Judas

Judas. One of the twelve disciples of Jesus who betrayed him for 30 pieces of silver. He identified Jesus to the arresting soldiers by kissing Jesus...."this is the one." There are two different graphic accounts of his death. Matthew describes it as a suicide by hanging. The Acts of the Apostles describes him falling down and his bowels gushing out. Pleasant, isn't it?

You know, I played Judas one year in the Easter cantata. I remember the scene well: I was to enter stage right, in the darkness, and -- hesitantly, of course -- taking the small bag of 30 coins from the priests....their payment to me for my kissing Jesus in betrayal. Draw out the agony, the fighting of my spirit as to whether I should take this bribery payment or not. And I did. Friday night, three times on Sunday, and again on Monday night. Year after year, I was a member of our 120-voice Singing Ambassadors church choir at Central Assembly Christian Life Center in Boise. We spent the three months before Christmas and the three months before Easter rehearsing for the full weekend of cantatas.

Easter was always a busy day. Up at 05:00am for the 06:30am sunrise service. Always held by the fountain in Ann Morrison Park along the Boise River. Sometimes the weather cooperated and brought an amazing sunrise. Other times, the temperatures were freezing and hinted at frost. After the sunrise service, we all headed out to the church for a pancake breakfast followed by two services Easter morning and another Easter evening. We were exhausted by the time the whole thing was over.

Ten years since my personal coming out, I never knew that my faith would be carried down the roads that it has. I spent 35 years of my life in the pews of churches across the globe -- in addition to my own. Padded, comfortable cushions. Ate, drank, slept at the church, as it were. The assistant choir director, youth group leader, helper at camps for the kids, worked in the church's hot dog booth at the Western Idaho State Fair, sang every single night at the same fair, filed music for the church choir, chose music to be sung, directed the band and choir, sang a solo or two, put together choreography and "moves" for the choir (nothing too "worldly".....remember it's "lips, not hips" when you're inside the four walls of the church). I did it all. And happily. And in the closet.

It's weekends like this that I think back to what my life used to be. Busy at the church. Preparing. Last-minute arrangements. Phone calls. It seems a little quiet now, sometimes. No more of that hustle and bustle. No more dealings with the in's and out's of the church business. I had no idea that my faith would be made so strong because of those many years of experience. I believe in a God of inclusion today. I think I did then, too, even though things were a little muddled up at that point in my life. One that hates anger, jealousy, indifference, and injustice. One that disapproves of separation, of division, and of walls. But one that approves of loving those who may not deserve it, of giving to those who don't have, of saying "I'm sorry" when it's your turn to.

Shortly after I began blogging, I received an email from a former friend, a member of the church in Boise. Someone that I knew, but was not particularly close to. It came as a total surprise and completely out of the blue. I thought that I had saved the email to include in a future blog post. But, apparently, it has been lost. Cindy was her name. She mentioned that she had found my blog and was sad and disappointed in the way that my life had gone. "That was not the way you were brought up," she said. She said that my parents brought me up differently than that....and that my parents had prayed for me. Also that she was praying for me. She thought that my post showed my struggle between right and wrong. She really let me have it. She essentially called me a Judas of sorts. What Cindy doesn't realize is that I turned out exactly the way that my parents had raised me. Happily.

I never did respond. I had about three different lines of thought that I was going to toss back at her. But I know that she is one of many whose faith is fragile and undeveloped -- a faith with limits. Afraid of being tested and tried. Afraid of the new and scared to death of the "different." And very afraid that our world, especially the world where I performed many Easter cantatas, has ventured so far from the good teachings of the God that we claimed to know so much about. The teachings of love over hate, of bringing hope to those who need it desperately, and of putting others first....even when it doesn't feel good. We're a long way from that today. And I'm a long way from those old days of Easter cantatas. I take my knowledge and the things I learned from that period of time for exactly what they're worth. A lot. I want no anger, hatred, or bitterness because of it. I can't afford it. I'm thankful for where I am today. And that the past is exactly that. And I'm well aware that the future is bright and full of light, hope, and good energy. I'm going there. I hope you will too. I'd love some company.

Snow White and Her Foreskin

Lovely friends of our joined us last night for dinner, drinks, and a load of self-serving girl talk. You would have loved it. We've known J&A for years but seldom take the opportunity to see them -- "We should get together sometime." These guys show up with a huge Papa Murphy's chicken/garlic pizza and the most beautiful orchid in the world (pic above and more on Flickr.com). He promised me it's easy to take care of..."just three ice cubes a week." We're digging through the pizza and spinach salad and wiping our mouths daintily as girls should. Plus, we're about half way through perfectly good bottles of Red Door Pinot Gris and Red Diamond Merlot, when the alcohol-induced statement hits:

J&A: Your blog seems so prim and proper. Almost "Snow White" like.

Us: Choke and gasp. (Chunk of garlic dislodges and makes it way back up.)

J&A: Yea, makes you guys almost sound "Victorian" -- Like there are little hearts and flowers on the walls.

Us: (In my mind....."What are you.....HIGH or something?"

J&A: I mean, it's almost like "Dad and Dad" when we see you guys. You're more married than most straight couples we know.

Us: Okay, so this guy's Pinot Gris has hit hard. And then the bomb shell:

J&A: I want some, you know, scrotum and foreskin talk here. Let's talk about foreskin restoration or something. I've never missed my foreskin.

So we talk about foreskin, scrotum, and penile piercings. (Don't ask....we'll save that conversation until you're visiting us and drinking heavily.) And after we've exhausted that little bit of heavenly talk.....

J&A to Us: And we thought you guys were NOT our kinky friends.

Don't forget, kids, that Snow White did have SEVEN dwarfs (lest we consider her more pure than she really was.)

Past, Present, Future

There is a new audio greeting for the month of April on the left-hand side....please excuse the head cold/allergy voice!.

Several years ago, I found an old friend via the internet. This guy lived near us while we were growing up in Idaho....the early 1970s. (Right after running water and electricity had been introduced to Boise.)Since then, we've corresponded a number of times. He lives not so far away and I'd love to meet up with him sometime for coffee. He has an amazing and descriptive memory. He has emailed me a number of scenarios that played out from our youth....things that I've definitely forgotten (for self preservation purposes, I think). Take a look:

You have never been one to sit still -- and quite frankly, never will be. Even in ye olden days, you were taking us all over the little burg that Boise was at that time. You had the city bus routes and times down pat. In fact, even then I knew I never had to think about such things -- you already had far in advance.

And in your room, I remember all of the places you said you'd eventually fly to. All of the places you planned on visiting. At that point it was as an airline pilot. You've never lacked for dreams, or for fulfilling them.

You had an intense love of the Carpenters. You wanted a singing group/band and had already named it 'Red Horizon'. Which -- in this flow of consciousness thing going on in my mind at the moment -- reminds me of that red window in your family room at the house on sunset/39th. Hmmmm. Now I hear your mom's voice, slightly amused at something you have done/are doing. I am slightly amused by all of it. I can hear your brother's reprimanding 5th/6th grade tone with you -- "No, Lewis!"

April 17 marks the 10th Anniversary of my coming out. This friend has really tossed out some cool memories for me to think about, process them knowing what I know today, and see how things were fitting together more than 30 years ago. Weird how our lives end up playing out because of seemingly inconsequential events that happened in our youth. It's strange to see how "the handwriting was on the walls," years before we, ourselves, even knew who we really were. And then to compare that, side by side, with the people we've evolved into. And, to take it even a step further, compare that to the human beings that we'd like to become in the future. Sort of a three-part, side-by-side comparison of the past, the present, and the future.

I'm going to meet my friend soon, I hope. He's done a nice job of allowing me to laugh and giggle as I have taken a glimpse at the nut I was as a child. It appears that not much has changed. Today, I'm thankful for those molding experiences that built me into the man I am today. I'm using the month of April to celebrate my amusing past, safe and secure present, and hopeful future. I invite you to do the same.

Piss and Happy

Today is a mixture things that piss me off and things that make me extremely happy with our world. Enjoy!

If you haven't taken a look at It's Raining Men lately, please do. We're trying to ramp this thing back up with gathering the names of new contributors and getting rid of those who don't want to be there any longer. Take a look at let me know. If you're currently on the contributor list and don't get back to me, we're going to assume that you don't want to be a part of it any longer.

From the pages of It's Raining Men, you'll find these two articles (Article 1 and Article 2) that really get my feathers up...especially so since I've been in Poland three times and have enjoyed my time there. As far as you think we've come in this global introduction of gays into our society, look out. Things are not so good and downright scary in some parts of our world. Many of us live in bubbles where "everything is okay." Others live in daily fear and fighting for their beliefs. This should make every one of us nervous. It can happen anywhere. Keep your eyes open and keep fighting for the underdog. We're only as strong as our weakest link.

I loved this advertisement for HIV currently running in France. These are the three candidates for president in France right now. I found it at Will's DesignerBlog. Can you imagine Bush, Cheney, and Rove's face on this thing? Ick. But an amazing piece of advertising.

It says "Would You Vote for me if You Knew I was HIV positive?"

And from my fellow blogger buddy Dave at Blogography.....two pieces (Happiness and Believe) that you simply must take a look at. They'll make you feel good to know people like Dave in our world.

I've been out of work sick now for close to 10 days...the longest in my career. My head congestion/cold/allergy thing is making me crazy. It's slightly better but not nearly enough to be flying around in a metal tube. I've tried everything. It's amazing how many pounds of snot can be stashed up inside of a little, closed-off, narrow opening on the front of your face.

Wishing you all safe and happy journeys this coming week. Be at peace with yourself....and then be sure to spread some around. God knows we need it.

Obsessive-Compulsive Mormon Anal-Retentive Bitch

You'd think I was a Mormon or something (no offense here, boys...I don't want any hate mail). Our house is filled with enough extras of everything we'd need to survive for a very long time. I think I've got a little OCD thing going on....okay, maybe not a little...but a lot. No, maybe it's not OCD....but maybe it's just because I'm an anal-retentive, organized, don't-ever-want-to-be-caught-off-guard bitch. That could definitely be it. Nothing ever completely runs out or is gone before I replace it. I absolutely hate running out of, say, olive oil when it's dinner time and I'm slaving in front of a hot stove....and I discover that there is no olive oil. Or when you're sick and it's then that you discover that you have no cold medicine. Nope, we're loaded. Nearly at supermarket inventory levels. Check out the list below. It's not pretty:

2 little bears of Honey, almost done with one
6 cans Glade or Lysol, a girl's house has to smell good
10 rolls paper towels...Brawny, they were on sale
About 50 candles of various sorts and types
I couldn't tell you how many AA, AAA, C, D-cell batteries
2 Tilex shower spray
Charmin freshmates adult-size flushable wipes (don't ask)
64 ounces liquid hand soap
2 nighttime liquid cold medicines (non-Meth-making quality)
2 daytime liquid cold medicines
3 Afrin, or similar, nasal sprays (this is strictly for the nose)
10 small toothpastes for travel
Econosizes of aspirin, Tylenol, Aleve, and Ibuprofin
Cough drops, cough gels, liquid cough medicine
Mucinex DM cough/expectorant tablets
2 300-count bags cotton balls (for Chrismas craft projects)
Large liquid Maalox
Large Maalox tablets
Small Maalox tablets
Generic sore throat spray
Chloraseptic sore throat spray
Generic sore throat tablets
4 boxes bandages (various sorts and types)
3 Gillette shaving gel
4 Mitchum clear gel deodorants
10 bars Lever 2000 soap with Vaseline (for smooth skin)
30 rolls Great Northern ass-wiping paper
Daytime cough/cold pills
Nighttime cough/cold pills
3 toothpastes (I can't decide)
15 cans soup
10 bottles wine
7 partial bags of coffee
8 boxes Rice-a-Roni (it's the San Francisco treat!)
3 bottles Grape juice
2 types allergy nose spray
3 types allergy pills (two prescription, one generic)
2 200-ounce "All" clothes detergent (we do a lot of laundry)
1 300-ounce "All" clothes detergent (this one has the spout attached)
600 party napkins (various designs and sizes)
100 various styrofoam picnic cold/hot cups
10 rolls wrapping paper
50 boxes for wrapping gifts in
20 gift bags
30 wine glasses
20 kitchen towels
50 Tupperware containers
20 yogurts (vanilla, lemon, lime)


My fingers are going numb at this point......I could continue but I really have to get something else done today. I promise you, none of this is an exaggeration. It's an obsession, apparently. Maybe there's a medication to help it.....Now, if I could just find room to put that one more bottle of medication.

Rites and Rituals

I got to thinking yesterday about my life together with S. He is such a great man. And we're coming up on ten years in December. We spent the first seven years virtually joined at the hip together -- work, home, days off, vacations, layovers. All together. We have developed some crazy routines, as I supposed all people do. But it's just funny to stand back, outside yourself, as if a camera were making a movie of your life. And then watch it with a bowl of popcorn and a Diet Lime Coke:

Along about 8-9pm, you'd see us having migrated away from our laptops and toward the TV for The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. One of us would get up during a commercial and go get both of our toothbrushes for us complete with applied toothpaste. We'd sit through the next segment brushing our teeth. Next commercial, we're off to spit and rinse. I apply liberal amounts of eye cream, take a pee, check the doors to be sure no boogie men (or women) can get in, turn down the heat, make sure the lights are out. He: Sets up the coffee for the ungodly hour of 4am....it goes off automatically (I would brew it fresh when I got up....I like it fresh better than having sat on the burner for a while). And this is the fun part: He gets out one Ambien and lays it out for me to come and split in half. We each get 50%. Sometimes we use my Lunesta instead....I like butterflies. We're half-pill poppers, I tell you. Then he usually does a last-minute check of his emails. And, we're off...up the stairs. The whole upstairs is our bedroom...500 square feet. Sometimes the TV goes on just to finish up The Colbert Report or American Idol or Andy Griffith on TV Land. Sometimes, we're zonked....the Ambien does work quickly. The neighbor's dogs are barking outside our bedroom window and sometimes we don't even hear them anymore. Vick's Vapo-Rub under our noses, a little bantering about this or that, lights out, and the spooning begins. Cozied up as close as I can get on the cold winter nights.....bare feet intertwined....he in his t-shirt and boxers...me in nothing. And always with an "I love you and appreciate you." Always.

PS: We'll repeat this performance nearly every night of the week. (Oops, I almost forgot....we turn on the "White Noise" machine too....keeps the car noises and dogs barking to a minimum -- and if we're sick or have colds, there's a whole other layer of Nyquil, Allegra, nasal decongestants, etc.). It's something else, I tell you.

My Name is Lewis and I'm a Car-aholic

So, what car do you drive? Ours is above. I say ours because we just have one. It's perfect. But we've gone through cars like water, I must say. I think it's an addiction. Maybe we should look for a CA (Cars Anonymous) meeting. Or would it be more appropriate to say SUVA? Nonetheless, we love what we have now. Great size, hauls plenty, 4x4 for those occasionally icy roads here in Portland, nice stereo, leathered out, moon/sun roof (what is the difference??), and....one our favorite features....heated seats. Do you remember the days when a heater installed in a car was an option and would cost you dearly? You could by a new bright yellow Datsun Honey Bee for around $2,995 but it had nothing on it. Here's what I've owned in my life (some of the details escape me):

1970 Plymouth Gold Duster (complete with 8 track and black plastic seats)
1977 Datsun 200SX (this is the one that I outran the cops in)
1986 Honda Accord
1990 Pontiac Grand Am--white 4-door (for the family that never was)
1995 Toyota Tacoma Pickup (loved this thing, gave it up in the divorce)
1992 Pontiac Grand Am--2 door (said I'd never buy US-made after this one)
1999 Kia Sephia (terrible, horrible choice)
2000 Kia Sportage 4x4
2002 Hyundai Santa Fe (this one was great)
2006 Kia Sportage (very nifty except for the noises in it's engine)
2006 Kia Sorento--the one we have now...it's loaded and perfect.

As you can see, there's a terrible trend. And it's not good unless you're on the car salesperson end of the deal. I always try to drive a hard bargain with the trade-in value, cost of the new one, interest rate, and all of that. I never accept the first deal. Sometimes, usually on Saturdays when the newspaper publishes those special car buying sections, I find myself gravitating toward them...just to look. But I've stopped. I had to. Maybe I should take up drinking.

If You Lived Here, I'd Know Your Name

News from small-town Alaska. Heather Lende has done a beautiful job of summing up the ins and outs of living in Haines, Alaska. Cut off from many modern technological advances, Lende paints an incredible picture as we venture with her on the wooded trails, across the water, and up the side of mountains in search for how she fits into this environment. The mother of five children, she also writes for the local newspaper. She has made me tear up a couple of times as she describes learning how to exist in this modern world -- tucked in between the Tlingit Indians and the conveniences of 2007. She will take you on journeys from hunting sheep, writing obituaries, and fishing ships sinking to church potlucks, love of her family, and coexisting with those who believe differently than she does. It made me feel good inside to know that there are those such as Lende that blend in seamlessly to our society and, yet, play such an important role in their homes, towns, and neighborhoods. She'll renew your, perhaps waning, faith in bringing two opposing sides together and what it feels like to stand up for something you believe in...even in small-town America. Her spirit and writing seems fresh and alive -- just exactly what we need to rejuvenate us with an afternoon cup of hot tea. You'll be glad you took the time to check this one out.

*** "A life spent working and living in a small town with people I may disagree with has taught me a lot about humility and forgiveness. And when to keep my mouth shut. Some lessons have been more painful than others, but my days and my life are richer because of them."

*** "We cried because we were happy, and because people we loved were happy, and because we were all happy in love together. Only adults weep with joy. Children don't. They haven't learned how rare moments of true happiness are."

Peanut Butter Cups + Red Wine + Hot Tub = ????

Numerous long years ago, hubby and I ended up in Spokane, Washington, one night with a coworker of ours. It was early winter, November or so, and there was a bit of snow on the ground. It seemed to be a fairly quiet evening at the hotel we were assigned to stay in. We scooted next door and made our obligatory trip up and down the aisles of the Rolling-Back-Prices-Screw-Your-Employees-And-Don't-Provide-Any-Benefits-And-Ask-Them-To-Work-Overtime-Without-Paying-For-It. (Those wretched days are past, with thanks in my heart.) We loaded ourselves down with cheap products from China and tossed in a bag of peanut butter cups also. Somewhere along the line, we absconded with a bottle of wine....red (and this was before I drank the red stuff). Our buddy twisted our arms and made us join him in the hotel's hot tub. It was freezing cold out, severe shrinkage factor involved (as if I can afford that), and the steam was rising in perfect little wisps from the outdoor hot tub. We dropped our jeans and sunk our back ends under the warm water ASAP. Ahh. Now, someone, please....pass me a handful of peanut butter cups (do you know how much happier I'd be if they came in dark chocolate??) and a plastic hotel cup full of vino. There's nothing like it. I think that our undies came off somewhere along the line.

Spring Has Sprung....Time for New Beginnings

I cannot begin to explain how much running the series on my father meant to me....and, apparently, to you, my dear readers. I received an unbelievable number of comments, emails, and, text messages. It is apparent that I struck a nerve with many and reminded yet others that life is short. Your messages were all horribly poignant and meaningful for me. Thank you for taking your time and for sending along your encouragement. Yesterday was a tough day for me...and I have very few tough days. I was alone in a hotel room in San Diego last night, and not doing too badly at that point, when I realized that it was coming up to the hour at which my father died. I noticed that Nathan had sent me an email so I fired one back at him and mentioned the specific time. Precisely 12 minutes later, at exactly the time my father passed away, my good friend Nathan text messaged me. He knew, he remembered, and there I was in San Diego with tears in my eyes again. Nathan also commented on something that, truthfully, I had never really seriously considered. He said: "Now I get it.....the Spirit of Saint Lewis." You know, the blog name never started out to be about my father at all. Lewis is my middle name, my father's first name, and of a sudden it's taken on a whole new meaning for me. I'm through talking about it now. I hope you enjoyed the series. He was truly an amazing man in his own way....as each of us are in ours.

Spring officially began a couple of hours ago here in Portland. If you were here, you'd know that it's right on time: Flowering cherries, plums, daffodils, crocus, flowering quince, forsythia, buds on many trees, and the tulips are trying their best to bud. The top of my refrigerator is a gathering spot for dust, delicious chocolates that our good friends brought to us, an extra bottle of white wine (Riesling from Idaho), and numerous seed packets. It's time to get them planted. Maybe in the next day or two....right after having my blood taken first thing in the morning (cholesterol and liver enzyme check).

I've also found out that I probably will be visiting Orlando again TWICE in April. I wonder if the boys will have me back for a repeat dinner? Maybe not after this little doo-dah.

My Dad Part 3 -- Finale, The Curtain Must Close

Part 1 -- Impact of Childhood Lessons

Part 2 -- It's a Great Day

It was March 19, 1994.…13 years ago today….and my alarm went off at 6:45am. I was in Liverpool, England, directly on the cold, dark Irish Sea, and beginning day three of our Rehearsal Camp for the British Continentals,a group that I was going to be directing on a musical tour through England, Scotland, The Netherlands, Denmark, and Germany. As I lay there trying to get every minute of sleep possible, there was a knock at my door. A telephone message had been received during the night by the camp operator. I was supposed to call my sister. My heart was broken already, I knew what message was waiting. I was exhausted. Physically but also turning like a butter churn internally. I knew I should be in a hurry to return the call but I wasn’t. I had left Boise only four days earlier after throwing myself across my father’s lap as he sat in his wheelchair at the airport -- his oxygen pumping away. And me on my hands and knees in the boarding area, bawling like a child, my luggage tossed aside. I got up from his lap and went around behind him. I put my face against his cool, old skin and bones and held him as he grunted, groaned, and tried to wave me toward the airplane. I knew the inevitable was soon coming. My god, it couldn’t be….could it? Never again would I see the life in his eyes.

As I made my way out into the early Sunday morning, I remember thinking how warm it felt especially being, literally, just across the road from the sea. I breathed deeply and heavily, trying as nearly as I could, to propel myself into calmness. The phone was ringing thousands of miles away. Her shaky, monotone, and dark voice said that “Dad passed away two hours ago.” The doctors had wanted him to stay in the Portland VA Hospital for his dehydration. But he wrote “Boise” on his notebook. He wanted to go home. A place of comfort, respite, if any were to be found. The doctor finally agreed to let my mom drive him the 450 miles to the VA Hospital in Boise and check him in. She drove through the drenching rain having to stop repeatedly to fix the windshield wipers. My amazing parents spent the last night of their 33 years together in an old roadside motel just west of Pendleton, Oregon. You just never know where the road you’re traveling is going to end up. Dad couldn’t breathe while laying down any longer so he slept in a recliner, upright. I still have the handwritten notes he wrote to the doctors and family that last afternoon. It is incredible to trace his journey by reading scribbled notes. That evening ,carbon dioxide began building up in his body. “Your husband is in critical condition and probably won’t live through the night” the nurse told my mom in the hallway outside his room. “Call your family together.” How could this be? Can’t we just put in a feeding tube…that should take care of it. Did he actually hear them saying that he wouldn’t make it through the night? His last words on paper: “I have to go to the bathroom….pee….it’s hot.” My brother and my mom were on either side of the recliner that my father was resting in. They sort of “looked at each other” at 10pm and their tired eyes told each other that he wasn’t breathing any longer. Lewis was gone. Damn that wretched Lou Gehrig’s Disease….it would never haunt him again. I walked back to my room in the warm wind just as the sun was making it’s way up over England. I’m glad it wasn’t raining that morning. I returned home the very next day. All of the way back across the globe to where I’d just come from a few days earlier.

He lay in his Navy uniform, glasses in place, and hands folded just so. You wouldn’t have believed the red, white, and blue flowers that were jam-packed into the small viewing room. The morning of his funeral, I took the car to get it washed….well, at least that’s what I used as my excuse to go, by myself, for one last visit with my father. I slipped into the Alden-Waggoner Funeral Home, turned left, and down the hall where he and I had a chat. I kissed his cold hands that had worked so hard for 62 years. And I leaned into the wooden box as far as I dared and hugged his face as tightly as I could. I thought it may break….no, wait, that’s my heart. That blip in history, my friends, will wring water from my eyes forever. The rest of the day was spent with 500 of his dearest friends at his completely overwhelming funeral--45 minutes for their long, wan faces to file past his casket. The moment or two before the lid was closed permanently is one moment of time that etches itself in my memory. “Wait,“ I wanted to shout. I would never see him again. Never. And, that was it. The lid closed and locked. His essential life lessons to me were over. Class was dismissed. There were so many of his fellow Navy men and women who volunteered to salute him that day that they had to turn them down. His impact on the people of this earth was dramatic in a horribly simplistic way. As the seven rifles cracked three times with their 21-gun salute, we jumped…but in silence…on the hillside above Boise that spring afternoon with the wind blowing. It still blows there today. The flag was folded with precision by the Navy and rested gently on my mother’s lap. As we drove away, my determined and self-assured mom staring, almost glaring, in silence--her voice broke, the wind seemingly sucked out of her lungs, and she sobbed. “I told him to wait for me but he couldn’t.”

My father never met a stranger. His infectious smile broke across the deepest of divides. I have no idea whether he knew about my sexuality or not. I have no regrets. None. I do wish that I’d done more to open myself up to him…not only in the last few short years…but throughout my whole fleeting lifetime. I wish I’d allowed him to see me for who I truly am. Time is short, my friends. Very. Don’t waste it. I wish that he’d been able to know me as a gay man….his gay son. The man that I know I am today. His spirit lives on in me, that I know. I find myself thinking like him, acting like him, even, possibly, looking like him. And, in the greatest of honors, I now use his name for my own when I can. He would be proud, I know he would. I can see his smile, his crooked teeth, hear his bright laughing voice, and feel his positive energy even today. I loved him dearly. My world isn’t the same without him in it. But in some crazy, unexplainable way, it is. He lives on in me….and that, my dear comrades, makes my journey on this earth complete.

My Dad Part 2 -- It's a Great Day

Part 1 -- Impact of Childhood Lessons

"Mommie told me in her letter today that you cryed because daddy was gone. Son that makes daddy sad & yet happy to know that you miss me, because I also miss you very much. I even got a few tears in my eyes when I read it. Anyway I do love you." (See pic at left.)

My dad had two heart attacks in his early 50s. So, when his unexplainable crying and laughing started, we thought it was unusual…but attributed it to something with his health and heart. I remember one night as we all were watching some funny movie as a family and he started crying. He couldn't explain it and we all looked at him like he was crazy. There were two things that happened to his physical body that made us know that something was up: Uncontrolled fasciculations (muscle twitching) and loss of muscle (like the little muscle that is in your hand between your thumb and first finger….his disappeared). Doctors tried for more than a year to try and figure out what was happening. Test after test. Go see this doctor, go see that one. It was in the summertime when my mom called me from the VA Hospital in Portland. “It’s not good news,” she said. After one final test where they stick needles in every single one of your nerves, they all came out “negative”….there was no nerve activity in any of the places they tested. “He has a motor neuron disease,” or Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Now, I don’t know if you’ve known anyone with LGD or not; but I don’t think, in fact I know, that we had no idea what horrible, wild times were yet to come. It is a disease that destroys all muscles in your body. But your mind stays intact. His arms became nothing but the skinniest pieces of flesh you’ve ever seen. The muscles in his neck…the ones that you use to hold up your head….disappeared. His head rested as low as it could, all fallen over to the side. He couldn’t hold his head up. And his tongue (don’t forget, it’s a muscle too) stopped working. He couldn’t speak the last nine months or so and he couldn’t eat the last few months either. It took him, literally, hours to force a bowl of applesauce down. And it was always done with choking, spitting up, and gagging. He would get the most scared look deep in his eyes. And we all stood around, trying not to stare, as he gagged and couldn’t breathe….day after day. We finally had to get a suction device to get the food and excess saliva out of his throat. I spent many an hour, as did my mom, holding his head up with my left hand while I ran the suction tube down his throat….trying to help him….desperate in our attempts to make him comfortable. One day, I watched him struggle to use his electric razor. I asked him if I could help him and he nodded “yes.” So, just like the suction device, I held his head up with one hand and ran the razor across his sagging, gray face with the other. This became an afternoon ritual….I would come home from work and the razor would be waiting. He would hold it up to me, smile, and I would kneel down next to his chair until he said to stop. Sometimes, many times in fact, it’s the smallest of gestures that bring the greatest rewards.

And I’ll never forget the first time that he was not able to speak to me on the telephone. I was traveling the summer of 1993.….in New Jersey that particular day…..at a Ramada Inn just outside of New York City. I had finished an evening concert on the 4th of July, his birthday. I called home that humid evening from my hotel room. Everyone in Idaho was having a picnic as we always did for his birthday. I knew that there would be cake, home made ice cream, balloons….the whole lot. But this night, my mom said, “Your dad isn’t able to speak any longer.” It had been coming on for a while now. It had begun with him sounding like he was drunk….slurring his speech. In fact, a customer of his had mistakenly thought that he had been drunk in the grocery store where he worked. And she had reported him to the store management saying that “You’ve got a drunk man working in the meat department.” So, he retired. To this day, I try not to cast judgment at situations I know little about. So, back to my phone call from New Jersey: My mom held the phone to his ear and told me to start talking. And I did. I told him how much I loved him and what a good time I was having on my concert tour. I told him that I missed him. And, of course, I said “Happy Birthday.” All I could hear was his grunting….trying his best to formulate a word or two. But, it didn’t happen….ever again. From then on, he wrote everything down. And I still have those journals today. All of his day-to-day conversations. I cried and cried that night….as I am today as I write. It was one of the most horrible nights of my life. I would never hear his voice again. Except in the recesses of my heart and mind.

My dad took my brother and I fishing several times in the last year or so. We would pile in the Jeep and leave town early, stopping for breakfast an old dirty diner alongside the freeway. After breakfast, we continued on, north of Weiser, Idaho, along the Snake River to his favorite spot. I hated fishing. But it didn’t really matter. The Union Pacific trains would roar by us at more than 70 MPH as we sat along the river, lines in the water, waiting. I remember my dad slipping and falling as he made his way down to the river -- his legs and arms had begun to lose their tone and strength. Stumbling became a normal part of daily life. So, here we sat. Me watching while my brother and dad fished. The ugliest catfish you’ve ever seen coming up out of that river hooked on the end of the line. My dad would unhook them and hold them up for the whole world to see and a smile from ear to ear on his face. He was totally content. The day was complete. The rain began and we piled back into the Jeep and drove down the dirt road a ways. No boats today. Too cold and windy. We sat there in the rain, running the Jeep to keep the heater going. To this day, one of my most favorite of life’s moments was about to happen, and I didn’t even know it. You know, they can come out of anywhere. At moments of least expectancy. Dad reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out two identical light blue envelopes. One with my brother’s name on it and one with mine. They were identical cards….and they were birthday cards. Neither one of our birthdays were close. Dad had crossed off all of the birthday references and had hand written in “great day.” The card went like this:

“Love on your great day and always. Though you’ve always known we’re interested in everything you do, maybe you don’t realize, Son, how proud we are of you. So, this seems like a fine chance to combine a little praise with these loving great day wishes for the happiest of days.”

And then, in his own handwriting, he had written: “This is just for you because you are such a great Son and you mean so much to me. I love you. Your Dad.” He had enclosed $200 in each of our cards. We left the river that day with tears in our eyes and “great day” cards in our pockets. I still have mine. You'll see it in the picture below. And, you know what, my dad was right. It was a great day.

My Dad Part 1 -- Impact of Childhood Lessons

My father always took care of our family and its needs. He was caring, kind, and worked very hard all of his life as a meat cutter. His education ended at the 8th grade. He took us camping nearly every weekend all summer long. We had nothing fancy like a trailer. But we had a huge old sheepherder’s tent. We spent many a summer night in that tent. I remember the last thing at night as he would make sure we were all tucked in our sleeping bags and then he would blow out the lantern. The flame would linger momentarily in the mantle and then, pop….it would be gone. Dark and just the sound of the water in the river. I also remember waking up in the cold mornings to the smell of coffee in the old beat-up coffee pot on the camp stove and my parents getting ready to fix us breakfast.

On some Saturdays, I would go to work with him at the grocery store and help out in the meat department (it’s no wonder I’m nearly a vegetarian today). I would stand on an upside-down milk crate so I was tall enough to wrap the packages of meat. I stocked the meat counter, put the price labels on each package, and took great care to make the coffee in the break room just right for the store employees. The more I think about it, not much has changed. He thought the world of me and was so proud when I was with him. I’ll never, ever, forget his smile….ear to ear….and consistent.

When I was close to 14, he said to me one day: “I’d like to take you to dinner. You pick the place and we’ll go.” He said later that he knew there was a problem when I got out the Idaho state road map and started looking….not in town, but for another city! I guess the travel bug had bitten me early in my life. I put my finger on a town I’d never been to: Twin Falls. And we went….just the two of us. A two-and-one-half hour drive from Boise. We had dinner at George K’s Chinese restaurant. I think it’s still there. On the way home, it was late and dark. He pulled the car over to the side of the freeway and said, “I think I’d like for you to drive us home tonight.” What? I don’t even have a license yet? But he knew that I’d already been sneaking in a drive or two when he and mom would leave the house. So, I drove 120 miles to Boise, in the dark, just he and I. You know, there are things that come and go in your life, or those that you’d just as soon forget. But this isn't one of them. I call those mile markers. Places to mark every long and happy mile of our lives.

I tell you, we had a ball growing up. I’ll never know for sure, but I think that my father wished, in some ways, that I was more “manly” and that I took a bigger interest in the things he was involved in. I remember helping him build a large shed behind our house -- roofing it, nailing what seemed like a thousand nails. It felt like a million bucks being with him and helping. He never gave me any indication that he questioned my sexual identity. But, that was the way he was with everyone. It just plain old didn't matter what you did or who you were. He was always your friend and would drop all he was doing to help you out. There were no limits or conditions attached. I can only hope that I’m half the man he was. Able to smile in any storm -- give of myself to help out anyone who needs it -- and have the energy and determination to make this life something special.

The Orlando That Disney Forgot

UPDATE: Here's the Video Evidence of the Evening.....


After flying all night and a fitful little nap, Keith from Sorted Lives picked me up for a very nice lunch at the City Market...we sat outside, took in lots of eye candy, and it was like we'd been friends forever. We both had Brett from Spider's Web on our minds--and we still do. The walk around the lake was excellent (despite him trying to get me into either (1) the bushes or (2) to lay horizontally on a park bench (see the pics). We dusted ourselves off, reapplied our makup, and went on a driving tour of the great neighborhoods of old Orlando. We did do drive-bys of the five or six gay bars that Orlando has to offer. (He wanted to go in....I said "No, I'm not that kind of girl.") We joined MiKell from I Deal With It at my hotel and then headed to dinner at TuTu Tango with Kevin from Actorschmactor, Eric from Mid-Afternoon Snack, and Mike from .alt>Mike. (You can see each of their pictures and stories from that night on their sites....I hope you'll check them out....the rest of my pictures are HERE. Keith happened to know Gigi who ended up being our waitress....and Kevin got himself into a little trouble with her, as the pics will quite clearly identify. The place was filled with Flamenco dancers and the loudest music you've ever heard. We also called and left a voice message for the Jimmi and Dan Variety Cast which I'm sure will come back to haunt us. These guys all treated me so perfectly...like friends who'd known each other for years. I felt like a real southern girl who was having the red carpet rolled out for her. They did everything except open the carriage door for me. I really appreciated the chance to meet each of them. They were not half as bad as I'd read about in the Orlando Correctional Facility Work Release Program publication. Thank you guys for making me feel so welcome and for taking the time out of your busy schedules to have dinner together. You're all awesome and I believe a repeat performance is definitely mandatory (provided they'll allow us to all be in the same location at the same time again). By the way, explain to me again how we drank $87 worth of margaritas? I'm still confused. I also shot some pics on the way home of Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Adams in Washington state and took some kind of cool night shots of the flower cherry trees.

I'm Trying!......Stay Tuned

Hi Kids....I'm trying desperately to get all of my pictures uploaded from my whirlwind trip to Orlando (got a new uploader....and it's given me fits). I've also got house guests and we're getting ready for a huge weekend too. Plus, I'm getting the series ready to run on my Dad. On top of all of that, I'm TIRED. Up for 20 hours yesterday after going with only a few hours of sleep in Orlando....those bad boys kept me up all day and night. We had a total blast. Everyone I met was amazing and wonderful and welcomed me with such great warmth, beauty and wisdom (OK, enough of the BS......suffice it to say we had a bitchin' time). I promise a full pic post later today. THANK YOU TO ALL OF MY ORLANDO BUDDIES FOR YOUR TIME AND FRIENDSHIP!