Author Archives: joe bielawa

Jake Shimabukuro

This past Saturday night, Nov. 9th, I had the enjoyable experience of seeing Jake Shimabukuro perform at the Fitzgerald Theatre in St. Paul.

Like most people, I was introduced to Jake’s playing by the video posted on YouTube of his rendition of George Harrison’s While My Guitar Gently Weeps in 2006.

Watch Ukelele Weeps here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puSkP3uym5k

Being completely blown away by his playing, I thought  “I would like to photograph this guy playing live” which seemed fairly unrealistic at the time, for I had yet to own a DSLR and had no clue if he was even touring.

Within in a few months of seeing that video, Jake played at the Dakota Jazz Club in Minneapolis. It was after this performance during a meet and greet that I met Jake for the first time. Over the next two years, I had a couple of chance encounters with Jake before and after shows, I gave him my business card, sent him a letter and we exchanged tweets and a bond was formed. He began to grant me clearance to photograph him at shows.

I photographed a couple of his shows at The Cedar on the West Bank in Minneapolis. It was always a challenge, for the lighting at the Cedar isn’t all that great and always made for extremely contrasting imagery.

 November 2010 

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The full set can be viewed here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/joebielawa/sets/72157625200659159/

March 2012

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The ful set can be viewed here:http://www.flickr.com/photos/joebielawa/sets/72157629197082172/ 

When the images started being posted of Jake’s current The Grand Ukulele Tour, the lighting was AWESOME!!  Nice multiple colored background lighting, over head lighting, smoke…the true “rock star” stage experince. I was excited to see that the tor would be passing through St. Paul and was anticipating the opportunity to photograph Jake under such optimum lighting conditions.

At the end of September, in Las Vegas, five hours before I was to fly back to Minneapolis, I broke my ankle that required surgery to repair. Bedridden, then on crutches, I had to withdraw from all of my photographic commitments for October and November…with December still uncertain.

Of all of events I had to withdraw from, not being able to photograph Jake was the most disappointing. I had purchased a front row balcony seat back in May when tickets for the show first went on sale, so I “surrendered” that I would just  sit back, enjoy the show and not do any photography.

When I arrived at he box office to retrieve my ticket from will call, I was informed there wasn’t an elevator and they wouldn’t let me hop up the stairs to the balcony. After a brief discussion with the Lead Usher, I was moved to a seat in the 7th row, stage left, on the aisle.

The experience of watching Jake play is such an incredible one.  From the moment he humbly walks out on to stage, through a mesmerizing set varying from jazz, blues, classical and rock is such an emotional charged experience. And his 90 minute set kept me moving with wowed impression on into blue sadness to a jazzy hyperness to a rocking elation.

As always, his playing style just blows me away and leaves me in a state of awe and, no matter what emotions it may invoke, over all, hearing him play just makes me happy.  There were two moments during this show that really stuck out to me: at the pauses while he played the tribute to a dying friend’s mother during  “Blues Roses Falling” the energy of the audience was silently still and you could have heard a pin drop.  While playing “Dragon” he electronically added riffs and overlays through a wah pedal and a delay, then played a lead over it all to create an “electronic ukulele orchestra.”  You can fully understand why he is called the “Jimi Hendrix of the ukulele”  ever expanding the sonic vocabulary of the ukulele.

What I love the most is his sharing stories behind certain songs, how he came to play ukulele, what inspires him, but mostly his goof –ball antics, reflected on this tour by sharing stories of being a recent new dad. And too, as the show came to a close, how he thanks and acknowledges the various people that are significant to the night’s production and to the theatre, especially the volunteers and then his acknowledging the audience for their attendance. And all of this is so truly genuine and sincere, not just a musician saying from stage “Thank you  (insert town of the night here)”

If you get a chance to se Jake play in your area, it is a truly worthwhile experience to watch this virtuoso express and share his talent.

http://jakeshimabukuro.com/#/tour

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Bed Pans and Morphine—Reloaded

Eighteen days since the surgery to align my fibula with a plate on six screws, and I am getting stronger.  I had the cast removed, the suture taken out and am now wearing an ”air boot;” which is awesome because now I can remove that occasionally to let the foot breathe and do range of motion exercises.

This was the first marker of recovery in how the wound was healing. Medical staff had informed me that at this point it would either be reapply another cast and continue with that for a few more weeks or move to the air boot.

I was nervous as the cast was removed as to what the condition of the wound would be. As the doctor looked at the incision and at my ankle, I was more than overjoyed when he said:  “You seem to be experiencing accelerated healing”

I still can’t apply any pressure to the ankle for four more weeks, but the boot just makes things easier.

As I mentioned in my previous post, there was insight that would be gained from all of this and as the saying goes “more will be revealed.”

From the first visit to the ER in Las Vegas, during the first appointment to discuss the surgery and throughout the entire process…I acknowledged to the medical staff around me, the ongoing process of my recovery from chemical dependency.  Back in the hospital room, seeing the “patient board” board with a suggested dosage plan of: “Percocet every four hours, morphine every two hours.”  My first thought was: Would this be enough?

 I had discussions with the nursing staff and the surgeon and it was decided that the morphine would be removed form the treatment plan and I would just go with the Percocet. 

The first few days, I enjoyed the synthetic opiates. I slept well through the night, woke up refreshed and positive. I’m not sure when the crossover began. I kept dosing as prescribed, but my energy shifted. First my system slowed down, way down. Bowels moved every few days and were a struggle. Libido nonexistent. I would knock out for hours on end at various time of day, only to wake up irritable. My skin was clammy, crawly and it itched. There was a putrid odor to both my urine and my essence.  Then I was just sleeping a couple hours at a time and was constantly irritable, depressed and generally loopy.

Jokingly, I had been sending video messages to a friend as a way of contact with the out side world. I had sent maybe ten messages before I reviewed the latest one I had sent and when I saw it I thought: ”I’m fucked up!”

I had crazed demeanor and animation, bug eyes, tweeky facial expressions, slurred words and incoherent sentences. It was frightening.

It was this same day that I had seen three different news stories, two online, one on the news on tv, all with the same theme: A person had died as the result of an overdose while relapsing after being on pain meds for a broken bone. It was so very much in my face.

Looking at what I was experiencing, I realized I had relived 30 years of addiction, sans the arrests, assaults, evictions and terminations, in 12 short days.

So I took myself off the Percocet. It takes 72 hours for synthetic opiates to flush out of a system. The first two days weren’t bad…it was just ignoring the voice saying “time for a pill.”  It was the third day that was hell; the angst, the desperate depression, the disgust, the self-hatred, the anxiety, the hopelessness. All those things that are my denial that propelled me to try and numb out with drugs for years. It was a darkness I had not experienced in the 9.5 years since I had last used narcotics.  I went to bed with the acceptance of a day at a time and the hope that Universe providing; a new day would dawn.

I woke up the next day and immediately felt that my energy, my sprit, was again it’s lively self. In a couple of days, bodily functions returned; my skin was no longer clammy or itchy. I began to establish a sleep pattern. I was at peace, calm. And I began to feel…clean and sober.

How quickly the injured leg has atrophied is beyond belief. It frightens me, actually. I know there is nothing I can do and in actuality the body has taken the nutrients that were those muscles and applied them to my healing.

Conversations with my trainer have assured me, in short time of recovery, it will return.

So I have begun a workout regimen that is basic range of motion exercises and the simplest of events on crutches. At first it was just to go out side and sit on the stoop; then it was down the stairs to the street; then down the ¼ block to the one corner; then in the other direction, ¾ to the other corner; then around the block. Then twice around the block.  In six days I am up to walking 10 city blocks. At times, alternating ten steps with a step and then a high kick, swinging the boot up to waist level. It may look goofy as shit, but I do not care.

What has been the most overwhelming to me has been the support from the people in my life that genuinely care about me. The outpouring of love through cards, well-wishes, phone calls, gift bags of food, care packages, surprise early morning visits bearing mochas, grocery runs, dinners out, car rides…I am filled with such gratitude and am truly blessed to be surrounded by such loving, kind, compassionate, caring people.

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Bedpans and Morphine

Ten days ago, after spending a week wandering around Mojave Desert, I tripped over a stair, fell and broke my fibula at my ankle. The location of the accident, my friend’s house, was such a blessing, as he is a nurse and he “quick set” the ankle popping it back in place after it was all geeked out to the side before we headed to the ER.  If this had happened while I was solo hiking at various times during the previous week in the Mojave, I would not be here writing this.

I went on this trip as a sort of “vision quest” so to speak: to research a new geographic area for a pending move, to spend some time with friends. But mostly, to spend some time alone, in the wilderness, with introspection.

Little did I know just what insight would be gained from this injury and subsequential time in the hospital for surgery.

I use exercise and movement as a way increase endorphins and ward off depression, with a side benefit of staying in shape. I am a perpetual motion type of person.  Some may say hyperactivity, others ADHD… I just like to move around. I like the blur of the landscape as I bike by, the sound of my skates along a path…or the simple tranquility of a walk.

All of these thing are for now, impossible. As I am laid up with pins and a plate in my leg wrapped in a cast. 

I truly have to just take things a day at a time. And deal with this as it unfolds. 

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Autumnal Equinox

The beginning of the 4th quarter of a calendar, the fourth season of the year and the halfway point in my yearly chronology. 

This time of year holds certain markers for me. Matters of my history. I am in a reflective sort. More than my usual thinking too much and because I have been neglecting writing …I cant seem to bring out the energy and emotion that is rattling around inside.

Life is good. I am content. Things are keeping me busy.  Negatives will come into my life by peoples actions and words and are immediately crushed by the actions and words of the good people in my life. I don’t seem to recall this happening in the past as I do now. The people in my life that are showing me true love by their words, actions and deeds is overwhelming. 

 

 

 

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Death Dates

I have never been one to acknowledge “death dates.” Such a silly thing, to me. Oh sure, I remember where I was, what I was doing when I heard the news. With some the memory is so vivid in the minds eye it can be relived in exact clarity. I always can remember the death dates…the significant ones.

I like to remember the birth days or the Earth Days; still more over, I like to remember the life. The good times, the fun, the triumph over tragedy… the stories. I have been fortunate to have the stories. For me, that is the wealth, the richness of a life. The stories of the experience, to tell and to share.

Mom has a saying “Don’t send me no flowers” meaning send no flowers to the funeral…honor the life as it is lived.

I’ve heard it, I’ve felt it and I’ll say this again and for always: Tell the ones you love them, that you do…it’s really all that we’ve got. Love to share…to accept, to give, to pass around and to grow.

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The Great Minnesota Get Together – 2013

It’s that time of year again…end of summer, hot, humid and hundreds of thousands make their way over to Falcon Heights MN for the Minnesota State Fair. It’s food on a stick, food in a cup, food on a plate…ok. Alot of food. There are many forms of entertainment with music, games, rides, demos, but my favorite, which both amuses and occasionally apalls: People watching.

I was there yesterday and met up with friends. Played some games, won a fluffy elephant, ate pork chop on a stick, a turkey leg, a chocolate malt, a frozen fruit iced concoction in a cone, lamb a stick…..just a lite day of eating.

Still awaiting my shooting schedule for the upcoming days. I will certainly be returning for more of the above and then some!

 

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July 4th 2013

I really didn’t have any plans for the 4th, aside from my new tradition “The Freedom from Pants Bike Ride” which is a bike ride or parade where the participants bike around Minneapolis in their underwear.  It was the 7th annual, but my second ride. I blogged about my first experience last year.

I am really not sure what has come over me…aside from the desire to be outside, but I have started to ride my bike rather obsessively again. And the morning of the fourth, knowing I would be riding 8 – 12 miles with the Freedom From Pants Ride, I set out for what is now my usual 10-mile route.

When I returned from the ride and was at my apt. door unlocking it, my neighbor came out of his unit and invited me out to the patio for some bar-b-que and drinks. I grabbed some herbal iced tea and headed out to the patio. Once there, I was introduced to the neighbor’s friend and to his co-worker.

I really wasn’t all that hungry, so I just swilled my tea. They asked what I was doing for the fourth and I told them about the underwear bike ride. I could tell by the silence and the way the air seemed to just be sucked up out and away from the table that we were sitting at, that they might not be as keen on a parade of people stripped to their undies as I was.

The conversation shifted into shop talk and we chatted up about our respective places of employment. Neighbor’s coworker seemed somewhat evasive with a couple of statements he made that I figured he had a history, possibly criminal, but I didn’t cast judgment. I have my own history.

Neighbor’s friend and I exchanged  “piss off employment stories” which are, of course, the situations at the job that just you piss off.  The three of us; neighbor, his friend and I all had stories to share, yet I noticed that neighbor’s coworker didn’t share any tales.

The topic switched to the weather and neighbor’s coworker laughed at the way Minnesotans define “hot” and commented that the current “warm weather” Minnesota is experiencing is comparable to a nice April day in New Orleans.  I began to engage him in conversation about living in New Orleans and when and what made him move to Minneapolis. He laughed, looked over at neighbor and then began his story:

He had just been released from death row in Louisiana last October after spending 15 years incarcerated for a crime he didn’t commit.

I was just blown away. I had spent some 35 days in a county facility; I can’t even imagine what 15 years would be like.

I moved over to the chair closer to him, extended my hand to him and said: “oh my GOD! Brother, CONGARTULATIONS! Welcome to your freedom!!” and gave him a firm, strong handshake. He laughed nervously as he shook my hand and thanked me. He began to share some of the tale. Not really all the details as to how he got there, but just some the basic. In a 6×8 cell for 23 hours a day that averaged over a 100 degrees in the summer, no air conditioning, only getting out for an hour of exercise.

He mentioned that this year was to be a lot of firsts for him…and he was relishing each one as they happened.

I suddenly felt so foolish thinking back on what I was bitching about just a few minutes earlier that was nothing compared to what this man had been through. And I told him this. He smiled and said he gets that a lot.

More neighbors came out to the patio to use the grill and a party atmosphere came over the patio.  One of the female guests asked me what I was doing for the 4th.  With the response I got from the first three earlier, I was hesitant, then proceeded with “um, ah, I…” And my neighbor blurted out “just tell them you’re doing a bike ride”

 I laughed and said “Ya. I am going on a bike ride” and cracked a devilish grin. The girl then asked me “Are you doing the Underwear Bike Ride?!?!”  to which I said with new found confidence  “The Freedom from Pants Ride?  Yes I am.” And she smiled and said, “So are all of us!” and motioned to the three girls and four guys that were around her.

The first three who seemed awkward form my announcement now voiced their admission that I wasn’t the only freak and now had company in my freakdom.  “Cool” I exclaimed.

The seven were waiting for one more to show, so I decided to head over to the pants drop start point for the ride. When I go to the area that was the start point last year, it was under construction and obviously not conducive to holding 350+ people.

A group of bikers in their undies passed by, so I started following them and asked them if they knew of the start point for the ride. They invited me to follow them.

We rode a few blocks just into NE Minneapolis to an open area by a White Castle and there were throngs of folks in their undies. Guys in bikinis, boxers, briefs, square cuts, lacy manties (man panties), tutu’s and  couple in skirts. Women were stripped down to bras and panties, boy shorts, granny panties and bikini swimsuits; although there were a couple with just panties and pasties covering nipples, so 7/8 boob was in view. There was a father and his young son in matching Batman boxer-briefs and capes. And a family of four with the two kids in baggy shorts, sunglasses and training wheels on their bikes.

 

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Just like last year, I pulled up, got off my bike and stripped down to my undies, putting my clothes into my saddlebag. It is rather exhilarating to just strip down like this outside, which I used to do a lot of when I lived in the desert in CA. I guess the real exhilaration is the fact that there are few hundred around me doing the same thing.

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I chatted up three guys that were hanging in the street waiting, as I was, for the ride to begin.

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After about 20 minutes, some guy on a mega phone announced the start of the ride and the route. We mounted up and began to ride down Central Avenue towards the Third Avenue Bridge into Downtown Minneapolis.  We crossed the bridge, I saw the folks from my apartment complex and we exchanged “Woo-hoo’s!” as we biked along in our undies.

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Once Downtown, we made our way over to the Plaza of The Hennepin County Government Center, were we took a quick break to allow all the riders to catch up after crossing the bridge.

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We then made our way over to Nicollet Mall and then down to Grant Street and into Loring Park; where we took a half hour or so break and partied in the park to the music that was booming off a trailer that some dude was hauling behind his bike.

I enjoyed conversation with a few, but with one guy in particular who was participating in his first ride.

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The call came to ”Mount UP” and we began to ride through the park and began what was I felt,  to be the first of a few errors in the ride. Instead of going a few hundred yards around the smaller end of the lake, the leaders crossed over the bridge in Loring Park, which is a narrow path with two small 90 degree turns enclosed in a wrought iron fence.  This design is to slow bikers down to prevent them from speeding across the bridge. And slow us down it did; however the mood was jovial and the group that was around me as we made our through the turns and across the bridge commented on my physique, my undies and my anatomy. Did I mention WHY I love this ride??

Once through the bottleneck we made our way down Hennepin Avenue into Uptown, which is a couple of mile stretch. Now, as I say we “ we made our way along…” I mean that we took over the entire lane of traffic, FOR BLOCKS! Some bikers would assume the role and form a chain across a cross street to prevent any cars from getting into the street. It’s like a Critical Mass Bike Ride only here everyone is stripped down.

One of the things I enjoy most as this ride meanders through the city, is the reaction from the people passing in cars or walking on the sidewalks. It usually takes them a minute before they realize we are all in our underwear. And when this dawns on them they usually pull out the camera phones, smile, laugh or start clapping or cheering us on.

Once in Uptown, we rode over to Lake Calhoun via Lagoon and some people stripped off what little they were wearing and jumped in the lake. This area is a popular beach spot and I am always amazed at the brazen nudity. I noticed that a couple of families with kids passing by stopped and sat down and just observed all the shenanigans.

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People passing by, especially the teens seemed freaked out by the amount of naked and underwear clad people that they proclaimed a “oh HELL NO!” and stopped along the outskirts to observe.

I just stood by my bike and observed the reactions from the people walking along the bike path. I chatted again with the guy who I met back at Loring Park. The wax in has stash had come out from his dip in the lake, and his once cool looking handle bar mustache fell flat against his beard.

As the sun set and darkness began to fall, bikers started to move south on the bike lane as the final stage of the ride began to Powederhorn Park to watch fireworks. At 36th St. we headed East towards the Park.

Last year we took 31st Street over to the Park and entered from the northwest corner, down the hill onto the soccer fields. This year we entered the park from the southeast right into the main traffic of people flowing into the park. This left to some confusion and I got separated form the group, I biked through the park and all these people and made my way over to the soccer field. Some other dude was following me. There were negative comments made some by people in the crowd, but I just ignored them and rode on.

Once at the flat area of the fields, I was expecting to see the throngs of bikers we were with just with a few minutes back. None showed. The guy who followed me and I decided to head back to where we entered the park to look for the other riders. We made our way back around park in the opposite direction from where we came. By now it was completely dark. We met up with some of the group, but nowhere near the amount of riders that the group once was. I hung out for a while and talked with some of the folks, but it just didn’t have the vibe it had earlier. I decided to head home, so I bid adieu and wished folks a Happy 4th and they did to me. I put on my pants and biked home feeling extremely over dressed in my baggy shorts..

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72 Hours in Las Vegas….

I just spent three days n Las Vegas.  A combination of work, “research” and play.  The saying of “ What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” I’ll uphold but just add: unless it’s a piercing, a tattoo or an STD.

The work went well (that’s what I love about my photography…is it ever really “work”?)  Captured imagery for the Dublin company, created some portfolio submissions, did some portraiture and worked for a client that asked me out to Las Vegas to do some photography for them.

I was upgraded to a suite my first night at the Luxor and was only was in it maybe six hours, of which I slept three. I always operate on very little sleep when in Vegas… whether it’s the fresh oxygen pumped into the casinos or the energy of the area or both…who knows.

The rest of the time I was in a client provided suite at The Wynn, which was just amazing. Although the work the client needed wasn’t to the detail we had discussed, all was went well and they were pleased with what little photography I provided.

 The research was really just doing a recon on life, living and employment in Las Vegas. I “interviewed” a few people working the on the Strip and gained some good information.

The play, well it was Vegas, Baby! I lost a little $$, then gained a little $$, ate a lot of great food and the rest I am not at liberty to discuss…well, I am…but I won’t.

I did manage to meet up with an old high-school chum and it was just too much fun to hang with him again after all these years. We meet up occasionally in Minneapolis, but never had spent this much time together in 30 years. It was a riot.

With little sleep over three days, the heat and constantly walking the strip, I was wreck by the time I got at the airport for my midnight flight; only to find out I was to be on the flight that left 24 hours earlier. Opps!

Then this flight became delayed by 90 minutes. I could feel myself fading fast as I got to the boarding area. I woke up on the floor, shoes off, cuddling my camera bag like a lover to the sound of “Now Boarding Flight 612 to Minneapolis…”

Vegas, Baaabby!

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17 Hours In Des Moines…

Friday, 6/7/2013 — I drove to Des Moines, Iowa to photograph the Matthew Shepard Scholarship Awards Dinner.  The namesake of the scholarships was brutally attacked and murdered in Laramie WY in 1998. His story so affected me then and still does today. I had been gay bashed in 1994 and again in early part 1998, which resulted in some time in the hospital. So when the story of Matthew’s beating and death broke in October of 1998, it just ripped open all the emotion I still had lingering from my assaults. At the time, I was trying to get a handle on my meth addiction and was just a bundle raw nerves as I continued to relapse.

I became involved with the Scholarship Awards Dinner two years ago when the founders of the NOH8 Campaign were the keynote speakers. I volunteered to photograph the event since I was in the house and gave the Eychaner Foundation the images from the night.

The day after that event, the NOH8 Campaign set up their studio and held their “Open Shoot-Des Moines” and I volunteered there as well. I met a lot of people that day and between both events that weekend, I realized Iowans are very gracious, kind, caring and friendly people. I established a few friendships in those two days that are still intact.

Last year I was invited to the event by the foundation, but was photographing President Obama’s arrival in Minneapolis and was unable to attend.  Some of the above-mentioned friends reminded me of that this year and ribbed me for choosing the Presidential event over their Iowa gig!

Again this year, I was invited to the event by the foundation and they sweetened the invitation by offering to cover my photographic rate and travel expenses. Because I believe strongly in what the foundation does through this event, I waived most of my travel expenses and offered a discounted photo rate.

What the Iowa Matthew Shepard Scholarship Awards Dinner is, is an event in which the Eychaner Foundation awards college scholarships’s to openly LGBTQ high school students who posses scholastic, moral, ethical leadership and conduct and demonstrate LGBTQ activism and community service.

This year’s keynote speaker was Dennis Shepard, Matthew’s father, and Matthew’s mom, Judy was introducing him.

So I trekked down to Des Moines from Minneapolis, making the first road trip in my new six-month-old Honda Element.  Rather uneventful trip, as side from the passing miles, which was fine by me. I idled away the time listening to music, some I hadn’t listened to in 25 years. U2’s The Joshua Tree; Eric Clapton’s August.

I checked into the Downtown Marriott, and then headed over the Iowa Convention Center where the event was being held. I ambled around taking some shots of the room and of the convention staff as they set the tables.

As guest began to arrive, I hung around the top of the stairs and photographed people checking in, milling about and enjoying cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.

I spotted Judy and Dennis Shepard, introduced myself and asked to take their picture. They agreed.  

I milled around the room as more folks began to arrive and the once vast empty room seemed crowded as some 400+ people enjoyed the pre-function activities.

Dennis Shepard was giving an interview to a TV station and Judy was standing off to the side. I approached her again and reintroduced my self. I told her that I had listen to speak up in Minneapolis a few years back. I then told her that Matt’s story had always affected me and that I really didn’t know what exactly to say to her…as I tried to find words, my vision blurred form the tears that were welling and my voiced cracked as I asked her if I could just have a hug. She agreed, we embraced and that seemed to bring the emotion up out of me (as actually it is again now) at an even greater volume. I again tried to speak and all I could manage to say was “ I don’t really know what to say to you…” and my voice was trembling. She replied as she wiped tears from her eyes: “Oh honey, don’t MAKE me cry! I have an interview to give.” I hugged her again, bid her good bye and then moved away to shake it all off, wipe my eyes and say a quiet “oh fuck!” as I tried to compose myself.

What do you say to a woman whose son was brutally murdered in hate for who he was?  I guess I could have said “I’m sorry for your loss”…but that’s just wasn’t were I was at.

 I captured some images of Dennis giving his interview and then Judy giving hers; then continued capturing scenes around the room

Time was approaching for the event to begin and the doors to the main room opened and folks started to migrate in and take their seats at the appropriate table.

I went to my seat, introduced myself to my tablemates and noshed on salad for awhile. Then it was back to roaming the event capturing images as the night began to unfold.

The way this night just flows is just such fun. Various past scholars took the stage to share the experince with the newly named scholars. 

Rich Eychaner was at the podium to introduce Alicia Claypool, who was honored with a Life Time Achievement Award. Alicia took the stage and spoke for a time.

Then it was Rich again who introduced Judy Shepard, who in turn introduced her husband Dennis.

Dennis speech was rather intense. He shared about Matt. He spoke of significant points in gay history and how the LGBTQ community today stands on the shoulders of these events in history. And he praised the families of the students who were in the room …and of the people in the room supporting these scholars.  And then he spoke to the scholars, and to all the LGBTQ people in the room and how they should feel pride in who they are.

All of this was too much for me, and I broke, again. I had to use my napkin to honk my nose.  I was hit with sense sadness as my family of origin issues came bubbling up.

So in the midst of all the goodness that was this night, just like that, I am hit with what the world of psychology calls a “ corrective emotional breakthrough” and I felt as if I was suddenly dropped into a blender.

I maintained as I moved through the motions of what was the end of the event. Interacting with people as I did what were the final photo ops of the night: the group shots. Once this phase was complete, I bid adieu to my contact at the event, and walked back to the hotel just kind of numb from everything.

Back alone in the room I was hit with one off the strongest urges to drink that I have had in a long time.  I paced about for a while with this anxiety, this uneasiness. I have said in the past; strip it all away, the sponsors, the meetings, the fellowship, the 12 steps and you all have is you; and your ability to chose. Either pick up and use or not. I choose to go to bed.

This is the thing of addiction/recovery that amazes me. Even with nine years clean…I am still over come with the negative emotion that kept me high for years. Except now when the shitty committee takes over and tries to run, rule and ruin, I don’t have to act on the uproar and give in to intoxicants.

The next day driving back to Minneapolis, Dennis Shepard’s words weighed on me mind. Not in a negative way…but was reaffirming that I have got to let go of the negative aspects of my life.  In a way, such an easy thing to say, yet in practice, another thing altogether.  Yet a change is occurring.

I am honored to have been a part of this event.

 

 

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Planes, trains and automobiles…in reverse order

At MSP International about to launch on a night flight. Spending time in various holding patterns….I enjoy some time to catch up on some writing. I am posting this from my iPhone as the MacBook is open and the story of my trip to Des Moines is in process.

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