom, Re Re, and Me,  Cleveland, 1997

I'd made tentative plans to travel back to the Midwest in April to celebrate Re Re's 95th birthday. She'd recently moved to a new care facility and according to my cousin her demeanor and awareness had improved. Last Sunday morning I received word from my cousin Lori that dear Re Re, agitated and pale, was rushed by ambulance to Emergency. Lori arrived in time to gaze into the loving eyes of our childhood inspiration one last time before she drifted off to eternity.

Full of life, color, verve and vivacity, Re Re struck a unique chord in all our lives. She will be missed greatly. And yet like all great loves, she lives on, forever young.

At Summer's End, Discovering the Thin Places

How much shall I be changed before I am changed?

--John Donne

This summer I turned 50. Barring an unforeseen future wedding (I've not identified the unsuspecting groom), I decided to commemorate the occasion with a huge (and expensive) party and rented a rocking loft in Pioneer Square, entrusted my childhood friend R.J. to create a James Bond themed invitation, invited 50 plus friends asking them to dress in Bond-style fashion, and hired a sexy deejay and smooth bartender. I created the party of my dreams, and had the time of my life dancing with old friends I'd met when I first moved to Seattle in the late 1980's, chums from my graduate school days in the 90's, buddies from swim team, neighbors, and new friends from work and play. I really did have the time of my life.

Hammock Heaven, Sept 2013

The rest of this summer found me spending lots of time hiking in the mountains, swimming  in the open water of Lake Washington, and savoring a good paperback or a nap in my new favorite place: my backyard hammock. I dreamed a lot this summer. One favorite book I've read over and over is The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I've even begun to imagine myself a wallflower (in the most unconventional sense of the word!) even though most people who know me would say, "You're an extrovert, Jack. How could you think otherwise?"

Fact is I often feel like I don't fit anywhere. I'm an athlete and love to move my body, whether it's in the water, or on the tennis court. I'm also an artist, and whether I'm writing on this blog, revising a chapter of my memoir, singing, preparing a delicious meal for friends, or combing my hair, I love creation and finding new ways of greeting life.

I'm spiritual too and don't think I would have survived this long had it not been for the faith my parents passed on to me. I'm lucky I found a way to make it my own and discovered people a long the way who loved me for me--a guy who left his family and everything he knew back in the Midwest and ventured to a new megalopolis that embraced the entrepreneurial--software, coffee, aeronautics, and the next new thingamajig--and alternate ways of living--gay rights and legalized marijuana--while casting a suspicious eye on of all things, organized religion.

The Joy of Tennis, Summer 2009

I sometimes tell friends I have a harder time confiding to new acquaintances I'm a practicing Catholic compared with telling them I'm a gay man!

Back to transformations and fitting in. During my extended periods in the backyard hammock reading Wallflower I've found my heart lost in the feelings of the main character Charlie as he writes in episodic fashion to an unidentified pen pal about his freshman year in high school, his new friends Patrick and Sam, and the intimate world of his nuclear family. The story reminded me how in high school it feels like possibilities are endless, everything is at stake, and how easy it is in adulthood to fall into routines that turn us into sleepwalkers, zombies of life.

And I resolved that I didn't want to live that way. I'm reading another book called A New Way to Be Human written by Robert V. Taylor, an anti-apartheid activist and former dean of St. Mark's Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle, with a foreword by Desmond Tutu. Taylor talks about traveling to the "thin places" of our lives, often found in nature and on the edges of our own fear and resistance to being fully alive. There is a thin veil inherent in these places where if we pull it back we discover an invitation to see the world with a new perspective and get back in touch with ourselves, the Holy (or spiritual source), other people, and nature.

Over the summer I've wrestled with challenges in the workplace and in my love life, and sometimes in the hammock I was simply grateful to have a refuge to allow the weight of the world, and the weight of my heart, to dissipate. Through dialogue and patience I've found a way to reach out to a co-worker who criticized my work style and performance, which at times felt like a personal attack on my very existence. I've travelled a long road to get to a place of forgiveness, and I'm still working on mending that relationship.

Life, like Twister, can tie us up in knots
or present opportunities

Likewise in my personal life I've learned that choices, and timing, matter. Often I've selected sweethearts because they were there in front of me rather than really examining whether they engaged my heart and soul. Perhaps that's a tall order to ask for in this day and age. And with only ten percent of the population identifying as gay, I may be relegating myself to single-dom ad perpetuam.

Earlier this year I confided in a friend whom I dated that I want to feel something before I jump into a serious relationship. I learned later with the same friend that spending time together without any pressure or expectation allowed me to develop feelings for him in a way I hadn't before when we were officially "dating." And by that time sadly he was seeing someone else.

So at the end of the summer of my fiftieth year, I'm changing. I accept I'm imperfect, a fact I've avoided my whole life of trying to be "the best little boy." I recognize my fears are my greatest opportunities if I'm willing to lift the veil of those thin places, and be curious and explore them. Like my good friend Joe suggested during a lunch on Seattle's scenic, seagull-strewn waterfront. Throwing his arm around my shoulder, he egged me on: "Jack, lean in. Do me a favor and lean into your life."

With that bit of advice this self-proclaimed wallflower is leaning into the wind and once again diving into the mysterious stream of existence, eager to participate.

Namaste to each one of you who chooses to do the same.

Adieu to a Summer Well-Lived, Colman Pool, West Seattle

In India, the Bicycle Rises Above the Din

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.

~ Albert Einstein, letter to his son Eduard, 1930

Earlier this year I took a much-anticipated trip to India, a place I’d never visited but dreamed of experiencing ever since seeing the film Passage to India in college. I boarded Air India with seven other friends and flew from New York’s JFK International to New Delhi where for the next 12 days we explored a region called the Golden Triangle, a popular tourist route that encompasses the bustling capital of New Delhi, Agra (home to the Taj Mahal), and Jaipur, also known as the Pink City and famous for its majestic forts, palaces, and arts and crafts.

Jack & his travel companion Jenny lei'd in India

We arrived in Delhi on Feb 20. Our tour guide Praveen welcomed us with marigold leis he placed around our necks with great ceremony. The sun shone bright as we emerged into a balmy and surprisingly arid eighty-degree day. We’d chosen to visit in February to avoid the monsoon season and paralyzing humidity that begins in April. My friends and I hoped the weather and our exotic surroundings would provide the antidote to our winter blues.

Our first day touring Embassy Row we were greeted by a dozen curious monkeys parading around the village green. The expected sacred cows dotted the side of the road as we further ventured from the city center into more rural landscapes. So did sleeping dogs, the mongrels stretched out so close to the side of the road I feared the mutts would get run over by the never-ending traffic careening every which way.

On our Friendly Planet tour bus I watched from high above the myriad modes of transport people use 

Outside the Taj Mahal, India on Wheels

to travel the roads of northern India. Rickshaws, mopeds and motor bikes, cars, buses and trucks all vie for a piece of the four--sometimes two--lane road. To further complicate traffic conditions there are also people walking and biking on the same road all the other vehicles use, along with the aforementioned sacred cows and sleeping dogs along the perimeter.

Here in Seattle I bike for pleasure, to do small errands, and in the warmer months I enjoy commuting back and forth to my job at Bicycle Alliance of Washington.  I will carry a change of clothes, my lunch, and books and papers in my pannier. When I rode down the coast of California and up the western coast of Ireland I loaded a tent and sleeping bag on my bike rack along with the requisite food, clothes, and maps necessary for my journey stuffed in my panniers.

Carrying a Load Plus, Uttar Pradesh

What amazed me about people cycling in India is the vast array of ways they chose to use a bicycle. I saw a man hauling a large load wrapped in burlap on the back of his bike. On top of the load sat a man and woman, who looked as if all their earthly possessions rode underneath them.

Another bike rider carried lumber boards and building materials on a slat with wheels attached to the back of a bicycle. One gentleman hauled gasoline cans. And a third pulled a platform of rugs behind his bike.

Amidst the honking of cars and careening of people and beasts along the side of the road I wondered how traffic moved at all. But is does. The beeping of horns are not to irritate or aggravate, but offer a reminder someone is passing or taking a piece of the road.

Hauling a load of carpets, Delhi

Of course there are also people riding bikes to get from one place to the next without any hauling or exchange of commerce. Sitting in my motorized Friendly Planet bus high above the rest of the crowd I often yearned to get closer to the ground. On the third day of our trip my wish came true. We toured Jama Masjid, India’s largest mosque completed in 1656, and then embarked on a bicycle rickshaw ride through an ancient New Delhi market.

The rickshaw driver veered through a narrow lane of bustling shops selling jewelry, silver, electronics, textiles, and clothing. A rat’s nest of wire hung from above like an electric cloud, one spark away from conflagration. Walkers, fellow rickshaw drivers, motorbikes, shopkeepers, and their customers shared this busy public space. The closeness of people forced to interact with one another and share the road brought a big smile to my face.

At my job with the Bicycle Alliance of Washington, I oversee the building of membership, connect people who want to do good with opportunities to grow bicycling, and market and promote the Share the Road license plate and philosophy.

Through the Back Window of the Bus, Jaipur

Across the world in India I learned first hand the intimate flowering of shared space, how people incorporate bicycling into their daily work lives, and how the bicycle continues to flourish in a rapidly industrializing society that is poised to grow and prosper in this new twenty first century.

Whether in Seattle or New Delhi, I learned that the bicycle is still relevant. 

Note from Seattle: Making My Dreams Come True

"Resolve to be always beginning - to be a beginner." 
-Rainer Maria Rilke

Two years ago I started blogging On the Road with Jack and then when I began my new job at Bicycle Alliance of Washington I fell off the map, except for the occasional holiday post. I'm here to tell you I'm back in the saddle (all these bike analogies seem to work!) and will resume chronicling my journey as a single gay guy living in Seattle, now happily employed with a bicycle advocacy and education non-profit, who completed a trip to India last winter, and recently reached the mid-century mark. There is a lot to catch you up on. Today I want to focus on dreams and how it sometimes can take awhile to make them come true. The key is perseverance--with tenacity anything is possible.

India: Full of Inspiration, March 2013

One of the reasons for starting On the Road was to keep you--my readers--abreast of progress on my coming of age memoir, R.J., Farrah, and Me: A Young Man's Gay Odyssey from the Inside Out. After completing the original manuscript in the fall of 2010, and receiving constructive feedback from three people I respect and who understand my writing, I've spent the last 2-1/2 years crafting a second revision. Folks said they wanted more of me in the story, more emotion, more feeling, more "getting naked" as my professor and friend Hubert suggested. Scary!!

For the first time writer of any memoir, this task is not an easy one. When I first put pen to paper I found it easier to observe myself from the outside looking in rather than the inside looking out. I had to change and it took courage. Two plus years of it.

I know my determination to push forward was a sign that I really cared about my subject matter. The memoir is about teenage friendship and the importance of connection in a world where all of us sometimes feel like the misfit toys in Santa Claus is Coming to Town. But in 1976 I met my best friend R.J. in a children's acting class, and everything changed. I no longer felt odd-man out. We discovered we shared a mutual obsession over Charlie's Angel Farrah Fawcett-Majors and bought all the magazines she graced, cut out the covers and stories, and pasted them in our Farrah scrapbooks. Instead of baseball cards, we collected Farrah! R.J. also taught me three important life lessons: how to shave, how to disco dance, and how to...well, you'll have to buy the book to find out the third one!

Jack and R.J., Huntington Beach, Bay Village, OH July 1979

Over the weekend I attended the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference in my own backyard, Seattle! I decided after finishing my second revision on July 4 I needed to take the next step and find out how to get my book published. This conference held every year brings together writers from all over the Northwest and beyond to mingle with agents, editors, authors, and people working in the publishing industry. I arrived for four intense days of workshops on the craft of writing, whether to self-publish or pursue a deal with a traditional publishing house, presentations by publishing pros, and an opportunity to pitch my book to agents and editors.

Saturday morning my stomach was full of butterflies as I rode the light rail to the SeaTac Hilton, where I would make my pitch. Arriving early I visited the "pitching room," where people could practice with others and hone their delivery before attending the formal session with 32 agents and 8 editors. I met a gregarious woman from Montana who advised me to "keep it short, we've only got 4 minutes!" Thanks to Sandy, I whittled my delivery to the essence--setting is suburban Cleveland, 1976, thirteen year old Jack who can't throw a ball straight meets R.J. in children's theatre classes, everything changes, Farrah obsession, three life lessons, one sultry summer evening physical relationship ensues, Jack struggles with the implications of this night, his relationship with R.J., and his very identity over the course of a decade.

One half hour later along with over 100 other writers I entered the room where all those agents and editors sat in ordered desks at the very front. Thanks to Sandy I felt confident and prepared, I'd identified the four agents and one editor I wanted to meet. I got in a line for the first one, a bell rang, and the pitching began. After my first meeting I grew more confident when the agent gave me her card and said "send it to me." I collected two more cards from agents who wanted to see my manuscript. Two editors expressed interest and gave me their cards.

That day I felt exuberant. I reclined on a chaise near the outdoor pool in the warm sunshine and exhaled like I'd carried the world on my shoulders and now could release the pulleys. A big smile grew across my face. I'd started this project in February 2010 by daring to dream I could write a book, which I'd fantasized about since childhood. Regardless of what happens with the agents and editors who review the manuscript over the next few months, I'm on my way.

Farrah, The Muse of 1976
Click on the Poster to Learn the Story
of her Red Bathing Suit!