TWO GAYS AT A BABY SHOWER...

My cousin, his niece. They’re having a baby. And so we bought our gifts, stuffed them in overpriced (but super cute) gift bags and showed up for the shower. Fifty people—half men, half women—but only two gay guys.

We’d never met before but I could tell he’d been primed. Oh, you’ve got to meet James. He’s funny and smart. And,…he’s single. I got a similar backgrounder file on Rich: outrageously funny, so loving, great fun.

I didn’t need an introduction. My gaydar worked just fine. Presumably so did his because he approached and chatted me up within five minutes of arrival. Nice guy. Same age. We laughed as we sustained a fifteen-minute conversation. That’s an achievement for me since I find chitchat challenging. Even more remarkable: I didn’t feel a layer of sweat coating my forehead or wetting my underarms. I was calm, maybe even charming.

But then maybe it’s because I knew things weren’t going anywhere. I could tell in an instant from his breath he was a smoker. I’ve had a long-term relationship with a smoker and I’m dead certain I never will again. Besides, to hit it off would be complicated and impractical. I’ve started seeing someone else back in Vancouver and the uncle of the mom-to-be lives in Ottawa. So pleasant enough, someone to connect with during future family functions in which cousins and uncles are invited, but nothing more.

None of my relatives or family friends quizzed me later in the day. I could feel eyes on us as we chatted during that first exchange and during two other occasions at the shower, but half my family is still too repressed to ask about anything gay and the other half knows I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself (and to blog readers, of course).

So it ends quietly. The two gays showed at the shower, they brought amazing gifts (as gays do) and they went their separate ways. The main players were fine, but I suspect the armchair gay-watchers left disappointed. It’s bound to happen when your gay pool is so small.

Apples for Apples

Well, I’ve struggled to retain and experience any gay part of my identity since moving to a rural area in British Columbia nearly four years ago. For unrelated reasons, I’ve taken a leave of absence from my regular job and I’ve traveled to a new place for a two-month sojourn to pursue creative projects. So where did I go? New York City? Chicago? Montreal? Tokyo? A rural area on the Ottawa River in Ontario. Ottawa is an hour’s drive away.

As with my home, the family cottage where I’m staying has a water view—only closer and better. The closest town is about ten minutes away. The services there are similar, sans the Starbucks (alas). A pulp and paper mill is one of the biggest employers in both areas. Things are remarkably similar. Why did I trade apples for apples? And why did I drive 4,600 kilometers to make the trade?

This cottage is what I retain from childhood. This is a place where I am able to think differently, possibly sparking new creativity. Here is where some of my most profound life decisions have gotten sorted out.

Will any part of my being gay further develop here? It’s unlikely. I have switched over my hometown from Vancouver to Ottawa on an online dating site and changed the “seeking” option from dating to friendship. I’m not looking for a long-term relationship or even a fling (though stumbling into either wouldn’t be so bad, would it?). Simply connecting with another gay person would be welcome. While I had many friends here as a child, it’s been almost thirty years since I’ve seen any of them. I’m a tag-along at social outings with my relatives and their friends.

I’ve been here four days and things are as quiet as they are at home. I am making progress with my writing so the primary purpose for being here is coming to fruition. I’ve had a couple of Ottawa guys indicate they’d like to meet for coffee. Neither would be a dating candidate and I’m not even sure that there will be anything on which to base a friendship. (One guy’s subject header read: “Yo!” Are there pirates in these parts or is this a middle-aged gay man who really thinks he can pull off an urban gangsta persona? His interest in Ultimate Fighting also baffles me. Random Michael Jackson quote: I’m a lover, not a fighter.) But I’m going to try to remain open, parenthetical thoughts notwithstanding.

I also have my aunt and cousin trying to play matchmaker. Super. I need the help. But I get the feeling their efforts are misplaced. It seems one of my childhood friends is single (though he has a child), attractive, in good shape, has a dog and likes running and biking. On paper, they’ve got checkmarks in each box for both of us. I’m trying to remain sensibly cautious (negative?). For a match, at least three things need to be: (1) He has to be gay; (2) He has to be single; and (3) He has to be interested in me (and I in him). Three big hurdles and I’ve never been much of a hurdler.

At this point, I remind myself that I’m here for my writing. Anything else is a nice distraction and a bonus. Of course, who doesn’t like a nice bonus?