Tilted

The upholstery sale is over and I survived, triumphantly actually. I am currently the top sales person for the month. It feels fantastic. After a few months proving my-self to my bosses and feeling less than on top, I have finally made my point and presence known. If success comes at a price I was glad to pay it. I never asked what it might be.
All the same, I celebrated the achievement as I should. I took a day to rest and watch movies. No phone or email to distract from my mindlessness. I savored the day of rest deep in my bones. Today I ventured out into the world. I pushed forward another dream of mine. I once fantasized of leisurely walking down the block and getting a manicure and pedicure. I did that today. That dream only cost fifty bucks.
Keep in mind I grew up in the country and our driveway was 3 miles long. From there it was a 20 minute drive to the next sign of civilization. That was in the form of a Winn Dixie grocery store. So, to walk out the door and have choices of restaurants, endless stores, my dentist and places to get your nails done, is a childhood dream.
It’s a great place to be. And I don’t mean Chicago. My hope is to maintain my enthusiasm and appreciation for this new life. A life found through my love for a man I called the upholstery sale widow last month. He understood why I went to work on my days off and respected my ambition. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve been so dedicated and to have a partner that allows me to over indulge is priceless.
Walking around today I considered the cost of taking time and energy away from a relationship, not working out and abandoning creative endeavors to get ahead at work. It seems more a lack of balance than a price. I still want to be the top sales person; I just want the other stuff too. I decided to make that my new goal and to eat lunch at the new café around the corner.
As I restored the balance today, I celebrated the parts of my life I put aside for a while. I reminded myself to invite them all back in. Including the new part that is the top sales person with great looking toes. I tell my clients that great design is about balance. Today I remembered how that applies to everything we design.

The wheels on the bus...

The wind chill in the city was zero this morning as I ran to catch my bus. The wind cut through all five layers of clothing making me feel naked on the street. Once warm on the bus I faced the sun and closed my eyes. I remembered my vacation in Costa Rica a few years ago. I exhaled the stress of running late and freezing. I snuggled between two strangers and tried to relax on the way to work.
It is an unexpected pleasure ridding the bus in the morning. As unexpected as replacing a lost passport on vacation. To loose the passport I hiked to a tiny nude beach over a small cliff. The tide was low in the morning and getting to the beach was easy. A few hours later I had made friends with a couple and the fully stocked bar in their picnic basket. When I was ready to go back to the hotel the man suggested I stay a while longer. I thought he meant to stay naked with him for a while. Really he was telling me that it was high tide and getting over the cliff would be dangerous. Maybe it was the language barrier or the cocktails but I headed over the cliff.
I realized I had not worn the best shoes for such a hike. The waves in Costa Rica are violent and crashed into the side of the cliff with Godlike force. I had climbed as high and far up as I could to get around but the waves slammed me. My Vibrum soled clog lost its hold and I went down in the wave. The wave took my bag, hat, shoes and glasses. Strangers pulled me and my belongings from the water. Everything but my wallet and passport.
One of the helpful strangers said “You should not be mountain climbing in high heels.” He was making fun of my clogs. “That will be funny one day” I said.
To replace my passport I had to fly to the American Embassy via the only airline from the beach to the city. I walked across a field to an aircraft the size of a car with magnetic signs on the doors.
It was an unexpected trip that afternoon. The spectacular views of the country made it worth all the fuss. The views at the beach weren’t bad either. Remembering the trip warmed me on the bus today and reminded me to welcome the unexpected.

"Who's y'er Daddy?"

My new favorite quote is from the movie Short bus. It is “I used to want to change the world, but now I just want to leave the room with a little dignity.” In a way it sounds like giving up. It could also mean too pick your battles carefully to ensure a dignified exit.
I have a new city, employer and life to entertain me with challenges. It seems the one creature I failed to prepare for this new life is the one most effected by it. My first night in the city with my dog required me leaving her at home alone. She barked nonstop until the doorman called us at dinner and asked us to return home. It was the first of many complaints from our new neighbors. They love us!
To make this work I called a personal dog trainer, a specialist in separation anxiety. My dog now has an aroma theropy pheromone diffuser and an ultrasonic anti-bark machine. She takes Prozac every day and a Valium every time I leave the house. It sounds extreme yet she still managed to paw at the front door until she set the deadbolt from inside. A lock I did not have a key to. I stood in the hall trying to open the door. I imagined my dog sitting on the sofa yelling at the door “Who’s got separation anxiety now Daddy!”
Once inside I have started to wonder if I’m doing the right thing for my dog. I’m fighting to make this work for both of us. Have I picked the right battle? I’m not trying to change the world, just a dog. I only want to change her enough so that I can leave the house with a little dignity.
One of us needs the pills. This might go on for six months I’m told. We will both need rehab if this goes on that long. The neighbors are ready for this to be over. Truthfully, I am too. I have tried not to let this situation become my world so I went to see a movie that begins with autofellatio. A nice distraction but my world was waiting at the door when I got home.

On my way...

I like to think everything happens for a reason. Some things are more hurtful than others and the hurt can linger in your heart like poison. Slowly killing you and robbing you of joy. When life is good it is easy to heal, let go and forgive. Life is good and I’m moving to a great love, a great career in a great city. I’m packing light, emotionally and otherwise.
It was almost twenty years ago that my parents learned I was gay. My sister in law was friends with my boyfriends’ housekeeper. She was telling my sister in law and mother that she hated cleaning for a gay man. “He owns that flower shop downtown. I’m worried I’ll get AIDS.” She told them. My mother knew I worked at the flower shop. Like an episode of ‘Murder, she wrote’ my mother figured it out. I moved out of my parent’s home that weekend. We did not speak for six years.
My parents are a part of my life again but I withhold the parts I think will upset them. So when I found myself trying to get out of a violent, unhealthy cohabitation I never mentioned a word about it. Our phone conversations kept to the subject of the last trip they took while I dodged the toaster being thrown at my head.
They never knew that Greg died. They never knew of this man that came into my life like an angel and gave me the courage I needed to end the violent relationship. His love and attention reminded me what I was missing. It gave me strength to fight back and rent a U-haul and end an unhappy time of my life.
Greg died the same weekend that U-haul pulled away from the house I named Joy Cottage. I’d love to know the reason it happened that way. I’ve spent enough time trying to figure it out. As I reclaimed this house with paint and tears, it slowly became a joyful place again. My heart took longer to mend.
As I select the things to take with me I’m wondering what I can leave behind. The truth of who I am will follow me where I go; so I honor my history. We have no choice but to embrace it and build our future with an open heart, letting out the ghosts of hurt and anger that have become habits more than feelings.
This time it will be me driving away from Joy Cottage. I will take with me a spirit of joy I worked hard to make happen. I will be accepting my blessings as I forgive and let go along the way.

Destiny or BUST!

What is our destiny? Is it written in the stars or is it in the palm of our hands waiting to be sculpted? If there is a script of our lives I’d like to flip to page 255 to take a peek at mine. I have major life choices to make and I’m seeking guarantees that I make the right ones.
I’ve considered employing a psychic. My last visit was for entertainment not guidance. I got both. I was moving three tons of gravel from the driveway to the backyard patio. I was using my snow shovel to scoop the rocks and move them into place. Richard called; not to help but, to ask me to go see a psychic. It sounded more fun than the rocks.
Our psychic greeted us in the garden of her charming home. Not at all the dark gypsy dwelling my inner child saw in his minds eye. Her technique was to let her hands caress the top of an old, worn wood table. She did this for a while and said to me “They want me to ask you why you don’t use a wheelbarrow?” My eyes got wide and I said “I like the exercise.” I can’t remember her name or address.
My faith is unorganized. I pray, but, my vision of heaven is a universal cocktail party. God is there with Buddha, Ra and all the superior beings watching us like contestants on Project Runway. They can give us flat tires when we are in a hurry or make your resume disappear when you really want the job. When we die we get to go to the universal cocktail party and the Gods tells us why everything happened the way it did. Prayers are like fan mail; not everyone gets a reply.
I’m willing to employ any means to avoid indecision. Asking for a guarantee is paralyzing this process. I need to stop reading the map and drive the damn car! I guess I want to ask for directions instead of listening to my brain, heart and gut that say “drive fast”. Maybe destiny is written the moment we trust our heart and brain and sculpted into reality when we have the guts to pursue a dream.
For me it was wise to pull over and make sure I was going in the right direction. I’m not sure what the stars have planed for me. For now I’ll trust myself to navigate my destiny. I think I got it right, but, I won’t guarantee it.

It's not what you're eating...

Everyone I know is on weight watchers or getting out of rehab. It is affecting my social life. I now keep a measuring cup in the bar for my friends to measure 4 ounces of wine. Some go through the process five times during dinner, thus the rehab. The party ends when they run out of points.
The concept is working. My friend Julie has lost forty pounds twice. She had two kids and faster than you can weigh six ounces of chicken she lost the weight. She always thought she was big boned and hated the song about the girl from southern Alberta. Alas she is now a willowy ballerina from southern Indiana.
I’m not working the program but have become well versed on the subject of flex points and my own relationship to food. Sixty pounds ago I was sitting in the bath tub watching TV and eating German chocolate cake. I was in an unsuccessful relationship and convinced myself that food was love. I ate my way to happiness, and a 36 inch waist. I had been a cyclist for years and parked the bike to focus on the relationship. I wonder if my friends talk about that kind of thing during their meetings.
Remember Susan Powter. She said “it’s not what you're eating it’s what’s eating you” and “Stop the insanity!” I wasn’t thinking of her when I got single again and started walking my dog twice a day, but her mantra did apply. I was thinking these thoughts while at dinner with six weight watchers of eight people. I zoned out of the point talk and remembered my quiet triumphant story.
As each pound went away I could feel my life again. Not because I felt sexier, although I did, or looked healthier. It was like loosing touch with an old and good friend and then seeing them again and realizing how much you missed them. Only it was me I missed. It feels great to be out of the tub, being with people I enjoy until they run out of points, and I wish each of them a joyful reunion with what they find inside.

Stick it to em!

On my way to work I found myself behind a car with bumper stickers. One read “Gun control means use two hands” another read “Vietnam Vets against John Kerry” and a “Hang up and drive” and more. The car was a Ford Contour, and I wondered if I’ll ever see that set of stickers on an electric hybrid.
It seems safe to say that the driver is a republican, enjoys hunting with his sons and served in the military. I thought it out of character. Most of the conservative tail light philosophy I’ve read is about honor role students, a political candidate or pro-life. The larger displays I expect it from more liberal drivers. Clever phrases about saving trees, earth, animals and beating up the honor role students I expect from members of PETA not the NRA.
To me bumper stickers are like fringe on rugs; unpredictable, unnecessary clutter. I’ve just not seen one that spoke to my agenda. My friend stopped smoking and elected nicotine suckers to satiate her desire to smoke. Health insurance does not pay for her suckers. I think it should. One conspiracy theory is that smokers get sick and die. To the business of health care smokers are good financial risks. If she stops smoking she might start jogging with one of the suckers in her mouth and break a hip.
I saw a woman in a restaurant remove her oxygen tube and smoke. If she has a bumper sticker that reads “I brake for butts!” I believe her. I have to question how much conviction is in front of the bumper. I’d like to ask the man in the Ford if by ‘gun control’ he means no government regulations. I’d like to think that if my neighbor wants a gun to protect his family that well informed people agree he is happy and healthy enough to bare arms. And that it was not the voices in his head that told him to buy a gun. Although, many children get killed with the guns intended to protect them. You might as well let them jog with a nicotine suckers in their mouth.
I’m not picking on the man in the Ford. I ask the same of any bumper sticker activist “Do you do what is behind you?” I agree with “Hang up and drive”. Unless you’re a doctor you do not need to be on the phone while driving.
I have no bumper stickers and mean it!

Kool-Aid

Growing up gay, I learned of gender specific identities. I was never confused about myself. I was confused by people telling me to play foot ball with Scott when I wanted to play beauty shop with his sister. I didn’t understand why gender defined what games I should play.
My continued interest in gender roles, in a world of Ryan Seacrest and Jamie Lee Curtis, took me to a medical discussion about intersex births. The speaker said “Think of gender like a rainbow, with more than two colors”. One of 1500 births are intersex, a variety of conditions in which a person is born with an anatomy that does not fit the typical definition of boy or girl. It goes way beyond the X and Y chromosomes.
What games do they play? Once considered a birth defect the undetermined gender was assigned. The children were surgically altered to appear as girls, because it was easier. The nurture over nature theory did not work. Once shrouded in secrecy and shame and now with adult voices, science is forced to listen.
So to understand the social importance of gender being clearly defined I read the Christian book “Wild at heart” by John Eldredge. The book suggests that men are born to fight a battle, live an adventure and rescue a beauty. Boys are wild warriors seeking masculine nurturing to initiate us into manhood. We become fearless warriors fighting evil on earth and making love to only our wives, or we become ‘nice guys’. If not ushered into our warrior selves we become prone to porn, addictions and homosexuality. It took 150 pages but he got there.
To only seek information that agrees with what I already believe is not my style. I like to challenge my convictions and dared John Eldredge to make me drink his Kool-Aid. The book implies that gender is defined by God and born in our hearts. To vary is evil. Science has proved gender is more than our bodies. Both ask the same question. What is in your heart?
What belief system governs the rules of gender? Is it divine or is it ego? God might be telling us something. Are we ‘man’ enough to listen? As a boy I played the games I liked. I tried camping and fishing but preferred styling my parents dinner parties. If we are to bear the image of God it is in our heart, not our pants. Does it matter what games we play if we hear God’s voice?

Oh say can you see...

“Oh say can you see, by the dawns early light…” A question asked at dawn. After studying the song in a music theory class and later a poetry class I gained a better understanding of the meaning. I wonder what it must have been like to look into the distance hoping to see that star spangled banner. Woven in it’s cloth a quest for independence, sewn with the thread of an entire people’s willingness to die. The song is begging for a reminder that hope is alive.
I’m grateful to live in a country that let me leave a career to pursue my own happiness. The rights I wallow in are in no small part due to wars fought years ago. I’ve often asked what I’m willing to die for. My thoughts went there because of all things the Gay Pride Parade in Chicago. A funny thing happened that day. I was proud.
My preconceived notions of the event included everything you’ve seen on TV. The roller skating transvestite wore only a snake. We saw lots of Drag Queens. Some of the spectacle was my objection to going at all. “They only show the stuff that gives us all a bad name” I’ve said. Hearing my own judgmental voice reminded me that we were here because we are judged. On the street with thousands of my people around me I had to let go of judging anyone.
The float of Gay Veterans passed by, it struck me as odd. Juxtaposed to this cocktail party, was something that gave meaning to our presence there that day. I noticed missing arms and legs, the unforgettable reminders of loss and courage. Like none I’ve had to know. Because of these brave people we have the same 75% of the liberties given the heterosexuals that fought with them.
There I was, among the gaudy display of individuality having a patriotic moment. Not sure if I should sing the National Anthem or tuck a buck in the pants of the bare-chested Gay Fireman floating by. It was the Proud Parents of Gay Children that brought tears to my eyes. Inappropriate as it was I cried. I reached for the man I can not marry. We stood together watching the crowd.
To have gone more concerned about my Prada hat than Civil Liberties and leave feeling proud and empowered was the point I think. To share the hopes of equality with thousands of likeminded people gives new meaning to an old song.
Where is my allegiance? Although I have no answer I feel like a better Gay, Prada hat wearing, and American human being for asking.

Germantown Garden Club

Nothing says “Welcome” like a garden gate. It beckons me to come inside and wonder among the rusted refrigerator and broken old chair and sofa blooming in the evening sun.
The aroma confirms that indeed a big dog does dwell beyond the gate. Mingled with the fragrant perfume of trash, the air is a drug to me and it burns my eyes. The tears that blur my vision can not wash away my desire to see inside. I will myself to walk away, but stand here longing to know what is beyond.
All that is forbidden holds the sweetest fruit. I considered the fate I might know if I dared a peek. What hides my eyes I my never know. I walked away only to glance behind, and see what it is that will haunt my dreams.
Go away, far away.