Happ Father's Day 1988

In 1988, I spent the summer working in London. London is where I was for Father's Day that year. When my dad passed away, my mom gave me all the letters and cards I had sent him over the years that he had kept in his dresser drawer.  This is the letter I sent him that year.


Dear Dad,

This seems odd, writing to you.  But I feel the need to, and so I do.

I miss you.  Does that strike you as odd? I mean, I find it normal to miss home, and my parents - but I miss YOU. I miss sitting at the dinner table complaining together about how mom is on the phone or that dinner isn't cooked quite right.  I miss asking who is on "Johnny" tonight and making you stop changing the channels so I can see someone you've never heard of before.

I miss knowing that you are worried.  I don't know exactly what you're concerned over for me - I know you care and are concerned, but I don't have the specific thing and I miss that.

I'm really enjoying myself. I'm poor. DIRT poor. I live in a "ghetto". But it's such an experience, I wouldn't trade it.  Tomorrow I'm taking a draw on my salary (they said I could, because I just missed payday...) So I shan't be poor for long.

I've started saying "half" as though it rhymed with "cough" - I like it.

There is talk that I may be able to help open the Paris store for Joan & David - I would love that! My French is almost eight years old but it would help me live in Paris! That would be too much to ask for. But it is still just talk.

I feel so distant from you and all my family (and clean water, and clean air!) but I feel that this is most likely part of growing up and taking on my own responsibilities. I mean, I sometimes felt (as I'm sure you have) that I've never be able to actually handle life on my own.  I'm pleasantly surprised - I CAN do it!!

Anyway - HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!! I would've phone you but i heard you were out of town...

I love you dearly - and miss you terribly.

Love, Jim


For the record, I didn't go to Paris for work. I didn't live in a "ghetto". The water in London left a strange scum on the top when you made tea and when I blew my nose the pollution from the city turned my boogers black. Even after taking that draw on my pay, I was broke. I still can't really handle my own life. And I still miss my dad.

Where's Waldo?

It's been 4 months since my dad died.  It's been 3 months since our dog died. I'd like to think that I am moving forward.  Perhaps there is proof that I am since I no longer cry as I fall asleep and I no longer cry as I'm waking up. But I still cry. The sharpest pain has diminished to a dull ache, with smaller moments of sharp pain.

Every day there is an ad for upcoming father's day.  Every day I get an email from a pet store. Every single day something reminds me of the pieces of my life that are missing. I can't bring myself to form the words that explain my loss.  I can't say the dog's name. I can't look at photos.  I can't breathe.

I am lost. Don't get me wrong, I know where I'm sitting right now (though some days when I'm waking up I'm none too certain what city I'm in...). But I 'm lost in an entirely different place. Most people who go through all this have some routine to return to.  A sense of "normalcy" that I haven't had for a few years. Without that root, I find myself adrift.

I don't want people to worry about me. I don't want you to worry about me. I put on a brave face and I post one pleasant thing each day on Facebook or Instagram.  Even the worst day always has one good thing happen.  Coffee - good. Found a quarter - very good.  Sunset - excellent. Ice cream - freaking fantastic. Then there are the other 23 hours and 45 minutes to deal with. If I'm lucky, I can sleep through 6-7 hours.  Which is an improvement from the four hours I was getting when I having vivid dreams about my dad and/or the dog.

Previously when I was drifting, I assigned myself tasks. Tasks like laundry, bake bread, create a book based on a vacation, etc.  I'm doing laundry.  I'm in Palm Springs so it's mostly t-shirts and swim suits. It takes a couple weeks to really build up a full day of distraction. We are borrowing a friend's house.  It is not outfitted to really go to town and bake.  Besides, I've lost my appetite and my ability to follow an entire recipe.  I've tried making a list of things to work on, but I can't seem to finish making a list. Even writing this post has petered out and I can't remember where I was headed when I started it, and so I don't know how to end it.

I'm killing time.  I'm letting myself heal.  At least I hope I am.

What if...

What if you could make a big bold plan, start moving forward and everything in your plan came true. Would you still do it?

You know those nice little platitudes that say "What would you try today, if you knew you could not fail?" I've read that. I thought about that. And I didn't do anything. At times, I've held back because the consequences of succeeding seemed more frightening than the failure.

We've got big changes afoot around here. We started talking change back in October. We got serious in November. I kept saying, "If you could do ANYTHING you wanted to do, what would it be?" The answers surprised us, amused us and at times have stopped us cold in our tracks. But we did not give up.

We made a dream plan. It looked good. Then we added to it. We dreamed and we dreamed bigger. Than we added to it. We dreamed as if we had no limits. And now each thing we have planned is coming true.

I'm not saying we dreamed we'd won the lottery or became members of Britain's Royal Family. We had a sense of scale to this plan. At the heart of the plan was the core dream, "I want to be happy. I want to enjoy my life," and we circled out from there.

Part of our big plan involves reductions. Realizing what inspires us and what holds us back. Shedding things and attitudes that weigh us down so we can move through our lives lighter and faster.

I know you are expecting some big reveal of what our plans are, and I apologize, not today. Probably not this month. This month is filled with work and tasks and details. At times it's all so overwhelming i can't breathe, but then the adrenaline kicks in and it all comes together.

I feel like we've been sitting back and watching life, a little too comfortable for a little too long. I am ready to feel a little fear, enjoy a lot of joy, give back to those around me and define MY life on My terms.

So far, so good.

What if you could change your life right now? Here's a newsflash, you can. We are.

It Gets Better

I've had this "on deck" ready to go, a few times already and pulled it. At times this feels a little too much to share. Also I do not want any one of my friends or family to feel that they have in any way failed me. So I am adding this disclaimer: We all did the best we could with the information we had. Today we have more information and we do better. I am the person I am today because the experiences of my past have molded who I am today. And I am pretty fucking awesome today.

There have been recent stories in the media about gay youth who have taken their lives. It's great that finally some light is being shone on this issue. It's something that has been going on for some time, and will continue after the media spotlight has moved on. There is a great organization called The Trevor Project (1-866-488-7386) that is there for anyone having trouble 24 hours a day.

Dan Savage recently started an online youtube channel called "It Get's Better Project" where he has invited people who have survived bullying in school to share their stories of how life gets better once you leave school and start your adult life.

I'm not one for recording myself on camera so I may be skipping out on that task. But let me tell you some of my story.

I was a fun kid. I was popular in grade school. I had a lot of friends and we played all over the neighborhood.

That's me happy and popular in grade 4.

But grade school ends, suddenly you are sent to middle school where five different grade schools are mixed together and new friendships are made and new cliques are formed. Everyone is jockeying for social position and where there is a top of the heap, there is always a bottom.

Some of my old friends from grade school fell away and I had fewer friends. Older kids saw me as perhaps weak and tried to pick on me. I broke my arm at my best friend's house and we stopped hanging out after that. A 6th grade bully tried to pick on me when I had my arm in a cast and in a moment of fight or flight I took my elbow cast and knocked the wind out of him, sending him to the ground and told him I was gonna kick him in the nuts if he didn't swear to leave me alone for the rest of my life. It worked. I gained some breathing space.

This is me in grade 6. Looking at it today, I think I look kinda dead in the eyes.

But kids are really intuitive and whatever was different about me was apparent. I felt very isolated and alone. I hated my life. I hated school. I was twelve and I was going to be stuck with these assholes and this bullshit for another 7 years. 7 years was more than half my life so far! To a 12 year old that looked insurmountable. And I thought why bother?

I never had a plan to kill myself, but I thought about ways to do it. Where to do it. When to do it. And then one day I stopped and thought, "If I killed myself, the bullies win and I lose. I lose everything and they just go on." And I decided I wanted to win more than I wanted to lose. So at 12 years old I promised myself that I would NEVER commit suicide. NEVER. I made an oath to myself and since I am typing this right now, clearly it stuck.

My mom and I have talked about this in the last year. I had a few years back called my parents when I had a nephew visiting. He had been a handful. I knew I was even worse as a kid. I called my parents and told them "Thanks for letting me live. I know you probably wanted to kill me." To may parents credit, they very honestly replied, "Oh yes, you were terrible! But look how nice you turned out!" Then just last year, my mother called after attending a funeral of someone who had taken his life and said to me, "Do you remember when you called to thank us for letting you live? Well, I called to thank you for staying alive. I used to worry about you so much and I know you went though a lot of tough times. Thank you. Thank you for staying alive."

People think some kids are too young to know about sex or drugs or death at such a young age. I can tell you that at 12 a kid already knows those things exist. It becomes a question of do you fill the void with correct information, or let the child's imagination fill in the blanks? I didn't know how how to say what was happening to me. I didn't understand it. All my questions went inward and stayed there.

I missed a lot of school the last year of middle school (grade 8) it was too much for me to bear. I hated it so much. I remember when I had to fill out my proposed schedule for Freshman year in high school, while still in grade 8 in middle school. I put down that I wanted to take French. My school counselor literally laughed in my face and said, "How can you possibly take French when you are currently failing English?"

I'm pretty certain I made a smart ass comment about being able to speak English better than she could and how would she know anything about me other than my attendance record, which is clearly what I was being graded on and not my skills." Then I was sent to detention and my mother was called in.

God bless my mother. She arrived in armor ready to do battle. I remember sitting outside the office and hearing snippets of the conversation that ensued. I remember my mother taking my side 110% and (in my mind) putting that counselor bitch in her place. Looking back, I'm probably a little far off. My mother is indeed a warrior for her children, but she knows how to say things in the nicest way. I do know that when we left the office, my mother had reorganized the rest of my school year to attend English class for half periods and work in the school office the other half of the period to keep my mind engaged. Apparently I had been placed in the "slow skills" English class for 8th grade because I had missed the placement test day in Grade 7. (I would have skipped that day because I hated all the bullies at school). I also had my Freshmen year schedule all worked out and I would be taking French. Once again, THANKS MOM! (Or should I say MERCI!)

I made it through middle school and high school looked like a great opportunity to start fresh. I made new friends in the first week. I actually attended school and I had a 3.4 GPA. By senior year I would have a 1.5 GPA and have missed one third of that school year.

I was trying to come up with one great incident that would sum up how mush it sucked to be "other" in school. Here's a funny thing, with time, it's all faded. There is a general feeling of "high school sucked" and people were definitely shitty. But I had a great circle of friends and though I never defined what made me different, they were never less than supportive.

The pecking order sucks. Being different sucks (of course now, being different and creative is how I make a lot of money). I sank into a deep depression where I watched TV all night and slept all day. I would see my friends from school when I would pick them up and drive them to school to drop them off to start their day, then drive home and sleep claiming I had a stomach ache. I did not graduate from high school.

My mom came to my rescue and had meetings with the superintendent of schools and the president of the school board. She challenged them to explain how I could take a Shakespeare class at the community college and pass with a B, but fail remedial English. She went to bat for me and encouraged me to get into college based on entrance exam scores and not my high school transcripts.

I went to college and found out there was a whole different world waiting out there. I met my first boyfriend in college. At that nice Quaker college both of us nice christian boys attended.

I came out to my siblings and friends when I was 21 (can you say "late bloomer?) It would take me little longer to come out to my mom (26), and I was about 38 before I said "the words" to my dad.

The only way you'll ever see me picking up chicks.

I was out (ish), proud and popular. I found the 4th grader that I had left behind and realized that I was in charge of my life. Which by the way, is quite a scary concept.

I've watched a few of the "It Get's Better Project" videos and many of them mention how exciting and glamorous their lives have become and let me say up front, MY LIFE IS GLAMOROUS TOO. But when I stop to think about what makes my life so much better than it ever was and better than I ever thought it could be, it is my friends, my family and my husband.

On our wedding day.

When Lyle and I got married 6 years ago, this is what I wrote for the program we had at the wedding:

It's had to explain to some people what you go through when you come out as gay to your friends and family. For me it was agonizing. Trying to deny so many feelings because they didn't go with the picture of my future that I had in my head. Ultimately I had to change the picture in my head to match my feelings.

One of the things I told myself I would never be able to have is the perfect house with the picket fence, children, a spouse or a wedding.

Well I've got a house with a picket fence.

I get phone calls on Father's Day AND Mother's Day from my "children".

Lyle and I have been together fifteen years (21 now).

And today I finally get my wedding.

Thank you to the government of Canada. Thank you to our friends who make our lives so much richer than I could imagine. Thank you to Lyle's family who make me so very welcome and comfortable. Thank you to my family who return the favor to Lyle.

And thank you to Lyle, because among so many other things, you built the picket fence.

It's not the trips, it's not the celebrities, it's not the shopping or how fabulous I look compared to some of my former classmates. What makes my life "better" is the boring day to day stuff. Sitting at home with our dogs. Looking froward to Lyle coming home and having dinner together. It's knowing in my heart that I am loved by my family, friends and husband for EXACTLY who I am because I have been honest with them and showed the real me. It's knowing at my core that I am the best person I can be and that I have an amazing future ahead of me.

There is a moment from our wedding that still makes me cry when I think about it. My dad called me over and asked me if that piece of paper in my had (the wedding license) was the piece of paper that I thought I needed so damn badly that I dragged him all the way to Vancouver for it? I told him, yes it was. And he said, "Well, are you finally happy?" And I said, yes I was. And he pulled me into a big hug and said, "Well that's all I ever wanted for you." And we both cried.

What would I say to my 12 year old self? Would I say it gets better? Hell yes I would. I would also tell him to do exactly what he is about to do because he makes an amazing me in the future. That whatever he is about to go through, I can't spare him the pain, but that pain will make him a person with empathy. A person who strives to see more than one side of an issue. A person who will love and be loved. Stay the course, younger me, and you will get everything that you are dreaming of and more, especially Paris.

Stuck

I've been stuck. After the exhilaration of the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, my mind was on overload. How could I come down from all that excitement and fullness of life?

Odd how the universe had an answer waiting for me that involved the passing of my uncle. The time I spent with my family and my Uncle before he passed away gave me an entirely different overload of my mind. Who would have guessed such a sad occasion would give me such inner growth.

I don't know how I will place into words what I've gone through, or if I will ever be able to. I've sat down and tried to figure all this out for over two weeks now. Mostly, I find myself just sitting, not much figuring. Then on Facebook today, my friend Deanna had a quote that leapt off the page and spoke to me.

This quote sums me up, and I don't feel like it's boasting to say that. I've worked hard to balance a lot of areas in my life. I've worked hard to recognize my strengths and weaknesses. I am still processing all I've been through in the last months. I expect to have some tough days ahead of me. But I still laugh, I still love, I still make a difference in the world that I live in. I'm going to be more than alright. I plan on continuing to succeed.

To Laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children... to leave the world a better place... to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

On How To Be Happy

Are you happy? I'm happy. I haven't always been able to say that. It's taken some time and some days it takes courage to say it out loud. But I am, I AM HAPPY.

Not everyone is happy. I am not always happy. I have had times when I wasn't happy for a long stretch of time. My natural curiosity works around the clock to discover how come I am happy now and I wasn't happy before? How can I stay happy? How can I share this secret of being happy with others?

Do you like yourself?:
Well isn't that just huge!? I've found that if I don't like myself, I am not happy. I've had to make peace with the past. If you don't like who you are today, the past is an easy place to look and blame. Looking backwards and hating who it made you. However if you like who you currently are, the past (as much as it may have sucked or rocked) is just the vehicle which brought you to where you are. Everything that has happened, has happened to bring you here, to the present. If you like yourself, then thank god those hardships happened because they made you who you are today and you like YOU!

Perspective:
I was talking to a friend yesterday about a trip I took to Peru 6 years ago. The shanty towns we saw outside of Lima where entire families were living in a three wall lean-to on an 12'x12' square of dirt. Row after row. Mile after mile. No running water, no roads, no fourth wall... We got home from that trip and I remember saying, "Well, my job may not be the best job, my car may not be new, I can't buy a suit at Gucci this week, but I've got indoor plumbing! INDOOR PLUMBING!"

I think I lived off that perspective for over a year.

A low water mark.
It's tempting to look at your life the day you drop the pickle jar and it explodes all over your kitchen and shout, "THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE!" I do. But it's not. I've had the worst day of my life a few different ways.

The day I got fired from my dream job.
I'd worked my entire adult career towards this dream job, it was all I ever wanted to do. I would rule the world from my dream job... until I got fired. I spent a year going out every other night (or more) drinking with friends and hanging out with porn stars and drag queens. I was numbing the pain and spent away my 401k on fabulous outfits and booze. I had a really good time. But then I got a new job. At my new job I worked a lot less and made a lot more money. I would never go back to that "dream job" I had before. Is it a cliche to say now that the day I got fired was the best day of my life?

The day I broke up with "the love of my life" (or so I thought at the time).
I stormed off, loaded up my car to move back home, gunned the engine and (I think this is the term) threw a rod. The car went putt, putt, sputter, sputter, DEAD. A week later I was home at my parents with no job, no income, no boyfriend. A month later I was in London working for the summer. It was one of the most formative experiences of my entire life. Twenty years later, I'm working on being friends with that ex. It's much easier now when I look at how much he actually gave me.

The day I spent at the hospital.
It's uh, kind of personal. So I'm going to gloss over it. Watching someone you love in pain and wondering what comes next. Worried if they will pull through. I call it the worst day of my life because it was. No matter how bad a situation is, I know what I am made of. I know my strengths. I know what I would do because I've had to consider it. I know who my friends are because they were there. I know my very core.

I also know I can buy a new jar of pickles and that the housekeeper will get that sticky spot behind the fridge. There is BIG stuff and there is small stuff.

Expectations:
As a child, my parents would have us make a Christmas Wish List. I would sit down with the Montgomery Wards Toy catalog and just list pages, "Anything off of page 62, all of page 38, 2 of everything from page 40..." and then I would sit back and dream of the large truck required to deliver it all. Christmas morning, there it would be, only 20 gifts. Some of them pencils. I didn't list pencils! Where is my page 38? Where is my double page 40?! And then I would storm off to my room slam the door, open the door to throw all my gifts into the hallway, then slam the door again! "Christmas sucks! I HATE ALL OF YOU!!!"
It would be a lot funnier if it hadn't really happened... every year.

Turns out, I had some unrealistic expectations. My mother had to sit me down and explain there was a budget, priorities needed to be made and I needed to know that I was always only going to get 20 gifts and there were always going to be things I didn't expect. I learned that surprises and the unknown are not my friend. I have a grand and vivid imagination and not much in life can meet up to what I could dream. I need to distinguish dreams from goals.

Goals are good. They give you something to aim for, a reason to get up in the morning. But what if you've set your sights so far beyond what could happen?

I no longer tell myself I am a failure because I am not a household name (oh sure, I am at YOUR house). I believe that my purpose is to affect change wherever I am. If it is to be on a smaller scale in this world, so be it. I am still doing what I am supposed to do. I'm learning to accept what happens and feel that being a good person, being kind, loving the people around me are the better way to measure success than fame or money.

Everyone has a crap day:
I've had crap years. It's important to distinguish the difference. I used to want to be happy all the time. (I used to need to be happy all the time). Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?

A plane can't fly forever. Sooner or later you need to come down and refuel. The trick is to get to the ground before you run out of gas or you will crash into the ground and be buried. I like my life to be like a good plane ride, easy lift off to a great height, turbulence accepted as part of deal, then a nice gentle landing where my plane gets refueled for the next great time. Maintenance and groundings come with the territory.

Now when I'm having bad day I honestly say to myself, "It's just one day. You are entitled to a bad day." Then I cancel my plans, dish up the ice cream and do whatever I want. It's just one day.

No one is perfect:
I'm not and I'm certain Lyle would pleased to tell you in what ways. My goal isn't to be perfect. My goal is to be ME. I have a ton of little tricks I play on myself to keep track of where I am in this world and how I'm feeling. This one is my favorite, as my good friend Sheryl Crow sings in one of her songs, "It's not getting what you want, its wanting what you've got."

A Childhood Revisted

So this whole Facebook thing where your past walks up, knocks on your door and wants to know what you're doing now, has set my brain to thinking. Ouch.

It can stir up memories of the last time you saw someone, when you really were good friends, why you weren't friends later, who you were when you knew people versus who you are now. That kind of stuff.

Someone recently found me that I've known since grade school. Since he felt compelled to tag me in photos that may (or may not) have a date stamped on them, I feel compelled to tell you I was a very smart child prodigy and was placed in an advanced honors class while I was still in the embryonic stage. I was very tall for an embryo.

Looking back at things, I think by 5th grade it may have been obvious I was gay. Most of my best friends were girls. We played with toy horses. I had opinions on fashion, "No! I can't wear that shirt, I've already been seen in it in a class photo!" While some took a wait and see attitude around me, others had already made up their minds.

There was a neighborhood friend I had whose dad told him he couldn't play with me any more because I had saltwater sandals. With perspective, what the hell did that dad know? He beat his children with his police belt and poured straight Tabasco sauce into their mouths if he thought they were lying. He was a very bad man. I only know what he said because that friend was honest and told me. We continued to secretly play together in the neighborhood a while longer, but I was never allowed to come over to his house again.

We were staying a week at the beach. The saltwater beach. These shoes were perfect, in the water, out of the water, and so summery! I loved those shoes. By the way, they still sell them for boys.

I'm pretty certain there were other disapproving parents, I got pieces of information but never full stories from friends as they became less available. Friends fell away when we moved from 5th grade to 6th grade and joined Middle School with kids from other grade schools. New cliques, new alliances, new outcasts to be made.

I was okay for a year or so. Gym class arrived with middle school along with communal showering. At both of these, I did not excel. And so began a nudge to the sidelines. I broke my arm halfway into the 6th grade and one of the hallway bullies attempted yet another smartass comment on me and I took my arm with the cast and knocked the wind out of him. Once he was on the floor I stood over him and told him I would kick him in the nuts and finish him off, unless he promised to leave me alone, forever. (Such high drama!) That ended the bullying.

By grade 8, I was skipping a lot of school. I had a lot of "stomach aches". If I knew then what I know now, I would have switched it up with a rotation of excuses, stomach aches, diarrhea, twisted ankles and migraines. Live and learn.

High school arrived and it was the same deal all over again, new cliques, new alliances, new outcasts to be made. I found a group of people I really liked and we did fine for ourselves. I still saw friends I'd had in grade school in the halls and they obviously saw me, (I'm not invisible!) but they became more of the "hey friends" variety. You know, the people you nod and and say "hey" to, then keep walking.

But there was always a nagging in the back of my head, what happened? Why aren't we friends anymore? What did I do? (notice how self centered I am? I, I, me, me, I never wondered about them.)

Finally, college came and then the real world of work and finding your own sense of self and community. I discovered that what made me "weird" all through school gave me entry into a fabulous world of other people just as "weird" as me. I stopped looking backwards and started looking forward.

And now, Facebook arrives. People I thought I would never see again start arriving in my inbox. (Lets face it, I had no plans to go to a class reunion until these plastic surgery scars have completely healed and are virtually undetectable) Since I have evolved, I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt that they have evolved. Time and again I am impressed. As one person just told me, "most of us have evolved as much as those who moved to LA or NY or Paris. We just have lower house payments and it only takes us 10 minutes to get to work." A very wise observation.

Yet it doesn't stop the flood of some amazing childhood memories both good and bad. Along with the return of that nagging question: Why did we stop being friends?

I own my part in this. After school ended, I left. I needed to go find myself without expectations. Growing up in a smaller city everyone seems to know your name. You learn that lesson the day you get a speeding ticket and your dad knows about it before you get home for dinner. So I left to become anonymous and create a new version of me. (Younger! Blonder! Just as Gay!)

I think I would have hated Facebook ten years ago when I wasn't so certain of who I was. Can you imagine being in high school now and having Facebook a part of your life forever. Never being able to fully separate from your past to create that new adult you? I think Facebook, like tattoos, should be prohibited until you over 30. I've got the tattoo. As for Facebook? BRING IT ON.

Broken ornaments

Christmas is hard. Everything around you portrays a perfection that is impossible to achieve. Television, movies, advertising, editorials all conspire to make regular people fall short of the Norman Rockwell vision of how the world should work.

It's taken me a long time to give up that goal. Who am I kidding, I'm still trying for perfection, but with the goal of stopping when its "good enough" and not being critical of myself when I can't force the world to spin backwards on its axis to work the way I thought it should.

I go overboard. I fall short. I take a deep breath and reset my mind.

In my family each family member was given a unique ornament every year. As the tradition progressed we started writing the year on the ornament. My mother's plan was for each of us to take our ornaments with us when we moved out and we'd have a start on our own traditions when we were adults.

I did take this with me. Lyle and I continue this tradition and we include the dogs. It's a very Norman Rockwell tradition in my mind. But there is a caveat to the tradition. Something I did not see going in. After our first two dogs passed away Christmas became an emotional minefield.

The first two Christmases without Sophia and Nora I couldn't put their ornaments out. I would find the box with them in it and just sit down and cry. Thus ended that day of decorating. Three years later (last year) I was finally able to do an entire tree in dog ornaments. This year I placed all the dog ornaments in the garlands in the entryway. As I took each ornament out it was accompanied with a heavy sigh. Twenty-nine HEAVY SIGHS. But I made it. I made it! Getting the ornaments out is the hardest part. Touching each one, reading the year, the quiver of my lip and the mist in my eye... but I made it. I can't say it enough times, I made it through.


Then last night I was going into a different box of ornaments to get a different theme out (shut up, you know I have 8 complete unique themes going on in different zones of the house) and I got caught off guard.

I found ornaments that Nora had eaten one year when we left town for Christmas. Each day, apparently, she would walk up to the tree and select one ornament to chew up. Only one a day. just to show her displeasure. Pissed me off, but made me laugh because it was clearly thought out. She didn't eat them all in one day. One each day that we were gone.

So it caught me off guard and the next thing you know, I am literally on the floor in a ball crying. It's the strange thing about grief. I describe it like a wave (sometimes on the North shore of Hawaii). It comes and it goes. It ebbs and flows. Sometimes it stays away for a long time, but when it washes over you it is just as strong as the first time the wave swept over you. But it does go away.

And I am much better today. No need for concern. If I wasn't better I couldn't write this.

My reason for sharing is to remind you to relax. Breathe. There is no perfection. Emotions are natural and if you squash them down (hello, heavy sigh!) they will make their way out anyway (hello, ball on floor!) because they are necessary. And seriously, I am doing well today. When I look at that picture of the broken ornaments I can remember how great Sophia and Nora were and how lucky we were to have them and all the good things they brought into my life.

Please hold while I try to connect you with your fundemental rights...

I woke up with a COLOSSAL cake hangover this morning... It was a post celebration/mourning party. Hooray for the regime change! (I'll eat cake to that!) Shit, what is up with Prop 8? (God Dammit, add ice cream!!!)

The only way I can describe it is to say it feels like I got everything I wanted for Christmas. Then my house burnt down.

As devastated as I feel today I will give you the small window I am looking at the world through via the Equality California website:

Hysterical Historical

The following are two photos of my room from when I was in High School.

I swear no one knew I was gay.
On the left wall:
Mirror. Light up goose lamp with grass skirt headdress. Year-round Christmas lights. Plastic shopping bag from super trendy store in the Beverly Center called "Heaven" (which I had never been to, but been told it was super cool by a friend who did go.) Signed album cover by Lauren Bacall. Signed album cover from Manhattan Transfer. Signed tour poster by Amy Grant.

On the right wall:
Hugo Boss Ads. Valentino Ads. Calvin Klein Ads. (all the ads were pulled from "W" Magazine back when it used to be newspaper sized and made great free posters.) A globe hanging from the ceiling with a plane circling it.


Here's the other side.
Left wall: Profile of Paul Reuben's (a.k.a. Pee Wee Herman). Calvin Klein Ad. Pee Wee Herman for LA Eyeworks ad. Grace Jones in sunglasses. Calvin Klein himself (!) in a Calvin Klein ad. Handsome man in sunglasses. Paul Schaeffer. Pee Wee Herman. Hot shirtless guy.

Right wall:
Calvin Klein underwear ad with men and women. Hot guy with shirt open ad for Basic Elements. Amy Grant poster. Two Calvin Klein collages. A palm tree lamp. A tiki carving from my grandmother. And going off to the side another fashion ad (probably Calvin Klein).

As I would put up or take down any pictures from my wall I would count. How many men versus how many women. I needed to make sure no one would think I was gay. Because I was not gay. I was just nervous about being perceived as gay. And I needed pictures of hot shirtless men on my wall.

I always counted Lauren Bacall and a fully clothed Amy Grant as equals to any guy in underwear. See? Balanced. Just as many men as women. If it was a one page ad with the same guy repeated in different clothes, he counted as one guy. Good lord, how would I ever balance it out if I had to count him as 12?

Occasionally I would put up one of those Calvin Klein ads with men AND women in them in their underwear. Having to look at half naked women was the price I had to pay to make sure that no one thought I was gay. Because I was not gay. I just didn't like that the women were half naked. It just had to be wrong to objectify them like that. I only had the men up there as inspiration for me to stop eating ice cream and start running. Yeah. Inspiration. Don't you see?

It was all a big choice you have to understand. Obviously I needed to be gay. Looking at all those fashion ads totally pushed me over the edge.

I probably should mention that the one wall you can't see in any of the photos is painted in an oil based super shiny FIRE ENGINE RED. My parents will never be able to paint over it. Luckily that room is upstairs.

Years later I would have the chance to meet my idol, Calvin Klein. True to celebrity meeting form, I was literally dumbstruck. I had babbled on and on about how I HAD to meet him and why I HAD to meet him and that I would DIE if was so close and did not actually meet him!!!

Lyle went up to Mr Klein, introduced himself, pointed towards me and said how I'd love to have a photo taken with him. He came over, Lyle introduced me and I tried to not foam at the mouth or throw up. Then the photo was offered and everyone waited for me to go over to the available side of Calvin Klein. I was rooted to my spot. I could not move. I did not speak. And this is the photo of my shining achievement.

Nice one.

Vote No on Prop 8, November 4th!

Glamour?

I have been busy. Boring busy.

I am working on a photo shoot for a corporate campaign that doesn't come out until January so I can't really share much about it. But I promise to show you when I can.

I've got a week of lead up prep. I've been knee deep in lingerie and women's shoes. Oddly, I still find a moment or two to run over to men's shoes and check them out. Okay fine, and buy a pair.

Then I have 7 days of shooting at a warehouse in downtown LA. I've seen the site and I guarantee I won't wear my flip flops next time. FILTHY floors.

All of this means that anything I would normally need to have ready during these two weeks needs to be done by Thursday.

Sorry, this space may be sparse for a bit.

Interesting thought I've had about the blog - recently a friend commented that lead such an interesting life. I realized that my life is interesting by omission. Some stuff you may have missed:

After those grand dinners the dishwasher runs at least three times.
It usually runs three times during the day of prep as well.
Those cute puppies on the blog poop a lot and it gets cleaned up as well. I have learned just when to breathe in and hold my breath as I stoop to scoop.
I watch a lot of tv. All of it recorded on my Tivo. It's my quiet time at night.
I woke up at 5 this morning with my head too full.
Don't give your dogs steak bones as a treat. They have both been puking all night. Boiled over ham bones seem to agree with them much more.

I'm sure there is a ton of stuff I could dull out with, but I just don't want to spoil the magic.

New and future blog?

A very good friend of mine has been cajoled into creating a blog. HOORAY!

Though she is an amazingly accomplished artist, designer, creative type and all around fabulous person - one of her passions is her Icelandic Sheepdogs.
The Icelandic sheepdog often has two dewclaws on each hind leg. (giving them 6 toes back there!)

And she has an amazing house and garden. Am I setting the bar too high here?
She also told me her blog may be mostly photos so she doesn't have to write as much as I do. Hey, I know I write a lot. I like pictures too.

Here is where you come in, she is stumped because she wants a clever blog name. A few friends have thrown out too many suggestions and I thought wouldn't it be fun to help her.

So please take the poll on the side (over there on the right).

blah, blah, blah

I'm busy. But nothing of note to put on here.

Lyle injured his hoof last weekend and has been unable to drive a car this week. So today will be my second trip to the Valley this week, it keeps me away from my office and also this blog.

We tore out the brick fireplace in the living room. I have photos and intended a long and gracious post about how we transformed something hideous into something fab. Now if the Fabulous part would just speed up and get finished I could post all that.

Other things going on:
New Espresso Machine
Painting a chair rail in dining room
Still riding that bike
Tanning
Eating

Hope that holds everyone for now.

Merci Bernard Pivot

My mother noticed I had a curse word written in a photo of a recent post then Carolyn pointed out that I used a curse word in a different post. It got me to thinking about my favorite curse word and then that led me to think about Benard Pivot's questionnaire made infamous by Inside the Actor's Studio's host James Lipton...

What is your favorite word? cake
What is your least favorite word? fag
What turns you on [creatively, spiritually or emotionally]? travel
What turns you off? inequality
What is your favorite curse word? Bugger!
What sound or noise do you love? the roar of a crowd cheering
What sound or noise do you hate? "Ladies and Gentlemen, there has been a slight delay..."
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? painter
What profession would you not like to do? doctor
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? "So, any questions?"

Soundtrack in my head? Check.

No. I am not wearing a shrunken suit.

Training wheels? Check.

Hey! I can ride a bike...

Historical Day

Today the Supreme Court of California ruled in favor of Marriage Equality.

Now let’s get into my "way back" machine...

In 2000 there was a statewide vote to “ban gay marriage” and it passed. By 61%. So we left. Screw you California (not that politely said) and we moved to Canada where our marriage was not yet a legal reality, but the federal government recognized our union for immigration policies (something still unavailable here in the US).

We stayed for a year. Money, jobs, prospects, cost of living and the ultimate decider - SUNSHINE - brought us back to California, bruised and bitter.

This stuff is very personal and hard to put into words on a page. It is very hard to be on the outside looking in. As a gay kid you spend your entire life on the outside. Your idea of what makes a family and of what love looks like for yourself is not welcome at everyone's table. For those black activists who claim that gay rights aren’t a civil rights issue because they can’t change the color of their skin but I could change who I love... well I call bullshit on that. And I can’t just go and “pass” for straight any more than they would want to “pass” for white. Nor should any of us. And for all the entitled white gay men out there who don't think that the fight for racial equality is also about them, shame on you.

We left California with all our possessions and our pride packed up in a big truck with a big middle finger (figuratively) painted on the back of the trailer. A year later we came back chastened and eager for our life to resume in California. But on our return we now had a new attitude. I’m not welcome. I am not a part of America. I am only here for myself and to get what I can, money and sunshine. I will take and take and take and then I will leave because I am not one of you. I don't matter. I don't count. Unwelcome in the country of my birth, where my parents were born and where half of my grandparents were born and my other grandparents names are listed at Ellis Island. Here in the land of the free I do not have those freedoms. And it makes me sad.

As I write this, the blood pulses through me as if I were in a fist fight for my life. It makes me angry.

Then marriage equality was ratified throughout Canada and we decided to get married. A real wedding! In one place in the world we would have all the rights and responsibilities that go with that. This is a real issue for us. Inheritance, hospital decisions, next of kin notification... all those things become more real as you grow together. And let me tell you, we’ve gone through some of that stuff and we have had the most incredibly good experiences with our families respecting our wishes and employers who grant spousal rights. And we’ve had friends who have had the exact opposite. Power cut off, possessions taken and denied access to the funeral of their partner by a family who refused to acknowledge their relationship and those people could get away with it because the law was on their side.

You know those people who say they just want to be accepted? Turns out that is not what I want. I want to be celebrated. I want my life and my choices given the same weight and excitement as those of my straight brother and sister. And through my wedding I discovered that. And I got that. That day (and night) my world came together and the love and joy I experienced was worth every dollar spent on the party as it surely spared me an equal dollar amount of therapy trying to figure out weather or not I was truly loved and accepted for who I am. Everyone should be so lucky. No one should be denied that.

So we are married in Canada. And every time we go North we are a couple and we walk in together. And when we come home we separate at the ticket counter and ignore each other through customs and immigration until we are on the plane. We can not be ourselves. We can not let the government know who we are. And don’t kid yourselves if you think the government (this current government) would use being gay against you on entry to the Untied States. THEY DO. I get through easy and then I wait for sometimes half an hour wondering why my husband isn’t through yet. It turns my stomach every time. Think about that for yourself if you are in a heterosexual marriage. EVERY TIME you deal with the government you have to lie (a sin of omission if you will) and hope they don’t find out. EVERY TIME. It is no way to live.

(and there is no lack of fear in posting this and having one of our names turn up on a government immigration list)

And now today California becomes the next state to grant marriage equality. And I want it. But I am afraid of what the Federal Government will do with that information. I know that the Federal Government won’t give me and the countless others what we need in the form of immigration reform. Though I am thrilled with today’s results I am at the same time so pissed off because IT’S NOT ENOUGH. Don't let your guard down. Don't believe for a minute that the fight is over.

All that said, I’ll be out celebrating tonight just the same.

The news says it will be 30 days before the state will begin to issue licenses. We'll be registered (again) at Crate & Barrel.

I kid you not

Since I've been working on some photos for my mother's party I thought I would just air some of my dirty laundry right now. I was once a child. There I said it. And now here is the proof.

That's me in the middle. I love Christmas.

Here I am working the deep-V and clearly some lip and cheek stain. Either that or it was very cold outside and no one thought enough about me to bundle me up.

Our finest moment. Jesus gazes upon us and weeps for the future. That is all my sister's own hair. I threw a fit moments before this picture because when I was told I was going to be in the wedding I was promised a "monkey suit" and clearly this jacket had no tail like the monkeys had in the "Wizard of Oz." THEY BROUGHT ME THE WRONG SUIT!!!

Same church a few years later. Now we know why Jesus was crying all those years before.

Hair apparent

Regrets, I've had a few. But then again, too few to mention. However when it comes to hairstyles now we are talking!

I've had dark hair on a Caribbean cruise

I've been blond in Whistler.

I've had big hair in the Virgin Islands.

I've had long hair in Seattle.

I've had famous hair with Fran Drescher.

And yes, I've even had pageant hair at LAX.

I think this is my favorite look so far. Short, up, blond-ish and in Rio.

My early work

Me as Nancy Sinatra

When we moved to Los Angeles and Lyle was in school for computer graphic design, after he finished his assignments and went to bed I would go to town with his precious baby computer.

I wasn't very talented. But I had ideas. Big ideas. ODD ideas. I like to put my face on other people's bodies. No, it's not photos of me in drag. Just photos of me superimposed (poorly) over other people.

I was looking for something today and tripped across some of my early work. They still make me laugh.

Jim Margaret

Me as the Altoids lady.

This one, I took a real photo and placed us all on Broadway!

Okay, fine. I still do this. This was last summer when I was on tour with Madonna.