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.

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.

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.

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.

I'm Ready For My Closeup, Mr. DeMille

Everyone else was gone, and it just needed to be done.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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