Thank.Full.

I first posted a version of this back in Ott-Eight, a few days after I started this here blog thing … cripes, I’ve been doing this for seventeen years … and have edited it, as need be, and reposted it every year to remind me of where I was then, what I thought then, and what I wanted out of life. And every year as I repost it, I realize that the more things change the more they stay the same.

Now, not to brag, but I've been told that I am an extremely polite person. I was raised on Please and Thank you, Yes Ma'am, No Sir, and I still act that way today.

True story: I was selected for jury duty when we lived in Miami and when it was my turn to be questioned, I stood up in the very narrow aisle and put my hands behind my back. As I was questioned, I replied Yes sir and No Sir. The judge stopped and smiled.

"Are you in the military?" he asked.

"No, sir" I said. "I was raised by a military man and a Southern woman."

True story: A few years before that, while living in California, I was in a grocery store buying a birthday cake for a coworker. I asked if I may please order a cake. May I please have a name iced onto it? I ‘Pleased’ and ‘Thank you'd’ my way through the entire process and finally as the girl was leaving to finish my order, she turned and said, “I think you are the politest person I've ever waited on."

I smiled and said, "Could you just shut up, please, and ice my damn cake!"

When all else fails I slip into sarcasm. That's my motto, and I’m thankful for that, too, but I digress.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, probably because there are no gifts involved, except for the gift of time and good food and drink; time spent with loved ones and friends; the gift of thanks. A day of thanks; a truly American holiday, like 4th of July, but one we celebrate not with picnics and beer, firecrackers and sparklers, but with a meal shared with friends and family, and pets, always the pets.

I have so much to be thankful for again this year. Yes, the usual family and friends and health and happiness, blah blah blah, everyone says that …

My father was a tough man who may not have expressed love openly often—though his last words to me were “I love you.”—but he did so when it was important.

The day I came out to him, he said, “You’re my son and I love you.”

The day I move to Miami to start this life with Carlos, he said, “Be happy. I love you.”

The day Carlos and I got married, he said, “I love you both.’

I am thankful for the time and the years and the memories.

I am thankful for this link around the world that I have found with bloggers, where I find people very different from myself, and people very much like myself, and we all co-exist peacefully. I still miss the glorious Anne Marie and her love for F-bombs and disdain for ABBA, something we shared, and I am grateful for the bloggers who still blog and the words and opinions and jokes and Candy Shop photos they share.

As a gay man I know all too well that … cue PSA music … It Gets Better.

Twenty-four years ago, when we began this ride, Carlos and I couldn’t be legally married anywhere in America, and here we are now, married for ten years … in South Carolina of all places. I am thankful for that every day and will fight to the death anyone who thinks our marriage can somehow be erase. Carlos and I are husband and husband and that’s how it will stay. That bell cannot be unrung, no matter who says what. No matter who sits on the Supreme Court.

Trust. And be thankful.

I am thankful for the years I had with my sister—I miss her every single day—because of the things she taught me and continues to teach me. I am grateful to her four daughters, all of whom she raised so well that when Carlos and I told them we were getting married, they all responded, “Now he really is our Uncle.”

I am thankful to my Mom, especially today. Thanksgiving was her holiday; cooking for her family was my mother’s greatest joy and a great gift to all of us. I am thankful that I can keep that tradition alive and can see my Mom in myself as Carlos and I cook dinner for our friends. I am thankful for her kindness, even to those who were unkind to her; I am grateful for her laughter, which I can still hear in my head, and the way she would say, ‘Bye-bye, sweetie, I love you,’ as we ended a phone call.

I am thankful for icy cold mornings and clear blue skies … colored leaves falling. I am thankful for Consuelo and Rosita because, well, I'm bigger than them and I will always beat them ... just channeling a little Joan Crawford and Christina at the pool.

I am thankful being ‘Dad’ to The Great tuxedo, MaxGoldberg, and Ozzo, for their entire lives, and for the joy they brought into our lives every single day. If you pay attention, you can really learn something about people from your pets, and not just unconditional love …

I am thankful for Carlos. Every.Single.Day. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about how lucky I am to have him; even the days when he makes me insane … more insane. I realize I’d rather be driven nuts by him for a moment than not to have him in my life at all. I am thankful for the smirk he gives me; I am thankful for the look of horror on his face when I bust out a showtune; I am just plain thankful. I don’t know where I’d be, or who I’d be, if I hadn’t met him all those years ago.

I am thankful for music and pets and soft blankets and breathing and speaking, and having a voice to use, and use often. I realize we are once again facing a tough time in this country; we are once again facing division; we are still seeing our Black and Brown brothers and sisters killed by police, and self-entitled crybaby vigilantes; we are still seeing our trans brothers and sisters murdered; we still see hate; we are seeing hatred towards refugees fleeing their homeland to come to a country built by immigrants and slaves.

But I remain hopeful, hope filled, and thankful, that this country, most of this country, will once again stand against that hate and divisiveness; I am thankful that we will stand for one another and not against one another; that we will stand up to those who hate; speak out against those who use fear to intimidate others; resist those who are untruthful. I am thankful that more people are standing up for those who may not feel like anyone would ever stand for them.

I am thankful for being woke. Yes, I am thankful for that … and thinking being feeling loving breathing laughing crying living and speaking.

For Life … and all it encompasses.

To Life.

Thanks.

PS We are once again celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow with chosen family members and friends and then I'm taking the weekend off. 

Have a thankful day and I'll see y'all on Monday.

Shake The Etch-a-Sketch: Our Eleven-and-Twenty-Five Anniversary

Here we are, eleven years legally married and twenty-five years together; my how the time flies … so sit back, and let me tell the tale …

We all do it to an extent; follow a line or path that we set up for ourselves. We plod a course, the straight and narrow some might say, and then walk that line toward a particular destination we've imagined we want. And every so often we twist the knobs on the Etch-a-Sketch of our lives  and a new course is charted, moving in a direction we hadn't thought of before. But it’s a slow curve most of the time, not dangerous and we can still see where we're going and can always go back if we don’t like the destination.

But what about shaking the Etch-a-Sketch? What about saying, screw that line, damn that curve. Let me hold on tight, both hands, and shake things up. See, I was an Etch-a-Sketch person, following the easy line, the one I thought I was meant to follow. I didn't stray too far off the path; who am I kidding, I never strayed off the path. But then it hit me, following the path, that straight line or that gentle curve, and where are you going? Toward another straight line, one more gentle curve? What was that all about?

My first shake was telling my parents I was gay. That was a big shake at the time, although now it seems more of a 'so what.' But I thought it was a big deal because I didn't have a real-life reference point on what it meant to be gay. What were the rules? Was there a uniform? Did I have to pay dues? What was it? See, in my family there were no 'funny uncles' or 'aunts in plaid' that I could see; that I could say, "Hey, I'm like that, so it must be okay." The only gay men I knew were the limp-wristed types on TV shows and in the movies. They wore ascots and paisley jackets, were sarcastic and alone. Terry-Thomas? No, not me. Uncle Arthur, I was not....at least I didn't think so.

So I shook the Etch-a-Sketch and came out and no one died and no one fainted and my family didn't disown me; my parents’ response was, “We love you.” Now, I lost a few friends, but maybe they weren't really friends to begin with if "I'm gay" causes them to disappear. I'm gay … Poof … you’re gone. It's like a homo David Copperfield.

I was out, and yet the Etch-a-Sketch was still giving me straight lines—I’ll save you the horror of joking about me following a 'straight' line because it’s already been done—and gentle curves. But then in 1999—so last century—I decided to give Etch-a-Sketch another nudge and I got a computer. Yes, I was late to the game, again, but I began looking around the Internet and found AOL and the series of chat rooms they had. I found one called Gay Lifestyles, and it was a fun chatty room where you could be gay, where you could step off the line a bit because no one really knew you.

I met Carlos in that chat room. The Etch-a-Sketch bumped a little and we started to online chat; another turn of the knobs and we took to the phones, and then the mail. He was in Miami, I was in California, but then I took a leap and told him I wanted to meet him . He was thrilled and plans were made for me to fly to Miami in July.

JULY? IN MIAMI? Oy! What was I thinking?

I bought plane tickets and readied myself to take a sharp turn. I realize now that my life had been split into Old Bob and New Bob. See, Old Bob would have bought the tickets to Miami, told everyone he was going, and gotten on the plane, but when it made a stop in Houston, Old Bob would get off the plane, find a Motel 6, and spend the week there. Then he'd return home and tell everyone that Carlos was 'okay' and the trip was 'fine.' I'd ignore Carlos' phone calls … I almost invented ghosting y’all … and stay off the computer. I'd go back to following that line.

New Bob didn't do that. New Bob flew to Miami and met Carlos and spent a wonderful week in Florida. New Bob fell in love with Carlos and cried at the airport when he had to go home. New Bob's Etch-a-Sketch was shaking. And it was okay; twists and jogs in the path weren't anything to fear.

A month after I came home, Carlos came to California and met my family. I was so happy to have him there; so happy that my family liked him; my friends, too. But then he was gone, back to his home again and I wondered what would happen next.

It wasn't but a few weeks before I hurled the Etch-a-Sketch across the room and chose to follow the path I chose, not one that was arbitrarily set out for me. Carlos and I made plans for me to move to Miami. I sold a car, some furniture, some knickknacks; I got rid of my apartment and quit my job.

Every once in a while, you gotta Shake the Etch-a-Sketch … or toss it out altogether.

So, where does this all lead? It leads to today, twenty-five years after I stepped off another plane in Florida, though this time I was staying for good. We started our life together, all the good times and the bumpy times, and we are still here.

After six years together we moved to South Carolina, of all places, but made a wonderful family out of our circle of friends who celebrated with us when we chose to get married in October of 2014. Marriage equality was happening, even in South Carolina and since we had longed talked about being married, and having our friends and family, coworkers, strangers, the check-out girl at the Food Lion, the waiter who brought me another cocktail, and the world, or at least our corner of the world, know that we weren’t just a couple, we weren’t close friends, we weren’t partners—though those are all good things—we wanted to be Mister and Mister.

On October 17, 2014—fourteen years to the day that I moved to Miami—we were back across the country in Bellingham, Washington, to be married with my father as a witness.

And pause … y’all know that this year I lost my Dad last year and we celebrated our first anniversary without a Dad card and phone call wishing us more love and happiness. That was a Shake the Etch-a-Sketch moment I hadn’t thought about. I will be thinking of my Dad today, and my mother who loved Carlos the instant she knew I loved him.

So, we’re back …  I seriously never thought I would see the day that I would ... that I could ... marry Carlos,  but we did just that. I remember as a kid—a not-yet-out-but-knowing-I-was-different kid—telling my mother that I would never get married, but I would have a maid to take care of my kids. I remember that story and realize now that might have been my first shot at coming out—as a six-year-old, I think—because, even then, I never thought I could get married, never thought I’d be allowed to get married and create my own version of family and home.

And so we did it, and while it has been lovely, raucous, and fun, and there have been down times and sad times and bad times, but, as Elaine Stritch would say—and god am I gay … Elaine Stritch!—we’re still here.

And looking forward, always forward, and while I didn’t say this myself—Charlotte said it in one of those Sex and the City movies … again, god I’m gay—I like to say that I am happy every single day with Carlos. Not all day, every day, because that’s life, but every single day for the last twenty-five years, for some small or large part of the day, I have realized how happy I am and how happy he makes me, and that I am still crazy in love with him.

And that’s something to celebrate!

Happy Anniversary, baby. I love you, always, ever.

I Loathe February: Dad

It has been a year since my father passed away and while I mourn that loss, I want to once again share three of my favorite Dad Tales …

When I came out to my family, my father’s first words to me were, “You’re my son and I love you.”

When I decided to move 3000 miles away from family because I’d met Carlos and knew that was where I belonged, he said “Be happy, I love you.”

And when he spoke his last words to me, the night before he passed, he said, “Take care of yourself, I love you.”

That’s all I needed to know.

Thank.Full.

I first posted a version of this back in Ott-Eight, a few days after I started this here blog thing … cripes, I’ve been doing this sixteen years … and have edited it, as need be, and reposted it every year to remind me of where I was then, what I thought then, and what I wanted out of life. And every year as I repost it, I realize that the more things change the more they stay the same.

Now, not to brag, but I've been told that I am an extremely polite person. I was raised on Please and Thank  You, Yes Ma'am, No Sir, and I still act that way today.

True story: I was selected for jury duty when we lived in Miami and when it was my turn to be questioned, I stood up in the very narrow aisle and put my hands behind my back. As I was questioned, I replied Yes sir and No Sir. The judge stopped and smiled.

"Are you in the military?" he asked.

"No, sir" I said. "I was raised by a military man and a Southern woman."

True story: A few years before that, while living in California, I was in a grocery store buying a birthday cake for a coworker. I asked if I may please order a cake. May I please have a name iced onto it? I ‘Pleased’ and ‘Thank you'd’ my way through the entire process and finally as the girl was leaving to finish my order, she turned and said, “I think you are the politest person I've ever waited on."

I smiled and said, "Could you just shut up, please, and ice my damn cake!"

When all else fails I slip into sarcasm. That's my motto, and I’m thankful for that, too, but I digress.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, probably because there are no gifts involved, except for the gift of time and good food and drink; time spent with loved ones and friends; the gift of thanks. A day of thanks; a truly American holiday, like 4th of July, but one we celebrate not with picnics and beer, firecrackers and sparklers, but with a meal shared with friends and family, and pets, always the pets.

I have so much to be thankful for again this year. Yes, the usual family and friends and health and happiness, blah blah blah, everyone says that, but this year, with the exception of another awful day in February … my least favorite month.

One of those bad days is nearly two years past, the day Tuxedo left us, and it still hits me every single day; but I am thankful for the many years with the Greatest Cat Ever, and his little buddy MaxGoldberg, who left us in 2022, and for Ozzo, that wee black dog that used to tear across the back yard with a four-foot tree branch in his mouth begging to play fetch.

And that bad February day this year when my father passed away. I was lucky—is lucky the right word—to be sitting at his side when he passed, just like I had done when my mother died in 2007; I felt them leave, felt that love, and was thankful for having them in my life all those years, and since then.

My father was a tough man who may not have expressed love openly often—though his last words to me were “I love you.”—but he did so when it was important.

The day I came out to him, he said, “You’re my son and I love you.”

The day I move to Miami to start this life with Carlos, he said, “Be happy. I love you.”

The day Carlos and I got married, he said, “I love you both.’

I am thankful for the time and the years and the memories.

I am thankful for this link around the world that I have found with bloggers, where I find people very different from myself, and people very much like myself, and we all co-exist peacefully. I still miss the glorious Anne Marie and her love for F-bombs and disdain for ABBA, something we shared, and I am grateful for the bloggers who still blog and the words and opinions and jokes and Candy Shop photos they share.

As a gay man I know all too well that … cue PSA music … It Gets Better.

Twenty-four years ago, when we began this ride, Carlos and I couldn’t be legally married anywhere in America, and here we are now, married for nine years … in South Carolina of all places. I am thankful for that every day and will fight to the death anyone who thinks our marriage can somehow be erased. Carlos and I are husband and husband and that’s how it will stay. That bell cannot be unrung, no matter who says what. No matter who sits on the Supreme Court.

Trust. And be thankful.

I am thankful for the years I had with my sister—I miss her every single day—because of the things she taught me and continues to teach me. I am grateful to her four daughters, all of whom she raised so well that when Carlos and I told them we were getting married, they all responded, “Now he really is our Uncle.”

I am thankful to my Mom, especially today. Thanksgiving was her holiday; cooking for her family was my mother’s greatest joy and a great gift to all of us. I am thankful that I can keep that tradition alive and can see my Mom in myself as Carlos and I cook dinner for our friends. I am thankful for her kindness, even to those who were unkind to her; I am grateful for her laughter, which I can still hear in my head, and the way she would say, ‘Bye-bye, sweetie, I love you,’ as we ended a phone call.

I am thankful for icy cold mornings and clear blue skies … colored leaves falling. I am thankful for Consuelo and Rosita because, well, I'm bigger than them and I will always beat them ... just channeling a little Joan Crawford and Christina at the pool.

I am thankful for Carlos. Every.Single.Day. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about how lucky I am to have him; even the days when he makes me insane … more insane. I realize I’d rather be driven nuts by him for a moment than not to have him in my life at all. I am thankful for the smirk he gives me; I am thankful for the look of horror on his face when I bust out a showtune; I am just plain thankful. I don’t know where I’d be, or who I’d be, if I hadn’t met him all those years ago.

I am thankful for music and pets and soft blankets and breathing and speaking, and having a voice to use, and use often. I realize we are still facing a tough time in this country; we are still facing division; we are still seeing our Black and Brown brothers and sisters killed by police, and self-entitled crybaby vigilantes; we are still seeing our trans brothers and sisters murdered; we still see hate; we are seeing hatred towards refugees fleeing their homeland to come to a country built by immigrants and slaves.

But I remain hopeful, hope filled, and thankful, that this country, most of this country, will once again stand against that hate and divisiveness; I am thankful that we will stand for one another and not against one another; that we will stand up to those who hate; speak out against those who use fear to intimidate others; resist those who are untruthful. I am thankful that more people are standing up for those who may not feel like anyone would ever stand for them.

I am thankful for being woke. Yes, I am thankful for that … and thinking being feeling loving breathing laughing crying living and speaking.

For Life … and all it encompasses.

To Life.

Thanks.

PS We are celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow with chosen family members and friends and then I'm taking the weekend off. 

Have a thankful day and I'll see y'all on Monday.

Shake The Etch-a-Sketch: Our Ten-and-Twenty-Four Anniversary

Here we are, ten years legally married and twenty-four years together; my how the time flies … so sit back, and let me tell the tale …

We all do it to an extent; follow a line or path that we set up for ourselves. We plod a course, the straight and narrow some might say, and then walk that line toward a particular destination we've imagined we want. And every so often we twist the knobs on the Etch-a-Sketch of our lives  and a new course is charted, moving in a direction we hadn't thought of before. But it’s a slow curve most of the time, not dangerous and you can still see where you're going and can always go back if we don’t like the destination.

But what about shaking the Etch-a-Sketch? What about saying, screw that line, damn that curve. Let me hold on tight, both hands, and shake things up. See, I was an Etch-a-Sketch person, following the easy line, the one I thought I was meant to follow. I didn't stray too far off the path; who am I kidding, I never strayed off the path. But then it hit me, following the path, that straight line or that gentle curve, and where are you going? Toward another straight line, one more gentle curve? What was that all about?

My first shake was telling my parents I was gay. That was a big shake at the time, although now it seems more of a 'so what.' But I thought it was a big deal because I didn't have a real-life reference point on what it meant to be gay. What were the rules? Was there a uniform? Did I have to pay dues? What was it? See, in my family there were no 'funny uncles' or 'aunts in plaid' that I could see; that I could say, "Hey, I'm like that, so it must be okay." The only gay men I knew were the limp-wristed types on TV shows and in the movies. They wore ascots and paisley jackets, were sarcastic and alone. Terry-Thomas? No, not me. Uncle Arthur, I was not....at least I didn't think so.

So I shook the Etch-a-Sketch and came out and no one died and no one fainted and my family didn't disown me; my parents’ response was, “We love you.” Now, I lost a few friends, but maybe they weren't really friends to begin with if "I'm gay" causes them to disappear. I'm gay … Poof … you’re gone. It's like a homo David Copperfield.

I was out, and yet the Etch-a-Sketch was still giving me straight lines—I’ll save you the horror of joking about me following a 'straight' line because it’s already been done—and gentle curves. But then in 1999—so last century—I decided to give Etch-a-Sketch another nudge and I got a computer. Yes, I was late to the game, again, but I began looking around the Internet and found AOL and the series of chat rooms they had. I found one called Gay Lifestyles, and it was a fun chatty room where you could be gay, where you could step off the line a bit because no one really knew you.

I met Carlos in that chat room. The Etch-a-Sketch bumped a little and we started to online chat; another turn of the knobs and we took to the phones, and the mail. He was in Miami, I was in California, but then I took a leap and told him I wanted to meet him . He was thrilled and plans were made for me to fly to Miami in July.

JULY? IN MIAMI? Oy! What was I thinking?

I bought plane tickets and readied myself to take a sharp turn. I realize now that my life had been split into Old Bob and New Bob. See, Old Bob would have bought the tickets to Miami, told everyone he was going, and gotten on the plane, but when it made a stop in Houston, Old Bob would get off the plane, find a Motel 6, and spend the week there. Then he'd return home and tell everyone that Carlos was 'okay' and the trip was 'fine.' I'd ignore Carlos' phone calls … I almost invented ghosting y’all … and stay off the computer. I'd go back to following that line.

New Bob didn't do that. New Bob flew to Miami and met Carlos and spent a wonderful week in Florida. New Bob fell in love with Carlos and cried at the airport when he had to go home. New Bob's Etch-a-Sketch was shaking. And it was okay; twists and jogs in the path weren't anything to fear.

A month after I came home, Carlos came to California and met my family. I was so happy to have him there; so happy that my family liked him; my friends, too. But then he was gone, back to his home again and I wondered what would happen next.

It wasn't but a few weeks before I hurled the Etch-a-Sketch across the room and chose to follow the path I chose, not one that was arbitrarily set out for me. Carlos and I made plans for me to move to Miami. I sold a car, some furniture, some knickknacks; I got rid of my apartment and quit my job.

Every once in a while, you gotta Shake the Etch-a-Sketch … or toss it out altogether.

So, where does this all lead? It leads to today, twenty-four years after I stepped off another plane in Florida, though this time I was staying for good. We started our life together, all the good times and the bumpy times, and are still here.

We moved, to South Carolina of all places, but made a wonderful family out of our circle of friends who celebrated with us when we chose to get married in October of 2014. Marriage equality was happening, even in South Carolina of all places, and since we had longed talked about being married, and having our friends and family, coworkers, strangers, the check-out girl at the Food Lion, the waiter who brought me another cocktail, and the world, or at least our corner of the world, to know that we weren’t just a couple, we weren’t close friends, we weren’t partners—though those are all good things—we wanted to be Mister and Mister.

On October 17, 2014—fourteen years to the day that I moved to Miami—we were back across the country in Bellingham, Washington, to be married with my father as a witness.

And pause … y’all know that this year I lost my Dad and so this will be our first anniversary without a Dad card and phone wishing us more love and happiness. That was a Shake the Etch-a-Sketch moment I hadn’t thought about.

So, we’re back …  I seriously never thought I would see the day that I would ... that I could ... marry Carlos,  but we did just that. I remember as a kid—a not-yet-out-but-knowing-I-was-different kid—telling my mother that I would never get married, but I would have a maid to take care of my kids. I remember that story and realize now that might have been my first shot at coming out—as a six-year-old, I think—because, even then, I never thought I could get married, never thought I’d be allowed to get married and create my own version of family and home.

And so we did it, and while it has been lovely, raucous, and fun, and there have been down times and sad times and bad times, but, as Elaine Stritch would say—and god am I gay … Elaine Stritch!—we’re still here.

And looking forward, always forward, and while I didn’t say this myself—Charlotte said it in one of those Sex and the City movies … again, god I’m gay—I like to say that I am happy every single day with Carlos. Not all day, every day, because that’s life, but every single day for the last twenty-four years, for some small or large part of the day, I have realized how happy I am and how happy he makes me, and that I am still crazy in love with him.

And that’s something to celebrate!

Happy Anniversary, baby. I love you, always, ever.

Bobservations

Y’all know I’m a sucker for Dexter; I watched the first series—and it’s rerunning on Showtime as we speak and I’m watching it again—and I watched the actual series finale last year. But now I am hearing that a 10-episode all new original drama series, Dexter Original Sin, set in 1991 Miami will start this Fall. I cannot wait, but Carlos, on the other hand, said this to me:

“Should I be worried again about your obsession with Dexter?”

“Only if you see my buying heavy duty industrial strength plastic sheeting by the thousand-yard rolls and giant garbage bags.”

Just sayin’.

This Tuxedo memory is from November 2019 and is another episode of ‘Tuxedo Went To The Vet.’

'As I said last week, Tuxedo went to the vets about him licking the fur off his front leg. He was given some medication, and some wipes to clean the area. The wipes were easy, but the medication had to be given through a dropper orally, which meant holding Tuxedo down and shoving the dropper in his mouth and giving him the medication.

So, twice a day I would take a towel and wrap it around Tuxedo, exposing just his head and keeping his paws from grabbing at me, and then Carlos would force the medication into his mouth. After the first dose, as soon as he saw the towel, Tuxedo knew what was coming; he didn’t run, but he wrapped his front paws around my neck and tried to climb me to get away. It was quite the struggle, but we finished his round of antibiotics the other day.

And I will give Tuxedo props for not holding a grudge; as soon as he had the meds, he got a treat, and then would crawl into my lap and go to sleep.

He really is a good boy … and thrilled to be “off the dropper.’

Man, that was a chore; that was one strong cat.

Tim Walz, the Democratic vice-presidential nominee, has accelerated his preparations for his debate with admitted lair and couchfvcker,  JD Vance, by holding in policy sessions and mock debates in his home state and on the road.

Walz’s team has enlisted Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg to play Vance in debate rehearsals; my question is: how did Pete dumb himself down, and fill his head full of nonsensical rants, to play JD?

This is how my mind works: what if umbrellas were meant to be called brellas but the person who invented them hesitated?

Tennis legend Billie Jean King will make history this month as the first solo female athlete awarded the Congressional Gold Medal.

Brava, Billie!

Corey DeAngelis, a conservative education reform advocate who has espoused anti-LGBTQ+ sentiments has, er had, a secret career in gay adult films.

Why is it that the most viral and vocal homophobes are the ones shaking their dicks in gay porn?

Corey??? Corey????

Well, the end is near … after eight months my father’s estate will be closing in a couple of weeks and everything will be settled.

A few hiccups along the way—the first attorney passed away as we began the process—but everything seems set to finalize.

I will probably head back to Oregon to close a few things out and transfer some things to my brother—he and my sister-in-law will be taking Dad’s house—and then ::: big sigh :::

I still miss my dad something fierce; with all that’s going on in this country right now, he and I would have, could have, should have, had some great conversations. I still have them, but they play mostly in my head.

That’s the way of the world, I guess.

The other day at work, one of our interns was telling a story about a former co-worker who’d had testicular cancer and everyone started calling him No Nuts. And because I cannot help myself, I said:

“I worked at a place where we had a guy called No Nuts.”

“Did he have testicular cancer, too?”

“No. He only had one eye. But he was a ball-less little dick.”

I have an appointment at HR again next week.

Fabien Joseph Frankel is a French-English actor best known for his role as Ser Criston Cole in the HBO fantasy drama series House of the Dragon, but … Would You Hit It?

Just Saying ... Not My Month

 We hate February in my family.

My mother passed away in February 17 2007.

My Aunt Pam passed away February 14, 2009.

My sister Jeri passed February 1,5 2014.

My father passed away February 1, 2024.

And while some of you may not count your pets as family, I do, and so ... Tuxedo passed away February 15, 2023.

February sucks.

I was home for a long weekend last week, and am back in Oregon for a few days and then will come home for a long stretch as probate does its thing. I don't know when I'll post anything other than gloomy stuff but I will be back with snark and politics and architecture and pop culture and fun as soon as I can.

Thanks!

It's Just Me ...

I am still in Oregon taking care of Dad's estate, though I will be coming home for the weekend tomorrow and then returning to Oregon on Monday. Between lawyers and banks and Social Security and death benefits, it's a lot and I am slightly overwhelmed. I do see a small light at the end of the tunnel and am walking toward it ... no, not that light. I just wanted to let y'all know that while I haven't commented I have read all your comments on Dad's passing and they really mean a lot to me.
Thanks, and I hope to "see" you all soon.

Dad

My father passed away February 1^st at the age of 91. He passed quietly and peacefully, surrounded by family who laughed and told stories and reminisced about my dad ... and I will give you a few of my favorite Dad Tales …

When I came out to my family, my father’s first words to me were, “You’re my son and I love you.”

When I decided to move 3000 miles away from family because I’d met Carlos and knew that was where I belonged, he said “Be happy, I love you.”

And when he spoke his last words to me, the night before he passed, he said, “Take care of yourself, I love you.”

The day he died, other than waking up at midnight and asking the nurse if he was still alive, and saying “Oh shit: when she told him, “Yes,” my dad didn’t say another word to me; but that was all I needed. I love you.

My nieces, Ashley, and Betsy, were there, as was my sister-in-law, Debbie, and we sat with Dad and held his hands and told stories and laughed and cried, and after one particularly loud laugh session, we noticed his breathing had stopped and he was gone.

I will always believe he heard us laughing, and thought to himself that we were going to be fine, and he could leave.

Thanks Dad. I love you.

Gone Again ....

My Dad has taken a turn for the worse, and I am headed out to Oregon for the next week or so. He is being checked into hospice so we're not exactly sure how much time is left.

Back

What a week or so. My father called me on a Tuesday to say that his cardiac doctor needed to see him right away at the hospital in Corvallis so I found a flight, packed a bag, and was on my way at 4:30 AM EST  the next day. With time differences and such I arrived at my Dad’s house at 9 PM PST … a long day. At my Dad’s house he said we’d needed to leave for the hospital around 3 AM to see the doctor first thing; I found a minute to sleep and then off we went.

At the hospital there was confusion as to why my Dad was there and he kept saying that his doctor asked him to come in and talk about aortic valve replacement; my father suffered from COPD and heart issues affect the breath as well, so replacing the valve would be good for his breathing. Trouble was, the cardiac team felt that his age, he’s ninety-one, and the health of his heart, not good, might make surgery too risky so they suggested medications and oxygen and then uttered to phrase …

“That’ll give you about six months.”

I hate that phrase because no one actually knows; it could be 6 days or weeks or months or even a few years and I hate the end date-ness of it all. But my Dad and I talked about the surgery and the risks and he decided to take the Go Home route. I reminded him of my mother …

In 2006 my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer; she did chemo, twice, and then radiation, and in early 2007 she said, “No more.” She had been a nurse and knew what was coming and she opted to stop treatment and just let nature take its course. Family came to visit and in early February 2007, she passed away in her home with my dad, my sister and I by her side. I felt it very peaceful.

And I told my dad that, for me, if you could pass away in your own home, with family by your side, as well as his dog, that might be the way to go; that’s what I would want for myself … the last faces I see being those of loved ones and pets and not doctors and nurses.

And he thought for a while and decided that would be his choice. They kept him in the hospital because he wasn’t allowed to be released with the oxygen and between a wicked winter ice storm and frigid temperatures, and the MLK Day holiday, he wasn’t able to get home until the following Wednesday. The next day hospice came in and made plans to be at his house three days a week to start to check on him,  his meds and such, and then, when the time comes that he cannot take care of himself we switch to full-time hospice care.

He doesn’t like that, but he also doesn’t have a choice; neither my brother nor I can be there full-time, though Carlos and I will visit often, so he’ll need to adjust, and when the time gets close, we’ll fly out as quickly as possible like we did with mom.

And Ashley, one of my nieces, has suggested she go up and stay with my Dad for a while; she's working an online job and so she can work anywhere. And as she says my Dad is her favorite relative, and he feels the same about her, it sounds like a plan. We have been speaking for the last few days and talkin g about what needs to be done, and how stubborn my Dad can be and how she needs to approach that, but I think it will work out quite nicely.

All I want is a peaceful transition for my Dad; he’s stubborn as Hell, so who knows when that will happen, but when it does I will be there with Carlos and my brother to send him off.

It’s all you can do really.

So, I’m home and thankful to be here and thankful for the people in my life, for Carlos and his support and strength and listening ear, and in the internet world, for all of your thoughts and good vibes. I am not a man who prays but a positive thought is always welcome, and for that I am greatly appreciative.

I'm Still Here ...

... in Oregon where we just had a wicked snow and ice storm leaving nearly everything frozen,
My father is still in the hospital and has opted to not have the surgery, aortic valve replacement. After talking with the cardiac team, he understood that the risks of the surgery outweigh the benefits for a ninety-one year old man with an  already compromised heart. One of the effects he's enduring is shortness of breath and the doctors will monitor that with medication and oxygen when he returns home.
For now we will deal with quality of life and not quantity. I will be here a few more days until my brother arrives; we have arranged for hospice-palliative care to help Dad around the house doing things for him, errands and such.
It's not the ideal outcome, but it's the outcome we have and will do what's best for my Dad and for the time he has left.
Thank you all for your positives thoughts and vibes, it means a lot to me, and as my Dad read them , it meant a lot to him.
I will take a few days when I get home to spend with Carlos and then return the blogging perhaps the 22nd,

Away From My Desk ...

I am on my way to Oregon this morning. My father is set to have a heart procedure tomorrow and I will be out there helping him to and from the hospital and then home as well.
I will be back soon-ish ...

Thank.Full.

I first posted a version of this back in Ott-Eight, a few days after I started this here blog thing, and have edited it, as need be, and reposted it every year … for fifteen years … to remind me of where I was then, what I thought then, and what I wanted out of life. And every year as I repost it, I realize that the more things change the more they stay the same.

Now, not to brag, but I've been told that I am an extremely polite person. I was raised on Please and Thank You, Yes Ma'am, No Sir, and I still act that way today.

True story: I was selected for jury duty when we lived in Miami and when it was my turn to be questioned, I stood up in the very narrow aisle and put my hands behind my back. As I was questioned, I replied Yes sir and No Sir. The judge stopped and smiled.

"Are you in the military?" he asked.

"No, sir" I said. "I was raised by a military man and a Southern woman."

True story: A few years before that, while living in California, I was in a grocery store buying a birthday cake for a co-worker. I asked if I may please order a cake. May I please have a name iced onto it? I ‘Pleased’ and ‘Thank you'd’ my way through the entire process and finally as the girl was leaving to finish my order, she turned and said, “I think you are the politest person I've ever waited on."

I smiled and said, "Could you just shut up, please, and ice my damn cake!"

When all else fails I slip into sarcasm. That's my motto, and I’m thankful for that, too, but I digress.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, probably because there are no gifts involved, except for the gift of time; time spent with loved ones and friends; the gift of thanks. A day of thanks; a truly American holiday, like 4th of July, but one we celebrate not with picnics and beer, firecrackers and sparklers, but with a meal shared with friends and family, and pets, always the pets.

I have so much to be thankful for again this year. Yes, the usual family and friends and health and happiness, blah blah blah, everyone says that, but this year, with the exception of one awful day in February, has been good. I am thankful that Carlos and I are fine; we have been pricked and boostered and can say that neither one of us has ever tested positive for COVID.

That one bad day: the day Tuxedo left us, and a day that hits me every single day since. But I am thankful for the many years with the Greatest Cat Ever, and his little buddy MaxGoldberg, who left us in 2022.

I am also grateful for the memories of a wee black dog tearing across the back yard with a four-foot tree branch in his mouth begging to play fetch; Ozzo was one of a kind.

I am thankful to this link around the world that I have found with bloggers, where I find people very different from myself, and people very much like myself, and we all co-exist peacefully. I am grateful to our dear Anne Marie and her love for F-bombs and disdain for ABBA, something we shared. I miss her wit and sarcasm and musical Saturdays, but I am thankful for having have them. I also miss her husband, ArTeeGee, who left us to join her. I am grateful for the bloggers who still blog and the words and opinions and jokes and Candy Shop photos they share.

And I am thankful, as well as hopeful, that even though America is still mired in hate and division, us versus them, and criminality, there are still spots of decency and inclusion and hope. I may be a bit of a Pollyanna but I am hopeful that things will change and we will keep our government from the hands of tyrants, racists, bigots and traitors. Sure, it’s still a bit dark here, but we are all becoming more aware that if we want to change we must make change and I am thankful that we live in a country where we have that freedom.

As a gay man I know all too well that … cue PSA music … It Gets Better.

Twenty-three years ago, when we began this ride, Carlos and I couldn’t be legally married anywhere in America, and here we are now, married for nine years … in South Carolina of all places. I am thankful for that every day and will fight to the death anyone who thinks our marriage can somehow be erased. Carlos and I are husband and husband and that’s how it will stay. That bell cannot be unrung, no matter who says what. No matter who sits on the Supreme Court.

Trust. And be thankful.

I am thankful for the years I had with my sister—I miss her every single day—because of the things she taught me and continues to teach me. I am grateful to her four daughters, all of whom she raised so well that when Carlos and I told them we were getting married, they all responded, “Now he really is our Uncle.”

I am thankful for my Dad. He didn’t ask for a gay son, but he got one; he didn’t know what to do with a gay son, but he did the best he could. And, when the time came to marry Carlos, it made my Dad’s day that he could be there. I wish every gay person could have a Dad like mine, who sees that change is good, and sees that not everyone is alike—even in your own family—but who loves you just the same. I am thankful and grateful that he came through his surgery feeling good and strong and ready to rumble.

I am thankful to my Mom, especially today. Thanksgiving was her holiday; cooking for her family was my mother’s greatest joy and a great gift to all of us. I am thankful that I can keep that tradition alive and can see my Mom in myself as Carlos and I cook dinner for ourselves and friends. I am thankful for her kindness, even to those who were unkind to her; I am grateful for her laughter, which I can still hear in my head, and the way she would say, ‘Bye bye, sweetie, I love you,’ as we ended a phone call.

I am thankful for icy cold mornings and clear blue skies … colored leaves falling. I am thankful for Consuelo and Rosita because, well, I'm bigger than them and I will always beat them ... just channeling a little Joan Crawford and Christina at the pool.

I am thankful for Carlos. Every.Single.Day. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about how lucky I am to have him; even the days when he makes me insane … more insane. I realize I’d rather be driven nuts by him for a moment than not to have him in my life at all. I am thankful for the smirk he gives me; I am thankful for the look of horror on his face when I bust out a showtune; I am just plain thankful. I don’t know where I’d be, or who I’d be, if I hadn’t met him all those years ago.

I am thankful for music and pets and soft blankets and breathing and speaking, and having a voice to use, and use often. I realize we are still facing a tough time in this country; we are still facing division; we are still seeing our Black and Brown brothers and sisters killed by police, and self-entitled crybaby vigilantes; we are still seeing our trans brothers and sisters murdered; we still see hate; we are seeing hatred towards refugees fleeing their homeland to come to a country built by immigrants and slaves.

But I remain hopeful, hope filled, and thankful, that this country, most of this country, will once again stand against that hate and divisiveness; I am thankful that we will stand for one another and not against one another; that we will stand up to those who hate; speak out against those who use fear to intimidate others; resist those who are untruthful. I am thankful that more and more people are standing up for those who may not feel like anyone would ever stand for them.

I am thankful for being woke. Yes, I am thankful for that … and thinking being feeling loving breathing laughing crying living and speaking.

For Life … and all it encompasses.

To Life.

Thanks.

PS We are celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow with chosen family members and friends and then I'm taking the weekend off. 

Have a a thankful day and I'll see y'all on Monday.