May 26, 2013
May 13, 2013
High Five
It almost went by unnoticed. But I just realized I've been blogging—with a brief hiatus—for five years, as of May 1. Let's see how far this goes.
May 5, 2013
The Next Step
In my advocacy for equal rights and respect for people who are LGBT, I've done a lot of reading and studying, especially at the intersection of faith and sexuality. I have determined that anti-gay sentiment that is promulgated by religious conservatives (of ALL Abrahamic faiths) does not, in fact, come from the Bible/Koran/Torah. The roots go much deeper and further back to a cultural bias of misogyny.
What led me to this conclusion is the ongoing debate about the meaning of those biblical passages that may (or may not) be addressing homosexuality. There are about five different ways of looking at these passages, Old Testament and New. And honestly, it comes down to which meaning appeals most to the reader. Since some choose to find "homosexual acts" a sin—specifically men having sex with men—and some do not, what makes them choose that opinion? And why do they take that passage literally when there are dozens if not hundreds of other directives in the Holiness Code—out of 613—that they ignore? This inconsistency drives unbelievers crazy. Yet it persists. What's the deal?
I have determined that all people of faith take literally those directives that they agree with; all else are either metaphor, allegory, or taken in context of the time it was written. I do it, too. I find my view of acceptance consistent with my view of the nature of God. So this leaves us with the question: why do some choose to take literally a passage against homosexuality while ignoring other (and less convenient) passages?
One word: misogyny. And it began before a single word was written in the Bible. Look at the Ten Commandments: the tenth commandment warns against desiring things that don't belong to you: your neighbor's house, wife, male & female servant, donkey or anything that belongs to your neighbor. That is a list of property, and it's written in descending order of value. Until only 150 years ago, a wife was a means of transferring power and property, by marriage and by childbirth. In biblical times it was customary for conquering soldiers to rape their enemies, thereby in effect turning them into women—that is, property. Even today, minority cultures consider the dominant partner in male sex to be heterosexual. Only the recipient partner in the submissive "female" role is considered gay.
All of this is to say that any act or behavior that is considered feminine is "less than" masculine. It remains an insult to say you did something "like a girl/woman." That concept carries over especially to men who have feminine characteristics. Even men in the gay community deride feminine behavior among themselves; and when they do they participate in their own discrimination. This also explains the disparity in treatment of lesbians, who simply seem invisible by comparison.
I did not reach this decision lightly or quickly. I have never been what I consider to be a feminist activist, although any person with half a brain has to recognize the imbalance in treatment and respect between men and women. I confess that I had my Angry Young Woman period when I entered the working world and was hit in the face with the disparities. I learned to prevail in spite of it.
Having come to this conclusion about anti-gay sentiment over the years, it troubles me that now it appears to be "my" issue. I have never wanted my advocacy to be about me. In effect, it actually diminishes the value of my argument because I have something to gain. In truth, I've always had something to gain—justice for my gay brothers and sisters—but with this new insight it looks like it's all about me. How can I explain what I've learned without getting shut down as a feminist wannabe?
Yesterday I was faced with exactly this issue and I don't know where to go with it. A terrific movie called "Inlaws and Outlaws" was screened at a nearby Episcopal church. I invited all of my pastoral colleagues to join me, but no one did. However, a gay colleague from another department who is becoming a good friend did join me. In guided discussion after the movie, I tried to explain what I learned to a table of six. I was cut off as soon as I said "misogyny." The two gay men at the table—including my friend—literally sat back in their chairs and started making jokes about just saying "yes" so I'd shut up.
I was stunned. It was disrespectful and frankly proved my point, but I didn't know how to say that without bringing conversation to a halt. I needed to think about how to present my view without getting shut down. Arguing is not the way to bring about a change of heart.
So I bring it to you: The problem remains that gay men and women will not get the equality they seek and deserve until I also get mine. How do I broach this idea so that minds don't shut down?
Update: A heavily edited (and much better) version of this post appears today on Bilerico.com.
What led me to this conclusion is the ongoing debate about the meaning of those biblical passages that may (or may not) be addressing homosexuality. There are about five different ways of looking at these passages, Old Testament and New. And honestly, it comes down to which meaning appeals most to the reader. Since some choose to find "homosexual acts" a sin—specifically men having sex with men—and some do not, what makes them choose that opinion? And why do they take that passage literally when there are dozens if not hundreds of other directives in the Holiness Code—out of 613—that they ignore? This inconsistency drives unbelievers crazy. Yet it persists. What's the deal?
I have determined that all people of faith take literally those directives that they agree with; all else are either metaphor, allegory, or taken in context of the time it was written. I do it, too. I find my view of acceptance consistent with my view of the nature of God. So this leaves us with the question: why do some choose to take literally a passage against homosexuality while ignoring other (and less convenient) passages?
One word: misogyny. And it began before a single word was written in the Bible. Look at the Ten Commandments: the tenth commandment warns against desiring things that don't belong to you: your neighbor's house, wife, male & female servant, donkey or anything that belongs to your neighbor. That is a list of property, and it's written in descending order of value. Until only 150 years ago, a wife was a means of transferring power and property, by marriage and by childbirth. In biblical times it was customary for conquering soldiers to rape their enemies, thereby in effect turning them into women—that is, property. Even today, minority cultures consider the dominant partner in male sex to be heterosexual. Only the recipient partner in the submissive "female" role is considered gay.
All of this is to say that any act or behavior that is considered feminine is "less than" masculine. It remains an insult to say you did something "like a girl/woman." That concept carries over especially to men who have feminine characteristics. Even men in the gay community deride feminine behavior among themselves; and when they do they participate in their own discrimination. This also explains the disparity in treatment of lesbians, who simply seem invisible by comparison.
I did not reach this decision lightly or quickly. I have never been what I consider to be a feminist activist, although any person with half a brain has to recognize the imbalance in treatment and respect between men and women. I confess that I had my Angry Young Woman period when I entered the working world and was hit in the face with the disparities. I learned to prevail in spite of it.
Having come to this conclusion about anti-gay sentiment over the years, it troubles me that now it appears to be "my" issue. I have never wanted my advocacy to be about me. In effect, it actually diminishes the value of my argument because I have something to gain. In truth, I've always had something to gain—justice for my gay brothers and sisters—but with this new insight it looks like it's all about me. How can I explain what I've learned without getting shut down as a feminist wannabe?
Yesterday I was faced with exactly this issue and I don't know where to go with it. A terrific movie called "Inlaws and Outlaws" was screened at a nearby Episcopal church. I invited all of my pastoral colleagues to join me, but no one did. However, a gay colleague from another department who is becoming a good friend did join me. In guided discussion after the movie, I tried to explain what I learned to a table of six. I was cut off as soon as I said "misogyny." The two gay men at the table—including my friend—literally sat back in their chairs and started making jokes about just saying "yes" so I'd shut up.
I was stunned. It was disrespectful and frankly proved my point, but I didn't know how to say that without bringing conversation to a halt. I needed to think about how to present my view without getting shut down. Arguing is not the way to bring about a change of heart.
So I bring it to you: The problem remains that gay men and women will not get the equality they seek and deserve until I also get mine. How do I broach this idea so that minds don't shut down?
Update: A heavily edited (and much better) version of this post appears today on Bilerico.com.
April 19, 2013
Remember That Whole "Don't Fall" Thing?
Our 30-year-old Maytag dryer was on the blink for the first time ever. I was carrying a basket of damp laundry to the car so we could take it to the laundromat. On the bottom (four-inch-high) step to the garage, my foot rolled over the edge and I went down. The basket caught my fall so I didn't land hard on the concrete, but my ankle took the brunt of it. Abe says I barely missed hitting the car. Hairline fracture (maybe more), bad sprain, boot for at least three weeks. At 59 years of age, I have my very first broken bone.
Honestly, with the boot it's not so bad. Slows me down, but not a lot. I'm driving left-footed, which is an adventure. :D Want a ride?
Proof, I say, that laundry is dangerous and I should not be doing it.
April 10, 2013
Chemo: The Gift That Keeps On Giving
First, let me say that chemo saved my life. It has also changed my life, and the adjustment is harder than I thought it would be.
My "chemo brain" seems to be very slowly but at least improving. My husband tells me my memory is getting better, but I hate that I can't even tell one way or another. I can no longer trust my already less-than-stellar memory and I must rely on notes and alerts. Heaven help us all if I lose my iPhone.
I have mild neuropathy in my feet that apparently is not going to go away. The numbness is not a big deal, but I'm trying different strategies to minimize the burning feeling. Apparently this is what happens to people with advanced diabetes too. My sympathies to them.
I was adjusting to my new reality until today. I was just told I have "significant" osteoporosis. An acquaintance of mine, who went through the same therapy at the same time I did, broke her foot by pushing up to get in bed. That sent me to the imaging clinic to get a bone scan, and I'm in the same boat. This means medication, changing my diet and starting weight-bearing exercise, and I've been told "Don't fall!" Okay then.
A few months ago I joked with my friends that my body is 80 years old. Turns out I was right. I'm sure this will eventually become a part of everyday life and just be a kind of background noise. But thanks for letting me vent.
My "chemo brain" seems to be very slowly but at least improving. My husband tells me my memory is getting better, but I hate that I can't even tell one way or another. I can no longer trust my already less-than-stellar memory and I must rely on notes and alerts. Heaven help us all if I lose my iPhone.
I have mild neuropathy in my feet that apparently is not going to go away. The numbness is not a big deal, but I'm trying different strategies to minimize the burning feeling. Apparently this is what happens to people with advanced diabetes too. My sympathies to them.
I was adjusting to my new reality until today. I was just told I have "significant" osteoporosis. An acquaintance of mine, who went through the same therapy at the same time I did, broke her foot by pushing up to get in bed. That sent me to the imaging clinic to get a bone scan, and I'm in the same boat. This means medication, changing my diet and starting weight-bearing exercise, and I've been told "Don't fall!" Okay then.
A few months ago I joked with my friends that my body is 80 years old. Turns out I was right. I'm sure this will eventually become a part of everyday life and just be a kind of background noise. But thanks for letting me vent.
April 1, 2013
Tales Of Whoa
Consider this a Public Service Announcement.
About a month ago, I pulled into my usual gas station to gas up. Just as I was about to pull away, a big black SUV pulled up next to me, and the driver motioned for me to roll down my window so we could talk. The young woman asked me if I was from around here. I said I was and she asked if I knew of any local agencies that might help her with gas money. Rather than give her money—the obvious next question—I told her to call 211, the county's help line, to be connected with the proper agency that might help her. I pulled out, wondering if I had done the right thing by not offering money. It really bothered me for a few days.
Fast forward to last Saturday. I was in the mall parking lot in the same neighborhood, and who should pull up next to me but the same big black SUV. Did I live in the area? Could I direct her to a local agency that helps people who need gas money? "You've asked me this before." "I have?" "Yes." She took off. Give me a break.
I thought my local friends should know about this scam, so when I came back from Trader Joe's—in a different but nearby lot—I sat down to make a Facebook post about it. Mid-story, a woman approached my open window. She was about 40 and bald. She started a sad story about having driven from Ft. Wayne to get chemo (on a Saturday? In Indy?) and on her way back she got a flat tire. She had WAY too many details, a common tell for lying, but I had to ask something. "You just had chemo?" Sad face. "Yes." "Honey, I've had chemo. There is no way on earth you could be driving right after chemo." She started to argue (!) and asked for "just a couple bucks." "No." Her bald head clearly had hair coming in all over. She actually shaved her head for this charade. How dare she use this terrible disease to scam people.
In the past couple of months I've been approached in a grocery store and Target—"Are you a Christian woman?" from a woman who held her young child still in front of her—in direct pleas for money. Do I have "SUCKER" floating over my head?
Here's how I've been told to handle further "tales of whoa:" if they ask for something besides money like gas or food, offer to have them follow you so you can purchase it for them. No one I know who has done that has ever had the offer accepted. If they ask outright for money, offer to use your phone to call 211 and connect them with the proper agency. (PS: don't offer them your phone! They might run faster than you can.)
I have never had this happen to me before recently. I hope you never get approached. But just in case...
About a month ago, I pulled into my usual gas station to gas up. Just as I was about to pull away, a big black SUV pulled up next to me, and the driver motioned for me to roll down my window so we could talk. The young woman asked me if I was from around here. I said I was and she asked if I knew of any local agencies that might help her with gas money. Rather than give her money—the obvious next question—I told her to call 211, the county's help line, to be connected with the proper agency that might help her. I pulled out, wondering if I had done the right thing by not offering money. It really bothered me for a few days.
Fast forward to last Saturday. I was in the mall parking lot in the same neighborhood, and who should pull up next to me but the same big black SUV. Did I live in the area? Could I direct her to a local agency that helps people who need gas money? "You've asked me this before." "I have?" "Yes." She took off. Give me a break.
I thought my local friends should know about this scam, so when I came back from Trader Joe's—in a different but nearby lot—I sat down to make a Facebook post about it. Mid-story, a woman approached my open window. She was about 40 and bald. She started a sad story about having driven from Ft. Wayne to get chemo (on a Saturday? In Indy?) and on her way back she got a flat tire. She had WAY too many details, a common tell for lying, but I had to ask something. "You just had chemo?" Sad face. "Yes." "Honey, I've had chemo. There is no way on earth you could be driving right after chemo." She started to argue (!) and asked for "just a couple bucks." "No." Her bald head clearly had hair coming in all over. She actually shaved her head for this charade. How dare she use this terrible disease to scam people.
In the past couple of months I've been approached in a grocery store and Target—"Are you a Christian woman?" from a woman who held her young child still in front of her—in direct pleas for money. Do I have "SUCKER" floating over my head?
Here's how I've been told to handle further "tales of whoa:" if they ask for something besides money like gas or food, offer to have them follow you so you can purchase it for them. No one I know who has done that has ever had the offer accepted. If they ask outright for money, offer to use your phone to call 211 and connect them with the proper agency. (PS: don't offer them your phone! They might run faster than you can.)
I have never had this happen to me before recently. I hope you never get approached. But just in case...
March 30, 2013
What's Your Sign, Part Two
Last Wednesday, Indianapolis was planning a peaceful rally at the Statehouse steps to support marriage equality. It was in the evening, well past the closing of arguments in the Supreme Court in Washington. So why bother? We needed to show Indiana that people in this state are far more forward-thinking than our legislators, who seem determined to take us back to the 19th century in a number of areas. It is time for the sheep to take the lead.
I made a new sign to be absolutely clear whose rights I was there for. I want fellow Christians and all people who are gay to see what real Christian love looks like. As I told a reporter there, Christians who oppose marriage equality are misusing the Bible. The message is grace.
I made a new sign to be absolutely clear whose rights I was there for. I want fellow Christians and all people who are gay to see what real Christian love looks like. As I told a reporter there, Christians who oppose marriage equality are misusing the Bible. The message is grace.
March 14, 2013
Catching Up
So, let's see: it's been five months since I last posted. Mea culpa to both of you who keep checking back, and thank you for your patience. :)
How do I cover five months as succinctly as possible? Bullet style, like Rox.
• After all the fuss faded away, I was invited to join two clinical trials for triple-negative breast cancer. Since I was pretty much guaranteed side effects that are permanent already from prior treatment, I declined. I'm doing okay. Still out of shape but getting better. My hair is almost 3" long.
• I went to Cleveland in August and saw Blobby and my friend Mike, who kindly hosted me. So cool to see them again! I was there to pick up my niece who had finished her internship there. She stayed with us in Indiana for a month. She is such fun to have around and she is welcome here any time. She graduates from Smith this spring.
• While I was in Cleveland, my son's car was stolen in Indiana by new "friends" who took off with it when he was in the store. Ben got it back a couple of weeks later, and the idiot who stole it is in jail.
• In December Abe learned he was being set loose to be an independent contractor. He still had a job in sales, but no paid expenses, no car, no computer, NO HEALTH CARE. This will cost us about $30K a year. So I went to my boss, and her boss, and HR and explained: I have to have more hours (full time), more money, and benefits. No choice. To their great credit, they're coming through. I'm full time with benefits for me and the kids (Abe's got his own—it's cheaper), and we are negotiating another substantial increase in pay. Truth be told, I've been getting church mouse pay for far too long, and I made a good case. And they know the circumstances at home. I can't tell you how great it is to work in such a supportive place. Everyone should have this sort of atmosphere in which to work.
• I spent Christmas in Sarasota after we learned that Mom had been put on hospice care. All of us siblings were there, together with Mom for the last time. Her dementia kept her from realizing what was going on, but she was comfortable and relatively content. Mom died in early January after a mercifully brief descent. I was the only one to speak at her service. In an interesting turn of events, our executive pastor in Indianapolis had left to helm his own church once again—and this time it was the church I attended as a child, where Abe and I got married. He presided over Mom's memorial service after having been on the job for one week. It was very comforting to have him there.
• I went back to Florida in February for an annual church educators' convention, where once again we learned that our church and ministry continue to lead in innovation and best practices. It's great to be affirmed, but I want to learn something new and bring home fresh ideas. At the urging of one of the convention planners, I entered my workshop proposal once again. There is a chance that they will accept it again, and I can present it next February in San José.
• After the convention in Orlando, my sister picked me up and we drove down to Fort Lahdeedah to see Tony and his husband Chris. We had an absolute blast, as I suspected we might. My sister is really fun and everyone loves her. I run the risk of becoming "her sister" once again when people meet her. It's happened more than once, but I don't really care. Tony and Chris joined us for dinner and the next day held a soiree so that we could meet more of their friends. Some I knew, most I did not, but all of them were fascinating people. We laughed the afternoon away. It was the highlight of my time in Florida.
• I'm staying active in PFLAG and I'm now on the board of our local chapter. A new project of PFLAG National is called Straight For Equality and one of its divisions is "In Faith Communities." Apparently I must have written them a bit about my story, because an edited version of it is in print in their main publication "Be Not Afraid." If you get one of these booklets, check out page 15. For some reason they shaved off a few years of my age, but I'll take it. Our local chapter is among the group that started the You Have A Purpose Project in reaction to an Indiana teacher who stated on camera that gay children have no purpose. We are filming a video to put online. I'll tell you when it's up. Meanwhile, check out the Facebook page for the project.
This post has no real purpose except to tell you I'm fine and still here. Dare I hope for "normal" times? Hope springs eternal. I'm glad to be back and grateful you are here too.
How do I cover five months as succinctly as possible? Bullet style, like Rox.
• After all the fuss faded away, I was invited to join two clinical trials for triple-negative breast cancer. Since I was pretty much guaranteed side effects that are permanent already from prior treatment, I declined. I'm doing okay. Still out of shape but getting better. My hair is almost 3" long.
• I went to Cleveland in August and saw Blobby and my friend Mike, who kindly hosted me. So cool to see them again! I was there to pick up my niece who had finished her internship there. She stayed with us in Indiana for a month. She is such fun to have around and she is welcome here any time. She graduates from Smith this spring.
• While I was in Cleveland, my son's car was stolen in Indiana by new "friends" who took off with it when he was in the store. Ben got it back a couple of weeks later, and the idiot who stole it is in jail.
• In December Abe learned he was being set loose to be an independent contractor. He still had a job in sales, but no paid expenses, no car, no computer, NO HEALTH CARE. This will cost us about $30K a year. So I went to my boss, and her boss, and HR and explained: I have to have more hours (full time), more money, and benefits. No choice. To their great credit, they're coming through. I'm full time with benefits for me and the kids (Abe's got his own—it's cheaper), and we are negotiating another substantial increase in pay. Truth be told, I've been getting church mouse pay for far too long, and I made a good case. And they know the circumstances at home. I can't tell you how great it is to work in such a supportive place. Everyone should have this sort of atmosphere in which to work.
• I went back to Florida in February for an annual church educators' convention, where once again we learned that our church and ministry continue to lead in innovation and best practices. It's great to be affirmed, but I want to learn something new and bring home fresh ideas. At the urging of one of the convention planners, I entered my workshop proposal once again. There is a chance that they will accept it again, and I can present it next February in San José.
• After the convention in Orlando, my sister picked me up and we drove down to Fort Lahdeedah to see Tony and his husband Chris. We had an absolute blast, as I suspected we might. My sister is really fun and everyone loves her. I run the risk of becoming "her sister" once again when people meet her. It's happened more than once, but I don't really care. Tony and Chris joined us for dinner and the next day held a soiree so that we could meet more of their friends. Some I knew, most I did not, but all of them were fascinating people. We laughed the afternoon away. It was the highlight of my time in Florida.
• I'm staying active in PFLAG and I'm now on the board of our local chapter. A new project of PFLAG National is called Straight For Equality and one of its divisions is "In Faith Communities." Apparently I must have written them a bit about my story, because an edited version of it is in print in their main publication "Be Not Afraid." If you get one of these booklets, check out page 15. For some reason they shaved off a few years of my age, but I'll take it. Our local chapter is among the group that started the You Have A Purpose Project in reaction to an Indiana teacher who stated on camera that gay children have no purpose. We are filming a video to put online. I'll tell you when it's up. Meanwhile, check out the Facebook page for the project.
This post has no real purpose except to tell you I'm fine and still here. Dare I hope for "normal" times? Hope springs eternal. I'm glad to be back and grateful you are here too.
October 3, 2012
Coming Back Soon
Apologies for my prolonged absence. I am emerging from depression, a period in which reaching out or initiating anything was just impossible to consider. I'm getting better, and I'll be back soon.
July 26, 2012
Once-in-a-lifetime Wedding
Last month I had the great pleasure of attending the wedding of someone I had known since he was little, the child of dear friends who attend the same church. This wedding was different and probably once-in-a-lifetime for me. It was the exchange of vows between two transmen.
James (left) and John were married in Chicago in June surrounded by friends and loved ones.
John is acknowledged by his birth state of Illinois to be male and has changed his Illinois state ID and Social Security card to match. James’ California driver’s license has “female” as his legal sex. (He does not want to change his legal sex unless they offer T for transgender.) By marrying in Illinois, the marriage is registered as between bride and groom, thereby being recognized in all 50 states and by the federal government. (BTW: pure genius way to work the system, gentlemen.)
It was a privilege to witness the moving ceremony, and lots of hankies were out for all the right reasons. There was a pall cast briefly over the celebration afterward when James approached to tell me how important it was to him that my husband and I attended.
“You are the only ones of my parents’ friends to attend,” he said.
“I know, sweetheart.”
"Some of them stayed away on purpose.” His blue eyes were bright.
“I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry.”
We hugged and the party went on into the night. John and James are obviously in love and good for each other. I see a peace in James that was not evident for a long time. Love is always something to celebrate.
An announcement appeared on Joe.My.God.
A lightly-edited version of this appears on Bilerico.
James (left) and John were married in Chicago in June surrounded by friends and loved ones.
John is acknowledged by his birth state of Illinois to be male and has changed his Illinois state ID and Social Security card to match. James’ California driver’s license has “female” as his legal sex. (He does not want to change his legal sex unless they offer T for transgender.) By marrying in Illinois, the marriage is registered as between bride and groom, thereby being recognized in all 50 states and by the federal government. (BTW: pure genius way to work the system, gentlemen.)
It was a privilege to witness the moving ceremony, and lots of hankies were out for all the right reasons. There was a pall cast briefly over the celebration afterward when James approached to tell me how important it was to him that my husband and I attended.
“You are the only ones of my parents’ friends to attend,” he said.
“I know, sweetheart.”
"Some of them stayed away on purpose.” His blue eyes were bright.
“I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry.”
We hugged and the party went on into the night. John and James are obviously in love and good for each other. I see a peace in James that was not evident for a long time. Love is always something to celebrate.
An announcement appeared on Joe.My.God.
A lightly-edited version of this appears on Bilerico.
July 16, 2012
July 9, 2012
Spring Break: Helen, Georgia
From Asheville we drove down the Blue Ridge Parkway, a fantastic two-lane road which runs 500 miles through the ridges of the Appalachian Mountains from Shenandoah National Park in Virginia to Smoky Mountain National Park in North Carolina. We just took a tiny portion from Asheville on our way to Helen, GA. It was, of course, beautiful if a bit cool. We had to put the top up on the car when it hit 61° in the clouds.
Ben drove for a while, and I was a tourist for the first time in a long time. I loved it.
Too soon, we had to pull off the parkway to make our way through the lower mountains to Highlands for lunch. It was just a stop this time: pizza on Main St. Highlands continues to change—and get more expensive—each time we visit. We came here every summer for 22 years when my parents would rent a house for a month and invite each of our families to visit. It was wonderful, and it lasted until the summer I had to drive them from Florida and back. That was our last time together in the mountains.
My brother has become the family magnet now, getting all his sisters to come to St. Louis or wherever. That’s why we were heading to Helen, a tiny “alpine” town in northeast Georgia. My parents bought a timeshare there years ago, and my brother is using it now. After many visits to Helen, seeing my brother’s family is about the only reason I’d go again; there’s only so much to do in a one-street town. But “Hiram” (meaning “brother”) and his wife and kids are such fun to be around that I’d go anywhere they are for vacation.
Abe and Hiram could be a vaudeville act when they are together. Hiram is my younger brother by thirteen years, and he was born after my older brother moved out. They never really knew each other at all. But Abe has been in his life since he was five years old, and they act like brothers. It’s always hilarious to be around these two.
While in Helen, we had to stop at my store.
We could stay only a few days, but we did get in a hike to Anna Ruby Falls.
On the way home, we took the route through the Smoky Mountain Park—with the roof down!—and made our traditional stop at the top: Newfound Gap.
I know its proximity makes it easy to access from a lot of cities in the Southeast, but the views explain too why this park is the most-visited national park in the U.S. Wow.
We made it home in one day and had a day to rest before we headed up to Chicago to attend a wedding, one that will probably be the most interesting wedding I will ever attend in my life. And life gets more interesting all the time.
Ben drove for a while, and I was a tourist for the first time in a long time. I loved it.
Too soon, we had to pull off the parkway to make our way through the lower mountains to Highlands for lunch. It was just a stop this time: pizza on Main St. Highlands continues to change—and get more expensive—each time we visit. We came here every summer for 22 years when my parents would rent a house for a month and invite each of our families to visit. It was wonderful, and it lasted until the summer I had to drive them from Florida and back. That was our last time together in the mountains.
My brother has become the family magnet now, getting all his sisters to come to St. Louis or wherever. That’s why we were heading to Helen, a tiny “alpine” town in northeast Georgia. My parents bought a timeshare there years ago, and my brother is using it now. After many visits to Helen, seeing my brother’s family is about the only reason I’d go again; there’s only so much to do in a one-street town. But “Hiram” (meaning “brother”) and his wife and kids are such fun to be around that I’d go anywhere they are for vacation.
Abe and Hiram could be a vaudeville act when they are together. Hiram is my younger brother by thirteen years, and he was born after my older brother moved out. They never really knew each other at all. But Abe has been in his life since he was five years old, and they act like brothers. It’s always hilarious to be around these two.
While in Helen, we had to stop at my store.
We could stay only a few days, but we did get in a hike to Anna Ruby Falls.
On the way home, we took the route through the Smoky Mountain Park—with the roof down!—and made our traditional stop at the top: Newfound Gap.
I know its proximity makes it easy to access from a lot of cities in the Southeast, but the views explain too why this park is the most-visited national park in the U.S. Wow.
We made it home in one day and had a day to rest before we headed up to Chicago to attend a wedding, one that will probably be the most interesting wedding I will ever attend in my life. And life gets more interesting all the time.
July 6, 2012
Spring Break: Asheville
In the thirty years that Abe and I have been in Indiana, we have made almost all our friends at the church where I’m now employed. Of those friends, four couples have become our inner circle. One of those couples moved away last year to Asheville, and we stayed overnight with them on our way down to Georgia, where we would spend a few days with my brother’s family.
Kevin and Cindy decided it was time to make a change before they got too old to enjoy it, and last summer sold pretty much everything and moved to Asheville. We have kept in touch, as have the rest in our circle of friends. They have a large older home with a garage under the house big enough to hold six cars. Kevin is in heaven; he has the gift of carpentry and is setting up his workshop down there.
Abe and Ben had driven down from Indiana (in my convertible), stopping briefly in Henryville to see firsthand the damage wrought by tornados a few months ago. Abe was conscious of being respectful and asked locals about viewing the area. Abe wanted Ben to see the devastation and the help that was needed in an area hit by tornados. They stayed somewhere in Kentucky that night and picked me up at the Asheville airport the next day. We headed for Kevin and Cindy’s home.
After we were ensconced in the guest rooms, we had dinner at home and then headed out to see downtown Asheville. It was packed, and the demographic skewed young. It looked like a college town, which Asheville is. We had ice cream in the middle of all the activity while the Friday drum circle boomed nearby. Its reputation as an arts community was also evident in the diversity of the crowd and businesses.
The next morning Cindy drove my convertible and took us all on a tour of the Biltmore Estate, where she works in the winery. I’m the only one in my family to have seen the Biltmore House, but we didn’t have time to do it justice. There are still Vanderbilt family members who live in modern homes on the estate, and Cindy said a few live in private areas of the mansion. On this day, seeing the grounds was all we could do, but it was pristine and filled with blooms.
After the tour we said our farewells and headed south. We would see Kevin and Cindy in a week in Chicago.
Kevin and Cindy decided it was time to make a change before they got too old to enjoy it, and last summer sold pretty much everything and moved to Asheville. We have kept in touch, as have the rest in our circle of friends. They have a large older home with a garage under the house big enough to hold six cars. Kevin is in heaven; he has the gift of carpentry and is setting up his workshop down there.
Abe and Ben had driven down from Indiana (in my convertible), stopping briefly in Henryville to see firsthand the damage wrought by tornados a few months ago. Abe was conscious of being respectful and asked locals about viewing the area. Abe wanted Ben to see the devastation and the help that was needed in an area hit by tornados. They stayed somewhere in Kentucky that night and picked me up at the Asheville airport the next day. We headed for Kevin and Cindy’s home.
After we were ensconced in the guest rooms, we had dinner at home and then headed out to see downtown Asheville. It was packed, and the demographic skewed young. It looked like a college town, which Asheville is. We had ice cream in the middle of all the activity while the Friday drum circle boomed nearby. Its reputation as an arts community was also evident in the diversity of the crowd and businesses.
The next morning Cindy drove my convertible and took us all on a tour of the Biltmore Estate, where she works in the winery. I’m the only one in my family to have seen the Biltmore House, but we didn’t have time to do it justice. There are still Vanderbilt family members who live in modern homes on the estate, and Cindy said a few live in private areas of the mansion. On this day, seeing the grounds was all we could do, but it was pristine and filled with blooms.
After the tour we said our farewells and headed south. We would see Kevin and Cindy in a week in Chicago.
July 1, 2012
Spring Break: Connecticut
On Thursday morning I took the Megabus to Connecticut, to meet for the first time a friend I’d made through our common experience with breast cancer. A month after I was diagnosed, a friend wrote me to say that Jane, his mother-in-law, had also gotten a similar diagnosis. I wrote her a letter, and soon we were exchanging weekly phone calls. When I was planning my trip to NYC, I realized I could zip over to Connecticut on the Megabus, and I made plans with Jane to see her, if only for a short while.
Jane’s son picked me up and we had a great talk on the thirty minutes to her home south of Hartford. He stayed the afternoon with us as I got the family history and saw all the pictures displayed throughout the 150-year-old house.
We walked across the town green and down the street to see “The House,” now an attorney’s office, the former family home for generations. The current owners graciously gave us a tour as Jane described the family gatherings she attended there.
We had lunch practically next door at a family bistro. More history, everywhere I looked. I grew up in Florida, where history only begins in the ‘20s, after businessmen figured out how to carve civilization from the swamps. Families there are transient, locals being the rarity. Roots do not go deep in Florida; what a contrast in Connecticut!
Jane was described to me as unconditionally loving, and I have to agree. She was sweet and funny and attentive; but that was no surprise to me. Our friendship had grown over the months, and this was just a continuation of our phone calls and letters. She and I were quite the pair: both of us with excruciatingly short hairstyles—hers white, mine light brown. She did not need the mastectomy I had, but she was still recovering from radiation treatment, as apparently am I. Still, we laughed a lot, and the day ended too soon. (In our next phone call, Jane pointed out that we never talked at all about cancer, treatment or recovery. I guess we were having too much fun.)
I had to get up early the next morning to get a ride back to LaGuardia, where I would fly down to meet Abe and Ben in Asheville, North Carolina.
Jane’s son picked me up and we had a great talk on the thirty minutes to her home south of Hartford. He stayed the afternoon with us as I got the family history and saw all the pictures displayed throughout the 150-year-old house.
We walked across the town green and down the street to see “The House,” now an attorney’s office, the former family home for generations. The current owners graciously gave us a tour as Jane described the family gatherings she attended there.
We had lunch practically next door at a family bistro. More history, everywhere I looked. I grew up in Florida, where history only begins in the ‘20s, after businessmen figured out how to carve civilization from the swamps. Families there are transient, locals being the rarity. Roots do not go deep in Florida; what a contrast in Connecticut!
Jane was described to me as unconditionally loving, and I have to agree. She was sweet and funny and attentive; but that was no surprise to me. Our friendship had grown over the months, and this was just a continuation of our phone calls and letters. She and I were quite the pair: both of us with excruciatingly short hairstyles—hers white, mine light brown. She did not need the mastectomy I had, but she was still recovering from radiation treatment, as apparently am I. Still, we laughed a lot, and the day ended too soon. (In our next phone call, Jane pointed out that we never talked at all about cancer, treatment or recovery. I guess we were having too much fun.)
I had to get up early the next morning to get a ride back to LaGuardia, where I would fly down to meet Abe and Ben in Asheville, North Carolina.
June 24, 2012
Spring Break: New York City
I had only three days in New York City, but it was a total blast. What made it so was meeting up with friends who lived there. (I should have a lot more pictures, but I was having such a good time that I forgot entirely about having a camera unless I was alone. I think I took five pictures in total—all else came from the Web.)
On the advice of a friend, I got a room at the West Side YMCA for a third the cost of a bad hotel room in Manhattan. It was a few yards from Central Park and two short blocks to the metro in one direction and Lincoln Center in the other; what a great location! The room was like a dorm room, quite spartan but with a flat screen TV, and the bathroom was down the hall but private when you used it. I plan on staying there again. Who goes to NYC to stay in your hotel?
I arrived early Monday afternoon, having taken two hours to get from LaGuardia to the Y on the SuperShuttle. (There was no special reason for having taken so long, just a lot of traffic. Plan on that when you come here.)
After a nap and leisurely time in Central Park, I took the subway to Bryant Park to meet Eric for the first time. Eric blogs over at Sore Afraid about his new life with his husband and newborn twins. He is sweet and brilliant and we had too little time together. That was to become a theme for my visit.
Eric and I walked from the park to St. Clement’s Theater to see the dramatic reading of Tony Adams’ new play, “A Letter From The Bishop.”
I’d seen a preliminary reading in Ft. Lauderdale, and this one took it up several notches. This play really needs to be produced. I wish I had the connections to make it happen, because it could change the hearts of many on the subject of marriage equality. There was a small after party at a bar down the street, where I chatted with cast members. I met Joe Jervis, proprietor of Joe.My.God, and his friend Dr. Jeff, and I recognized a few other faces from the Interwebs, but there was no way to talk with everyone.
Tony’s sweet husband Chris had to return to work, but he graciously gave me a detailed outline of what he recommended a newcomer should see. I had requested tips for what a tourist might overlook, and he gave me enough choices to fill several weeks. I used his advice on Tuesday, when I met up with Patrick (of Loose Ends). Patrick and I have met a few times before, when he came home to Indiana. This was our first meeting in his second home of NYC.
Patrick met me at Columbus Circle and we headed down to Chelsea to The High Line, a park created from an abandoned elevated railroad track. We both had umbrellas and we needed them, but the constant gentle rain meant we were practically alone in the park.
We did the entire length of the High Line and exited to try out Chris’ suggestion for lunch, Pepe Giallo. Oh. Em. Gee. They had the best food I’d had in years. I allowed Patrick to have one (one!) rigatoni of my salmon pasta dish. Mmmmmm.
After lunch Patrick and I toured galleries on 24th St. (under the High Line) and decided there was one worth returning to, C24’s exhibit of portraits fashioned from layers of cut and tied tulle. Fascinating.
The remaining galleries were puzzling or boring. All of them were manned by two attendants who apparently spoke only when addressed, otherwise staring into screens and quietly clicking away.
I lasted about five hours before I needed a nap, so I bid Patrick goodbye at the subway and headed back to my room. I was to meet David (of the now-defunct Someone In A Tree) at his museum later in the evening. I had managed to stumble upon the one day each year when all of the museums on Fifth Avenue (Museum Mile) are open and free to the public from 5 to 9PM. I planned on seeing one or two before having a late dinner with David, so I lay down to rest before grabbing a cab to the other side of Central Park.
I woke up at 8:15. Guess I really WAS tired! I barely made it to David’s museum before it closed. He was looking especially spiffy in his suit and tie, and we raised our umbrellas in the now-pouring rain to head down to Astor Place and a tiny Thai Ramen restaurant. (“You did say you wanted something different, right?” David asked. Of course!) The food was good, the conversation was great, and David and I parted ways at the subway. I slept in.
Wednesday was reserved for Tony, who was still resting from the chaos of producing the play’s reading. He met me at the door and we took off for the Leslie/Lohman Museum, where an exhibit of photographs of The Piers was on display.
It was a fascinating piece of history of New York City gay life, which is changing faster than we can comprehend. Some bemoan that, but isn’t that the nature of life? We all wish to cling to the best memories and discard the pain.
Tony took me to Pinto, another tiny restaurant that served delicious and light Thai food. He led me by the Stonewall Inn, also on Christopher Street, central district of all gay life in New York. That center seems more diffuse now, a sign of the acceptance and openness long overdue. When Tony heard that I had not seen in person the Bethesda Fountain, scene of several weddings he officiated, we took off for a stroll through Central Park.
While I never tire of conversation with Tony, my body was complaining, and I went back to my room in late afternoon. I slept for twelve hours. I had wondered what my energy level would be, having not really tested it since treatment stopped. I think I’m good for about five or six hours of activity before I need to nap for few hours. It’s going to take some time to get back up to speed, but that’s okay.
Well rested, the next morning I got in line on the sidewalk to board the Megabus to Connecticut.
Update: for those who are counting, this brings my Personal Confirmation count of Internet friends to 21. Woohoo! Who's next?
On the advice of a friend, I got a room at the West Side YMCA for a third the cost of a bad hotel room in Manhattan. It was a few yards from Central Park and two short blocks to the metro in one direction and Lincoln Center in the other; what a great location! The room was like a dorm room, quite spartan but with a flat screen TV, and the bathroom was down the hall but private when you used it. I plan on staying there again. Who goes to NYC to stay in your hotel?
I arrived early Monday afternoon, having taken two hours to get from LaGuardia to the Y on the SuperShuttle. (There was no special reason for having taken so long, just a lot of traffic. Plan on that when you come here.)
After a nap and leisurely time in Central Park, I took the subway to Bryant Park to meet Eric for the first time. Eric blogs over at Sore Afraid about his new life with his husband and newborn twins. He is sweet and brilliant and we had too little time together. That was to become a theme for my visit.
Eric and I walked from the park to St. Clement’s Theater to see the dramatic reading of Tony Adams’ new play, “A Letter From The Bishop.”
I’d seen a preliminary reading in Ft. Lauderdale, and this one took it up several notches. This play really needs to be produced. I wish I had the connections to make it happen, because it could change the hearts of many on the subject of marriage equality. There was a small after party at a bar down the street, where I chatted with cast members. I met Joe Jervis, proprietor of Joe.My.God, and his friend Dr. Jeff, and I recognized a few other faces from the Interwebs, but there was no way to talk with everyone.
Tony’s sweet husband Chris had to return to work, but he graciously gave me a detailed outline of what he recommended a newcomer should see. I had requested tips for what a tourist might overlook, and he gave me enough choices to fill several weeks. I used his advice on Tuesday, when I met up with Patrick (of Loose Ends). Patrick and I have met a few times before, when he came home to Indiana. This was our first meeting in his second home of NYC.
Patrick met me at Columbus Circle and we headed down to Chelsea to The High Line, a park created from an abandoned elevated railroad track. We both had umbrellas and we needed them, but the constant gentle rain meant we were practically alone in the park.
We did the entire length of the High Line and exited to try out Chris’ suggestion for lunch, Pepe Giallo. Oh. Em. Gee. They had the best food I’d had in years. I allowed Patrick to have one (one!) rigatoni of my salmon pasta dish. Mmmmmm.
After lunch Patrick and I toured galleries on 24th St. (under the High Line) and decided there was one worth returning to, C24’s exhibit of portraits fashioned from layers of cut and tied tulle. Fascinating.
The remaining galleries were puzzling or boring. All of them were manned by two attendants who apparently spoke only when addressed, otherwise staring into screens and quietly clicking away.
I lasted about five hours before I needed a nap, so I bid Patrick goodbye at the subway and headed back to my room. I was to meet David (of the now-defunct Someone In A Tree) at his museum later in the evening. I had managed to stumble upon the one day each year when all of the museums on Fifth Avenue (Museum Mile) are open and free to the public from 5 to 9PM. I planned on seeing one or two before having a late dinner with David, so I lay down to rest before grabbing a cab to the other side of Central Park.
I woke up at 8:15. Guess I really WAS tired! I barely made it to David’s museum before it closed. He was looking especially spiffy in his suit and tie, and we raised our umbrellas in the now-pouring rain to head down to Astor Place and a tiny Thai Ramen restaurant. (“You did say you wanted something different, right?” David asked. Of course!) The food was good, the conversation was great, and David and I parted ways at the subway. I slept in.
Wednesday was reserved for Tony, who was still resting from the chaos of producing the play’s reading. He met me at the door and we took off for the Leslie/Lohman Museum, where an exhibit of photographs of The Piers was on display.
It was a fascinating piece of history of New York City gay life, which is changing faster than we can comprehend. Some bemoan that, but isn’t that the nature of life? We all wish to cling to the best memories and discard the pain.
Tony took me to Pinto, another tiny restaurant that served delicious and light Thai food. He led me by the Stonewall Inn, also on Christopher Street, central district of all gay life in New York. That center seems more diffuse now, a sign of the acceptance and openness long overdue. When Tony heard that I had not seen in person the Bethesda Fountain, scene of several weddings he officiated, we took off for a stroll through Central Park.
While I never tire of conversation with Tony, my body was complaining, and I went back to my room in late afternoon. I slept for twelve hours. I had wondered what my energy level would be, having not really tested it since treatment stopped. I think I’m good for about five or six hours of activity before I need to nap for few hours. It’s going to take some time to get back up to speed, but that’s okay.
Well rested, the next morning I got in line on the sidewalk to board the Megabus to Connecticut.
Update: for those who are counting, this brings my Personal Confirmation count of Internet friends to 21. Woohoo! Who's next?
June 2, 2012
May 29, 2012
Overheard: Preschool
It's pick-up time at the summer preschool, which meets on the same floor as my office.
Two teachers: "So I said to him, 'Give Ben back his tiara.'"
Two dads: "She wanted to name him Luke—that's his middle name now—but I told her I just can't say, 'Luke, I am your father.' Just can't do that."
Two teachers: "So I said to him, 'Give Ben back his tiara.'"
Two dads: "She wanted to name him Luke—that's his middle name now—but I told her I just can't say, 'Luke, I am your father.' Just can't do that."
May 28, 2012
Verbatim: Cat Instructions
Sheba is living with us until she can get back to school. She brought her cats with her, and they live in her bedroom. She's visiting family in California and left instructions on feeding the kitties. (BTW: that's a "K," not an "H" in the second kitty's name.)
May 20, 2012
Balanced
Three days ago, my breast prosthesis arrived. It’s not a perfect match, but it’s close enough. I have a balanced appearance now. Honestly, I really didn’t care, but others were uncomfortable seeing me with one flat side. And my clothes do fit better. It seems I did all my mourning before I lost my breast. And I truly did mourn, especially as time came to a close. Once done, it was time to move on.
It will be at least a year of healing before I can consider reconstruction. I am not eligible for an implant, but that’s okay—I am uncomfortable with that option. I must have a delicate procedure called a DIEP that calls for transplanting skin and fat from my abdomen to my chest. Microsurgery techniques will connect blood vessels to keep the transplant viable.
While I was introduced to a breast surgeon here, I’ve been considering a hospital in Texas, MD Anderson, which has a clinic dedicated to inflammatory breast cancer. When I mentioned that to someone here, she strongly encouraged me to go there for reconstruction. This is a relatively new and difficult procedure; I want to have a doctor who’s done it a lot and well. MD Anderson has that reputation. Bonus: I get a tummy tuck, something I have wanted since I had an 11½-pound baby 20 years ago. ☺ I consider that my reward for going through all this.
The undercurrent that you don’t hear much about is the uncertainty of how much time is left. The everyday-ness of life eventually overshadows it, but there it is. Of course, no one knows how much time is left. This wake-up call helps me to live each moment to its fullest and leave no wish untried. Next stop: NYC!
It will be at least a year of healing before I can consider reconstruction. I am not eligible for an implant, but that’s okay—I am uncomfortable with that option. I must have a delicate procedure called a DIEP that calls for transplanting skin and fat from my abdomen to my chest. Microsurgery techniques will connect blood vessels to keep the transplant viable.
While I was introduced to a breast surgeon here, I’ve been considering a hospital in Texas, MD Anderson, which has a clinic dedicated to inflammatory breast cancer. When I mentioned that to someone here, she strongly encouraged me to go there for reconstruction. This is a relatively new and difficult procedure; I want to have a doctor who’s done it a lot and well. MD Anderson has that reputation. Bonus: I get a tummy tuck, something I have wanted since I had an 11½-pound baby 20 years ago. ☺ I consider that my reward for going through all this.
The undercurrent that you don’t hear much about is the uncertainty of how much time is left. The everyday-ness of life eventually overshadows it, but there it is. Of course, no one knows how much time is left. This wake-up call helps me to live each moment to its fullest and leave no wish untried. Next stop: NYC!
April 22, 2012
Ordinary Time
Treatment is over. I had the last radiation appointment on Wednesday. Now it's just healing from the effects of radiation—pretty strong in my case—and then follow-up visits here and there.
This is "ordinary" time, but it feels anything but ordinary. It's surprisingly somewhat melancholy, I suppose because there is nothing left to do but wait and hope. It will be at least a year before I can consider reconstruction because IBC has a real bad habit of coming back, most often in the scar tissue. My prognosis is good and I am very hopeful.
I have a lopsided appearance: DD on one side, slightly concave on the other. I can't wear a prosthesis until all the effects of radiation are gone. I honestly don't care. I forget about it much of the time. I will deal with the prosthesis when the time comes.
I have finally been given permission to lose the 20 pounds I gained from steroids while on chemo. Well, the steroid weight has gone—about five pounds—and the rest is from the insatiable appetite those miserable steroids gave me. This is my new "treatment," to regain my fitness and shape.
I'm going to NYC in June, and I need to be fit enough to walk the streets of Manhattan for three days. I'm SO looking forward to that! I will also manage a too-brief meeting in Connecticut with a delightful woman who was diagnosed a month after me. She and I have talked frequently (and written real snail-mail letters during my enforced silence) and we are both excited to finally meet. I'm so grateful to her son-in-law for introducing us.
This community of "survivors" is a wonderful network of support. There are 34 women and one man at my church—where I work—who are survivors of breast cancer. We reach out to each other to ask for help and to offer it. That is a hidden blessing of this terrible disease.
So now it is time to put it behind me. Let's see how long it takes for me to truly do that. Thank you all for coming along with me and supporting me so kindly through all of this journey. I'm so lucky to have you here with me.
This is "ordinary" time, but it feels anything but ordinary. It's surprisingly somewhat melancholy, I suppose because there is nothing left to do but wait and hope. It will be at least a year before I can consider reconstruction because IBC has a real bad habit of coming back, most often in the scar tissue. My prognosis is good and I am very hopeful.
I have a lopsided appearance: DD on one side, slightly concave on the other. I can't wear a prosthesis until all the effects of radiation are gone. I honestly don't care. I forget about it much of the time. I will deal with the prosthesis when the time comes.
I have finally been given permission to lose the 20 pounds I gained from steroids while on chemo. Well, the steroid weight has gone—about five pounds—and the rest is from the insatiable appetite those miserable steroids gave me. This is my new "treatment," to regain my fitness and shape.
I'm going to NYC in June, and I need to be fit enough to walk the streets of Manhattan for three days. I'm SO looking forward to that! I will also manage a too-brief meeting in Connecticut with a delightful woman who was diagnosed a month after me. She and I have talked frequently (and written real snail-mail letters during my enforced silence) and we are both excited to finally meet. I'm so grateful to her son-in-law for introducing us.
This community of "survivors" is a wonderful network of support. There are 34 women and one man at my church—where I work—who are survivors of breast cancer. We reach out to each other to ask for help and to offer it. That is a hidden blessing of this terrible disease.
So now it is time to put it behind me. Let's see how long it takes for me to truly do that. Thank you all for coming along with me and supporting me so kindly through all of this journey. I'm so lucky to have you here with me.
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