pride Archives

Happy Pride from our Family to Yours

Some days arrive like a familiar coat you pull on without thinking—soft, worn-in, and somehow new again. Pride feels a little like that in our house: not a single day on the calendar, but a season of remembering what we’ve built, who we love, and how we keep choosing each other.

This photo catches that mood perfectly: our dog, calm and watchful, wrapped in a rainbow bandana like a small flag of belonging. The colors are bright, but the feeling is quiet—steady eyes, a settled posture, the kind of presence that says, “I’m here.” It’s a simple image, but it holds a lot.

Family isn’t only the big moments. It’s the everyday rituals: the familiar creak of the floor, the way light lands on the couch, the sound of tags jingling when someone gets up to follow you into the next room. Love lives in those ordinary corners, and it grows there.

So from our family to yours: Happy Pride. If your home is loud or peaceful, crowded or still, if you’re celebrating openly or finding your way in private—may you feel safe, seen, and held. May you find your people. May you keep making a life that fits.

Happy Pride 2016

Happy Pride 2016.

From above the street, it looked like a single bright thought drifting through the city—an arc of rainbow balloons, tethered and carried forward by people moving at an easy, steady pace.

New York stacks worlds on top of each other: sun on pavement, tree branches cutting shade into pieces, a crowd pressed against barricades, and then color—so much color—passing by like a small weather system of its own. The balloons make a soft ceiling over the marchers, and the whole scene feels lighter than it should, like the city briefly remembering how to breathe.

It’s strange how a parade can feel both temporary and permanent. Temporary because it passes, because the street goes back to traffic and errands. Permanent because the image sticks: a public kindness, carried down an avenue in daylight. People showing up for each other where everyone can see.

I keep thinking about how streets collect memories the way old houses do—layer by layer. For a few blocks, the ordinary becomes something gentler. The parade keeps moving, the crowd keeps watching, and above it all that rainbow stretch holds together, floating forward as if it knows the way home.

Gay Pride weekend – it starts

Pride weekend always seems to begin the same way: with a door half-open to the night, a hallway that feels too small for the amount of anticipation in the air, and a few cups raised like a quiet agreement that we’re going to remember this.

In the middle of it all, there’s that bright, slightly unreal glow—colors louder than they look in daylight, laughter that ricochets off the walls, and the sense that the weekend is already moving faster than you are. Hell’s Kitchen has its own weather: warm bodies, music leaking through floors, and the pulse of the city pushing in from the street.

This is the part before the big crowds and the parade routes, before schedules and meeting spots and “text me when you’re close.” It’s the beginning-beginning. A small room where friends lean in, where outfits feel like declarations, where you can catch a glimpse of yourself in someone else’s grin and think, yes, this is why we came.

By tomorrow there will be glitter in places you can’t explain and a hoarse voice you’ll wear like a souvenir. Tonight is simpler. Tonight is just the start—three people framed in a quick photo, the kind you take without planning, the kind that ends up meaning more than you expect.