The Cousin Test: Part 1 of 3

Dear Reader,

And a fabulous night was had by all!

I think.

I mean, we all hugged at the end- so that was a good sign, right?

Let me start at the beginning.

A few days ago, I received an email from my cousin Arlene. She and her husband Kurt (a really nice guy who is artistically quiet) would be in town for a few days from the tundra of New Jersey. Now the point must be expressed that New Jersey had recently fallen victim to a late fall/early winter blizzard where, I would come to understand, 170 inches of snow fell on Arleen's property. I didn't ask how they dug themselves out, I meant to though. But the conversation shifted to very old men having affairs with very young women. Probably, there is a logical connection bridging the two conversations but....

Her email said something like this: "In Florida from X day through X day. Would love to see you guys."

I really like Arlene. I have come to enjoy her tremendously in my adult years because she's not as intimidating as I remember her from my childhood. You see, all my first cousins have a few years in age on me. My father was 47 when I was conceived. Thus, as it turns out, I am closer in age with my cousins' kids whom I consider my closer cousins.

But there was a period in my life when I disappeared into the rumbles of New York City never to be heard of again. This is a later blog. I deliberately lost touch with almost all of my extended family. What is important here is that over the last few years, Arlene and I have come to know each other- really for the first time. Sure, over a few bottles of wine and great, great food but that is living creatively. The woman is funny, candid and smart. She seems to really enjoy life, love and laughing.

A point of view I had of her 10 years ago was, Arlene bred the two sons (Heath and Lee) I would measure my successes with their successes. And inevitably, I would always fail because I was not as good looking. Or as smart. Or minutely as "mommied" as them. (Blah blah blah bluuch). Regardless of it being a very '90s thing to do, this kind of thinking is a one way ticket to a padded room with endless reruns of The Andy Griffith Show and who wants that? Needless to say, this all changed over the last few years.

I met my partner Michael in 2003. Or met him again but that too, is another blog.

Together, we have been very fortunate to build our lives doing (more or less) the things we want to do. For Michael, it's playwriting, et al. For me, it's a bit more complex and at times involves random floating logs. But at this particular point in my life, I had just been appointed Artistic Director for a theatre company if Miami. In fact, I was lured away from a tenured track position in academia (a B.F.A. program for theatre training) for this job. Things were great. I was finding the necessary creative living for myself, building a relationship and a home. I wanted to share this with my family that I had so eagerly pushed away.

I wanted my cousins to meet Michael, a man who is one of the most giving and loyal persons I have ever met. A man who can't help but live creatively. It's in his sinew. And this probably was the initial kindred attraction. Outside of the sex. Because that is always the first keep 'em or throw 'em away.

For me, it was Michael's unbelievable creative energy! And what is more remarkable, he matched my creative energy. But we individually utilize these energies very differently. I think that when you meet another person who encompasses similar creative attributes as you, a circle of comfort and confidence develops. It's almost like your own personal ozone layer.

I wanted to share this man with my family and the time had absolutely come (almost 4 years into our relationship) that he met the "clay" from which I emerged. But I also wanted to learn about the people who were this so called- clay. I really didn't know them. This was equally important.

Michael and I were going to be in New York for something or other and I recruited (via Facebook) another cousin, Lillie, to organize a family reunion of sorts. A good portion of my cousins live in the New York City Area and it was high time to catch up. Though honestly, I felt like world largest schmuck attempting to pass off the years surprising number of marriages, births, deaths in a cliff notes sort of way. What kind of person was I?

"Lets meet for dinner." There is a great restaurant called Artisanal just north of the Gramercy Park area of Manhattan. I was taken to this restaurant a few years earlier upon my graduation from Grad School. From what I remembered about Artisanal, it's a "cheese and wine for days" kind of place. How can you go wrong? Unless my cousins are teetotaling vegans. Oooops.

The guest list of the reunion at Artisanal aside from Arlene and Kurt was Lillie,her brother Andy and his then girlfriend, Pearl, his mother Myra, Arleen's sons Heath and Lee with their then girlfriend/wife, Terry and Marisa. And Michael and me. These names, I'm sure will pop up more often from time to time.

I wanted to be at the Artisanal early. So Michael and I cut out after Act 16 from the all black cast of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof on Broadway. Not that it was a bad production. Though it was. No matter how fantastic Phylicia Rashad's Big Mama was. But I felt that we should be there before anybody else gets there- to greet everybody- as they walked in from the cold winter day.

Plus, I needed a glass of wine (or 10) to calm my nerves. I was petrified. And sweaty. And petrified. And getting drunk quickly. I understand it's rather gauche to greet your cousins at a family reunion and trip into their arms from over zealous emotional drinking. This night was going to be a disaster.

Tomorrows blog: The reunion at Artisanal

Blog after that: Last nights dinner party with Arlene and Kurt and more cousins. The Meltzer Family!

Best,

Stuart

P.S. If you are in New York and wish to dine at a local eatery that has an enormous wine and cheese menu and exquisite food this is your place. Also, there are no tourists. An incredible plus. http://www.artisanalbistro.com/