Sunday March 1, 7:04 pm. I have written previously about my Aunt Alice on here. I won’t link, because I still can’t figure out how to do these fucking hyperlinks easily, and I doubt anyone cares that greatly about what I’ve said in the past. About an hour ago, my phone rings (or barks, as is my designated ring tone). It’s my brother Mike-the one who never calls me unless it’s something bad (which I’ve also written about). He tells me that Aunt Alice has just ‘passed away’. She fucking DIED. Why do we have to use these stupid ass euphemisms?
I’ve been ‘hoping’ for this phone call for almost a year or longer, because she’s had such a rapidly declining quality of life. I’m absolutely stunned and shocked with myself with how incredibly sad and upset I am about this. I really didn’t think I’d cry when this moment happened. But I am.
She was Mom’s oldest sister, the oldest of 14. Mom was #8. She took Mom after grade school and raised her. As such, Aunt Alice (and Uncle Orval) were always really more like Grandparents, more so than my actual grandparents were. My love of, and skill of cooking and baking are legacies from My Aunt Alice & Mom. When I was little, Aunt Alice always made my birthday cake, home-made Angel Food, in the long rectangular tube pan (that you don’t see anymore). Pies, cakes, yeast breads and cinnamon rolls, chicken (or beef) and home-made noodles were staples at every holiday or Sunday dinner. Ham and bean soup and corn bread; fried chicken, chocolate sheet cake, cherry pie, coconut or banana cream pie (the real deal-cooked custard base with meringue top (not this no cook refrigerator shit). Gourmet? No. Great cooking? Yes. Like most great cooks, when you ask for the recipe, she often didn’t have one. “I just make it.” About 10 years ago, in one of my rare moments of intelligence, I asked her how she made her cherry pie (and many other items), and wrote down the recipes. This doesn’t mean she didn’t use or have cookbooks. When she was moving from her condo to an assisted living home, without a kitchen, she let me come and select what I wanted from her cookbook collection. Many of which were the local church compilations that are done as fund raisers—each of them with many of her own recipes.
She also sewed. I still have the house robe she made me for Christmas over 20 years ago. I will never get rid of it. I still wear/use it. I have the original ‘sock monkey’ that she made and we played with at her house. The one she made for me was long gone, but I got the original from her sale when she left her house to go to the condo. I have one of her old quilts. She had reached the point of not being able to hand sew and I lamented to her that I wish I’d asked her to make a quilt for me when she was still able to do so. She made a quilt for each of her ‘true’ grandsons. When moving from her condo, she found one of her older quilts in her cedar chest, and she gave it to me. It has some great older fabrics in it, which I love. It worked out best, as I’d rather have the older more than I would new fabrics. It’s lighter weight, and goes on my bed every summer.
When you hear of people referred to as Pillars of the Community, that was her. In the small farm town where I grew up, she ran a restaurant, and then ran the cafeterias at my grade school, then high school, from where she eventually retired. But people still hired her to make cakes and pies, and breads/rolls.
When I came out, Aunt Alice is one of the people I was afraid of telling. Her response was, “There’s a lot I just don’t understand, but I’ll always love you. I wish I would have known you went through so much pain and hurt.” It was one of the most genuine and real responses that I received from family at that time.
When I was home at Christmas, Aunt Alice had declined greatly. Physically, she was much more frail, and mentally, the Alzheimer’s was really progressing. She still knew who I was, and asked me about my best friend by name. But, she couldn’t find her way back to her room on her own. Reading her Christmas cards, she had to spell out each word before she knew what it was. Then when it got to the names signed, I’d have to read that to her, and she wouldn’t know/recognize the names. It was so sad and painful to watch. A few weeks later, she went to the hospital. She went back to the assisted living home for a few days, but was back in the hospital, and then went to a nursing home. She stopped eating, and an even more rapid decline spiraled much more quickly. When I spoke to my parents earlier this week for Dad’s birthday, Mom said I wouldn’t recognize her. I told Mom, “I just wish she’d go quickly. She has no quality of life. She’s not able to discern happiness. She’s lived a hard damn life. It shouldn’t end like this.” Mom started talking about ‘the good lord’, and I tuned out to keep myself from corrupting that moment with my feelings of what bullshit (and oxymoron) I think ‘the good lord’ is.
It’s going to be a strained week—with her grandsons(my first cousins once removed, who used to be more like brothers to me) and daughter-in-law whom I haven’t seen since my cousin (Aunt Alice’s only natural child) died over 3 years ago and since they’ve sold her condo out from under her and took the money. They left my Mom with all of the responsibilities of being the caregiver, while they fleeced their Grandma of what little she had. Yet another way in which her last years should not have been.
Whether or not there is a heaven, Aunt Alice is much better off right now. My sadness is much greater than I would have imagined it to be at this moment.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Never Say Never
Here’s what I couldn’t publicize earlier this week. On February 6, my birthday, something is happening to make me remember this one in particular. I signed an offer letter for a new job. Actually, I signed it a few days ago, but post-dated it for this day. I wanted to have something to significantly make this birthday memorable in a good way. I told my current boss on (today) Thursday. It was a difficult thing to do. My career trajectory has usually been one of trying to escape a shitty situation. My job search mode has usually been precipitated by vocational misery or termination/downsizing (a human resources euphemism for “you’re fucked” or “we don’t like fags, but you could sue us for that”). I’m not accustomed to leaving a situation that I like.
I really like my (soon to be ex) boss and job. I was not in a job search mode. When I came to my current job about two and half years ago, I thought I was making my final employer move. I even went as far as to say, “I’m going to either die or retire here.” I expected the former, as I don’t think I’ll ever see retirement. But, shit happens, and in this instance, I’m not saying this in a pejorative nor sarcastic manner. Never say never.
A professional colleague, whom I know from our professional associations/organizations was talking with me last fall after a conference we were both in attendance in Baltimore. He’s also in Chicago. He began telling me of a position in his company that was open and he was looking to fill. At the time I said, nothing.
A month went by with me continuously thinking about this. I finally called him. I needed to speak to him on another issue with the board we are both on. And, in this conversation, I asked, “Have you filled the position yet? Let’s talk about it—informally.” I’m the type of person who never (or rarely) shuts a door when it’s been cracked open. I want to at least peak inside. So, we talked informally. I told him I wasn’t “actively looking” to make a move. The informal conversation led to a round of formal interviews with some of the senior management team. Then, to a second round with the rest of senior management team, of which I will be a part. With each round, I was more impressed with the company, the work they’re doing, and the people. This is an organization with a strong core of leaders who lead, listen and communicate. The level and manner of communication is impressive—and certainly not my usual experience in corporate America. Some of the management team, and the EVP were at the same conference I was at in San Francisco last week. When my plane landed at SFO, I turned on my phone, and there was a text message from my colleague that said, “Can you meet with me and EVP tomorrow night in the hotel lobby at 6:45?” Now, I can be very obtuse at times, but I figured, they wouldn’t be double teaming me to say, “we’re going with someone else.”
I was correct. They handed me an offer letter. I took it to my room, the next day we talked, negotiated some details, a new letter was issued, and I signed and dated it for a week later.
The machinations and bureaucracy of academia (and state government on top of that) move slowly. That has been one of my frustrations in the current situation. The new place will allow me to do some of the cutting edge and innovative projects and work that I thought would be more accessible in academia. Red tape is a great prophylactic to progress.
In addition to telling my boss, the other difficult one to tell was employee. I’ve watched him grow in his skills and abilities, and I like to think I played some role in facilitating and mentoring that. I know he did not get that from my predecessor. I also went to tell the chairman of my CME Committee. I wanted to tell him face to face before I made an announcement on our Committee Conference call today. He’s a man not always known for his tact and grace. But he said some very gracious and kind things to me. Everyone did. In the midst of their disappointment about my news for the organization, they were genuinely happy for the opportunity this means for me. This makes it all the more bittersweet.
As always, my major life events necessitate an excerpt from a Stephen Sondheim musical. For this, I choose, “Something’s Coming”, from West Side Story (his first broadway show-for which he was lyracist:
… Come on, something, come on in, don't be shy, Meet a guy, Pull up a chair! The air is humming, And something great is coming! Who knows? It's only just out of reach, Down the block, on a beach, Maybe tonight . . .
Only, no longer out of reach—I just have to work on the ‘meet a guy’ part.
wtf/rle©
I really like my (soon to be ex) boss and job. I was not in a job search mode. When I came to my current job about two and half years ago, I thought I was making my final employer move. I even went as far as to say, “I’m going to either die or retire here.” I expected the former, as I don’t think I’ll ever see retirement. But, shit happens, and in this instance, I’m not saying this in a pejorative nor sarcastic manner. Never say never.
A professional colleague, whom I know from our professional associations/organizations was talking with me last fall after a conference we were both in attendance in Baltimore. He’s also in Chicago. He began telling me of a position in his company that was open and he was looking to fill. At the time I said, nothing.
A month went by with me continuously thinking about this. I finally called him. I needed to speak to him on another issue with the board we are both on. And, in this conversation, I asked, “Have you filled the position yet? Let’s talk about it—informally.” I’m the type of person who never (or rarely) shuts a door when it’s been cracked open. I want to at least peak inside. So, we talked informally. I told him I wasn’t “actively looking” to make a move. The informal conversation led to a round of formal interviews with some of the senior management team. Then, to a second round with the rest of senior management team, of which I will be a part. With each round, I was more impressed with the company, the work they’re doing, and the people. This is an organization with a strong core of leaders who lead, listen and communicate. The level and manner of communication is impressive—and certainly not my usual experience in corporate America. Some of the management team, and the EVP were at the same conference I was at in San Francisco last week. When my plane landed at SFO, I turned on my phone, and there was a text message from my colleague that said, “Can you meet with me and EVP tomorrow night in the hotel lobby at 6:45?” Now, I can be very obtuse at times, but I figured, they wouldn’t be double teaming me to say, “we’re going with someone else.”
I was correct. They handed me an offer letter. I took it to my room, the next day we talked, negotiated some details, a new letter was issued, and I signed and dated it for a week later.
The machinations and bureaucracy of academia (and state government on top of that) move slowly. That has been one of my frustrations in the current situation. The new place will allow me to do some of the cutting edge and innovative projects and work that I thought would be more accessible in academia. Red tape is a great prophylactic to progress.
In addition to telling my boss, the other difficult one to tell was employee. I’ve watched him grow in his skills and abilities, and I like to think I played some role in facilitating and mentoring that. I know he did not get that from my predecessor. I also went to tell the chairman of my CME Committee. I wanted to tell him face to face before I made an announcement on our Committee Conference call today. He’s a man not always known for his tact and grace. But he said some very gracious and kind things to me. Everyone did. In the midst of their disappointment about my news for the organization, they were genuinely happy for the opportunity this means for me. This makes it all the more bittersweet.
As always, my major life events necessitate an excerpt from a Stephen Sondheim musical. For this, I choose, “Something’s Coming”, from West Side Story (his first broadway show-for which he was lyracist:
… Come on, something, come on in, don't be shy, Meet a guy, Pull up a chair! The air is humming, And something great is coming! Who knows? It's only just out of reach, Down the block, on a beach, Maybe tonight . . .
Only, no longer out of reach—I just have to work on the ‘meet a guy’ part.
wtf/rle©
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Really, I don't...
...I don’t blog drunk, that is. I actually don’t drink much at all. (I’m on antibiotics so often, that this and of itself serves its tetotalling purpose). But, I occasionally blog tired, which I did last Monday, and after just reading my post –WTF was I thinking. Obviously, I wasn’t. I generally write in word, so at least it does spell check. I did not do that for the previous post. It had so many incomplete thoughts and/or thoughts that picked up in the next paragraph -- or not. Anyway, I’ve done a rough edit and some corrections.
It’s no Hemmingway, but a bit less non sense-ical than it was—I hope.
wtf/rle©
It’s no Hemmingway, but a bit less non sense-ical than it was—I hope.
wtf/rle©
Monday, February 2, 2009
San Francisco, Synchronicity, other Miscellanea, and a Proclamation.
San Francisco, Synchronicity, Other Miscellaanea & a Proclamation
I have not posted for awhile. These are some very quick RANDom Thoughts, in buckshot dispersion method. I’m trying to get caught up from the last round of being sick, and I just got back from (almost) a week in San Francisco, where it was sunny, and the weekend that I had free after the conference, the temperature was in the 60s and 70s. It was 11° F when I left Chicago last Tuesday.
The Conference was good. I think the presentation I was a part of went well, and did I mention it was over 70° when I was there, in the Castro? I HEART San Francisco! This Friday (February 6) is my birthday, so the extra days there, post conference was my birthday gift to myself. Good things happened, while at the conference. I have more to write about, and an announcement to make, but not until Friday.
Given my recent bouts of sickness, I geeked up and wore the surgical mask while in the airports and on the plane. When I got back to Chicago, I was waiting for my bag at the carousel and a woman came up to me and said, “I wear masks when I fly too. I have an immune deficiency.”
I replied, “I have CVID.”
“Me too! I knew there was a reason I had to come up and talk to you!” She introduced herself—we did ‘air hand shakes’. Bonnie is her name.
“People tend to avoid me when I mask up”, I replied.
We chatted a few minutes waiting for our bags. She told me about a doc/specialist she went to in NYC, and she has just gone off of the monthly IVIG. We exchanged cards, to discuss further. She was concerned that most all the others’ bags had come. I’m used to being one of the last to get my bag. She then realized she was at the wrong carousel. Synchronicity! You know I’m not a believer in a god. And I have written before about my appreciating for Jungian psychology and his theory or Synchronicity —meaningful coincidences. I love it when shit like this happens. It was the perfect way to end this very interesting trip. My bag comes by finally. Bonnie asks, “Are you coming from NY also?
No, I’m returning home from San Francisco.” Bonnie had gone to the wrong carousel, found me, and we started talking. TOTAL SYNCHRONICITY, with meaningful mistakes. She should not have been waiting for her bags where I was.
I’m making a proclamation that 2009 is going to be the year that does NOT SUCK SHIT! After a bumpy start with the URI, some events have occurred which are going have great impact on me and my future. This I will write about the end of the week for my birthday post on Friday. Please feel free to send lavish gifts.
For those of you wishing to acknowledge the date, to help counteract the universe for me being born on he same day as ronald reagan, (that festering boil on the ass of this nation's history, which ahs now been taken over by the blighted cancer of w & cheney w ho are to true cancers of this nation's history). But I digress Getting gifts and new cloths would easy my pain of sharing a bd with rr,,l rather than Abe Lincoln, my hero.
I did my portion to help the economy of SF by making some clothing purchases. But, My favorite store, “All American Boy” closed down! I was SO bumbed! I arrive last Tuesday at the Marriott, check, and head out the door, to catch the F street car down to the Castro. I have to eat, so hit the little diner I've eaten at before on Castro, just off Market. Receiving my shopper's sustenance, I head a across the street, pass by a dark, empty store with some signage of All American Boy Remaining. I am crestfallen. This is where I bought my ‘Castro 2004, 2003, 2001” annual shirts from when I visite in past years. I must get my “Castro 2009” shirt! I find it back across the street at a new store IN JEAN IOUS. It’s not AAB, but I walk out with some bargains.
Saturday night, on the recommnedation of one of the guys at Parker Guest House B&B, I go to Chow Restaurant at 215 Church st, just off Market. In the Castro, SOMA (South of Market). I ate at this restaurant 3 times in less than 24 hours. If I were doing Dr. Mark’s little survey I’s have a restaurant to add. CHOW is great. Organic food, good, food, and you can tell these people enjoy working there. I like going to a restaurant saying, “I can decide between such and such, and s/he proceeds to tell you details about the dishes you asked about in great detail with the things they like about the particular dish.
I will have more to tell about SF. But I must wait until later in the week for reasons that will become obvious. For now I’m back, tired (but healthy—say something to the Buddha so I stay healthy. More later when I’m vaguegly cogent. ©wtf4/rle
I have not posted for awhile. These are some very quick RANDom Thoughts, in buckshot dispersion method. I’m trying to get caught up from the last round of being sick, and I just got back from (almost) a week in San Francisco, where it was sunny, and the weekend that I had free after the conference, the temperature was in the 60s and 70s. It was 11° F when I left Chicago last Tuesday.
The Conference was good. I think the presentation I was a part of went well, and did I mention it was over 70° when I was there, in the Castro? I HEART San Francisco! This Friday (February 6) is my birthday, so the extra days there, post conference was my birthday gift to myself. Good things happened, while at the conference. I have more to write about, and an announcement to make, but not until Friday.
Given my recent bouts of sickness, I geeked up and wore the surgical mask while in the airports and on the plane. When I got back to Chicago, I was waiting for my bag at the carousel and a woman came up to me and said, “I wear masks when I fly too. I have an immune deficiency.”
I replied, “I have CVID.”
“Me too! I knew there was a reason I had to come up and talk to you!” She introduced herself—we did ‘air hand shakes’. Bonnie is her name.
“People tend to avoid me when I mask up”, I replied.
We chatted a few minutes waiting for our bags. She told me about a doc/specialist she went to in NYC, and she has just gone off of the monthly IVIG. We exchanged cards, to discuss further. She was concerned that most all the others’ bags had come. I’m used to being one of the last to get my bag. She then realized she was at the wrong carousel. Synchronicity! You know I’m not a believer in a god. And I have written before about my appreciating for Jungian psychology and his theory or Synchronicity —meaningful coincidences. I love it when shit like this happens. It was the perfect way to end this very interesting trip. My bag comes by finally. Bonnie asks, “Are you coming from NY also?
No, I’m returning home from San Francisco.” Bonnie had gone to the wrong carousel, found me, and we started talking. TOTAL SYNCHRONICITY, with meaningful mistakes. She should not have been waiting for her bags where I was.
I’m making a proclamation that 2009 is going to be the year that does NOT SUCK SHIT! After a bumpy start with the URI, some events have occurred which are going have great impact on me and my future. This I will write about the end of the week for my birthday post on Friday. Please feel free to send lavish gifts.
For those of you wishing to acknowledge the date, to help counteract the universe for me being born on he same day as ronald reagan, (that festering boil on the ass of this nation's history, which ahs now been taken over by the blighted cancer of w & cheney w ho are to true cancers of this nation's history). But I digress Getting gifts and new cloths would easy my pain of sharing a bd with rr,,l rather than Abe Lincoln, my hero.
I did my portion to help the economy of SF by making some clothing purchases. But, My favorite store, “All American Boy” closed down! I was SO bumbed! I arrive last Tuesday at the Marriott, check, and head out the door, to catch the F street car down to the Castro. I have to eat, so hit the little diner I've eaten at before on Castro, just off Market. Receiving my shopper's sustenance, I head a across the street, pass by a dark, empty store with some signage of All American Boy Remaining. I am crestfallen. This is where I bought my ‘Castro 2004, 2003, 2001” annual shirts from when I visite in past years. I must get my “Castro 2009” shirt! I find it back across the street at a new store IN JEAN IOUS. It’s not AAB, but I walk out with some bargains.
Saturday night, on the recommnedation of one of the guys at Parker Guest House B&B, I go to Chow Restaurant at 215 Church st, just off Market. In the Castro, SOMA (South of Market). I ate at this restaurant 3 times in less than 24 hours. If I were doing Dr. Mark’s little survey I’s have a restaurant to add. CHOW is great. Organic food, good, food, and you can tell these people enjoy working there. I like going to a restaurant saying, “I can decide between such and such, and s/he proceeds to tell you details about the dishes you asked about in great detail with the things they like about the particular dish.
I will have more to tell about SF. But I must wait until later in the week for reasons that will become obvious. For now I’m back, tired (but healthy—say something to the Buddha so I stay healthy. More later when I’m vaguegly cogent. ©wtf4/rle
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Back among the Living
I am finally back among the living. This last bronch infection really beat the shit out of me. Each one seems a bit worse than the last. Coughing up bloody chunks of lung just ain't fun.
And even when I'm sick in bed, life goes on--the good with the bad.
The good: Last week, I became a great uncle for the second time, against my protestations that I'm still too young to be a great uncle. My niece had another beautiful baby girl. Both are healthy.
The bad: When I was at my parents' after Christmas, as always, I went to see my Aunt Alice, Mom's oldest sister, who partially raised my Mom, so she's always been more like a Grandma. Her Alzheimer's is progressing rapidly. It's hard seeing her decline. She knew me, which has been a fear of mine for the past year or so, since I don't get down to see her more than 2 or 3 times a year. She's been in a Seniors assisted living facility. Other residents said of Aunt Alice, "we can tell she WAS a really caring compasionate person." Hearing her referred to in the past tense when she's not dead is strange.
Monday she had to go to a nursing home, after a short hosptial stay last week. This fucking disease is a theif. It has stolen her life. Antithetical to the last sentence of the previous paragraph, She is no longer alive. There's no quality of life. She's a body that is rapidly losing its soul. IF there was a god, 'he' would take her to her glory, as the bible thumpers are wont to say. She worked hard all of her life. This is not how it should end. It should have ended before reaching this point.
My love of cooking, and skills thereof are a legacy of my Mom and Aunt Alice. She could cook for 3 to 300. She ran a restaurant when I was little, and later was the cook at the my grade and high school cafeterias before she finally retired, to care for my uncle, who had Alzheimer's before he finally died, not knowing any of us. Fucking cruel universe.
And even when I'm sick in bed, life goes on--the good with the bad.
The good: Last week, I became a great uncle for the second time, against my protestations that I'm still too young to be a great uncle. My niece had another beautiful baby girl. Both are healthy.
The bad: When I was at my parents' after Christmas, as always, I went to see my Aunt Alice, Mom's oldest sister, who partially raised my Mom, so she's always been more like a Grandma. Her Alzheimer's is progressing rapidly. It's hard seeing her decline. She knew me, which has been a fear of mine for the past year or so, since I don't get down to see her more than 2 or 3 times a year. She's been in a Seniors assisted living facility. Other residents said of Aunt Alice, "we can tell she WAS a really caring compasionate person." Hearing her referred to in the past tense when she's not dead is strange.
Monday she had to go to a nursing home, after a short hosptial stay last week. This fucking disease is a theif. It has stolen her life. Antithetical to the last sentence of the previous paragraph, She is no longer alive. There's no quality of life. She's a body that is rapidly losing its soul. IF there was a god, 'he' would take her to her glory, as the bible thumpers are wont to say. She worked hard all of her life. This is not how it should end. It should have ended before reaching this point.
My love of cooking, and skills thereof are a legacy of my Mom and Aunt Alice. She could cook for 3 to 300. She ran a restaurant when I was little, and later was the cook at the my grade and high school cafeterias before she finally retired, to care for my uncle, who had Alzheimer's before he finally died, not knowing any of us. Fucking cruel universe.
Monday, January 5, 2009
For those keeping score at home
...Get out your calendars, and magic markers. Start the office pools. I had nearly two full days of health in the new year before getting sick. My first bronch infection of the year arrived on January 3rd. I'm now coughing up chunks of lung. I figure tomorrow and Wednesday are going to be the 'peak' days, when it's at its worst. At this point in history, the anticipation is almost as bad as the actual peak of sickness...almost. My next infusion isn't until next week, so I should be at a decent IgG level--especially since this hit last week. I better be in good health when I go to San Francisco at the end of the month or I'm going to be extremely pissed.
I was not able to get in to my PCP today, so I'll see him tomorrow, proably get a shot in the ass, and put on oral antibiotics.
I'm enough of a regular now, that I have the little playful banter with much of the staff. If "T", the hot little tech comes in with the bottle and syringe, I ask, "Do I need to drop trou?"
He says, "yes."
I reply with, "OK, but you first."
The ice is broken. If only dating were that easy.
I was not able to get in to my PCP today, so I'll see him tomorrow, proably get a shot in the ass, and put on oral antibiotics.
I'm enough of a regular now, that I have the little playful banter with much of the staff. If "T", the hot little tech comes in with the bottle and syringe, I ask, "Do I need to drop trou?"
He says, "yes."
I reply with, "OK, but you first."
The ice is broken. If only dating were that easy.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
FULL CIRCLE
After Christmas, I was able to visit my friends Jeff and Lynette, the same who were part of the group of friends I was with when I did the Polar Bear Plunge as written about here
http://randomthawghts.blogspot.com/2008/10/taking-plunge.html
Jeff was the first person I came out to (after my shrink at the student counselling center). At the time it was difficult for Jeff (though he didn’t show it). In addition to being my friend, Jeff was also my minister at the Church/Foundation I was involved with at the time. My coming out was a slap in the face of the theology he adhered to—that he and I both grew up with. Knowing me as well as he did was incongruent to what I was supposed to be in/with the church. He had to rethink and recalibrate his theology and what the church was saying. The night I came out to Jeff, he told me it didn’t matter, that it didn’t change how he felt about me, which wasn’t totally true, but those were the words that I had to hear at that moment in time, and that much he realized, and realized how a negative reaction would have devastated me. He came around. His theology changed (as did mine), and while he helped me through coming out, I was his friend and confident while his marriage was falling apart, and a new relationship was materializing. We were each in our own closets and self and societal imposed hells, in tandem. Before he was willing to admit to himself (or others) during a Christmas break work trip working on a Habitat for Humanity Project, I took him outside one day and said, “Jeff, I expect to be your best man when you and Lynette get married.” That blew him out of the water. –for the record, I was his best man at their wedding(s) the legal one at the court house and the ceremonial one a few months after for family and friends. But that’s another story. Jeff ended up leaving the church. So, in addition to being a godless homo heathen, I can claim some role in taking a hetero minister out of the pulpit. They became Unitarians. I became an eventual atheist, with Buddhist leanings. But I digress, yet again.
Jeff and Lynette have a beautiful teenage daughter (M), (along with Jeff’s son (F) from his first marriage) whom I have watched grow into the incredible young adults they are. They are the closest I will ever get to children of my own. I’m closer to them than I was my nephews and niece growing up (due to geography and strained familial relations for some years.) I have always had a special connection to F & M. M came out to her family about a year ago. She’s currently dating a girl from school. She really wanted me to know about it, and wanted to tell me about it. But I needed to initiate the conversation. I had to get cues from Jeff, as I wasn’t sure how much I was ‘supposed to know’. I didn’t want to say or ask too much, to embarrass her or anger her at her parents for telling me family stories outside. At one point, Jeff & I walked to the kitchen. He said, “M is dying to tell you about her girlfriend.” That was all I needed to be able to go back to the family room and make/find an opportunity to ask M about her gf. I was honored that she wanted me to know.
Jeff and Lynette live out in a beautiful wooded area. It’s like a retreat for me to visit them. Birds, deer, wild turkeys, and other kinds of woodland wildlife are right outside the windows. On Sunday afternoon, Lynette, Jeff and I took a walk down the road(s). It was a bit too wet, icy and treacherous to tromp through the woods. As we tend to do when together, we conjure up ‘Another Olde Lang Syne” and reminisce with wonder about where the years have gone, how gray Lynette and I both are (Jeff barely has a dusting of S&P at his temples and he’s the oldest!) While on this walk, Lynette thanked me for asking M about the gf, and the manner in which I did so. Then, Jeff thanked me for being who I am, and for teaching him so much as it made all the difference in how he responded to M when she came out to them. I was so blown away and so deeply touched. We have been strong, deep friends for almost 25 years. To have this added dimension—to have been able to have this kind of unexpected impact on all of them is the cherry on the sundae, the icing on the cake--choose a metaphor. It’s really an honor. For many people in my large circle of family and friends, I have been their ‘first gay’. Over the holidays and ‘season of reminiscing, others have told me how much knowing me has impacted them and taught them. It’s sort of like my own version of being Jimmy Stewart in “It’s A Wonderful Life”. They are great reminders to receive, and important for the times when I contemplate my worth and value to the universe. I know that there is a legacy that is mine, that will remain after I’m gone.
©wtf4/rle
http://randomthawghts.blogspot.com/2008/10/taking-plunge.html
Jeff was the first person I came out to (after my shrink at the student counselling center). At the time it was difficult for Jeff (though he didn’t show it). In addition to being my friend, Jeff was also my minister at the Church/Foundation I was involved with at the time. My coming out was a slap in the face of the theology he adhered to—that he and I both grew up with. Knowing me as well as he did was incongruent to what I was supposed to be in/with the church. He had to rethink and recalibrate his theology and what the church was saying. The night I came out to Jeff, he told me it didn’t matter, that it didn’t change how he felt about me, which wasn’t totally true, but those were the words that I had to hear at that moment in time, and that much he realized, and realized how a negative reaction would have devastated me. He came around. His theology changed (as did mine), and while he helped me through coming out, I was his friend and confident while his marriage was falling apart, and a new relationship was materializing. We were each in our own closets and self and societal imposed hells, in tandem. Before he was willing to admit to himself (or others) during a Christmas break work trip working on a Habitat for Humanity Project, I took him outside one day and said, “Jeff, I expect to be your best man when you and Lynette get married.” That blew him out of the water. –for the record, I was his best man at their wedding(s) the legal one at the court house and the ceremonial one a few months after for family and friends. But that’s another story. Jeff ended up leaving the church. So, in addition to being a godless homo heathen, I can claim some role in taking a hetero minister out of the pulpit. They became Unitarians. I became an eventual atheist, with Buddhist leanings. But I digress, yet again.
Jeff and Lynette have a beautiful teenage daughter (M), (along with Jeff’s son (F) from his first marriage) whom I have watched grow into the incredible young adults they are. They are the closest I will ever get to children of my own. I’m closer to them than I was my nephews and niece growing up (due to geography and strained familial relations for some years.) I have always had a special connection to F & M. M came out to her family about a year ago. She’s currently dating a girl from school. She really wanted me to know about it, and wanted to tell me about it. But I needed to initiate the conversation. I had to get cues from Jeff, as I wasn’t sure how much I was ‘supposed to know’. I didn’t want to say or ask too much, to embarrass her or anger her at her parents for telling me family stories outside. At one point, Jeff & I walked to the kitchen. He said, “M is dying to tell you about her girlfriend.” That was all I needed to be able to go back to the family room and make/find an opportunity to ask M about her gf. I was honored that she wanted me to know.
Jeff and Lynette live out in a beautiful wooded area. It’s like a retreat for me to visit them. Birds, deer, wild turkeys, and other kinds of woodland wildlife are right outside the windows. On Sunday afternoon, Lynette, Jeff and I took a walk down the road(s). It was a bit too wet, icy and treacherous to tromp through the woods. As we tend to do when together, we conjure up ‘Another Olde Lang Syne” and reminisce with wonder about where the years have gone, how gray Lynette and I both are (Jeff barely has a dusting of S&P at his temples and he’s the oldest!) While on this walk, Lynette thanked me for asking M about the gf, and the manner in which I did so. Then, Jeff thanked me for being who I am, and for teaching him so much as it made all the difference in how he responded to M when she came out to them. I was so blown away and so deeply touched. We have been strong, deep friends for almost 25 years. To have this added dimension—to have been able to have this kind of unexpected impact on all of them is the cherry on the sundae, the icing on the cake--choose a metaphor. It’s really an honor. For many people in my large circle of family and friends, I have been their ‘first gay’. Over the holidays and ‘season of reminiscing, others have told me how much knowing me has impacted them and taught them. It’s sort of like my own version of being Jimmy Stewart in “It’s A Wonderful Life”. They are great reminders to receive, and important for the times when I contemplate my worth and value to the universe. I know that there is a legacy that is mine, that will remain after I’m gone.
©wtf4/rle
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
