One of the things Ricki used to scream at Lucy was~ You gotta lot of 'splainin' to do Lucy!
Over the years I've started blogging several times and for whatever reason stopped.
I've saved copies of these blogs and since I think they are sorta interesting I've reposted them on this blog. That 'splains' how I went from just one blog to so many. I hope you enjoy them and if so moved will post comments on them.
I hope you're having a great summer.
Take care and stay cool.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Thirty Years Ago
I find it fascinating that how different 30 years can look from which ever end you're looking. When I was 28 looking ahead 30 years was looking a lifetime away, but at 58 looking back 30 years is like looking at last Christmas.
It was 30 years ago this week that I left Salt Lake City and moved to Tucson, Arizona. Until I moved to Tucson I'd lived most of my life in Salt Lake. Salt Lake was a different city 30 years ago- much more conservative, much more provincial.
I came out some five years earlier and was slowly learning to celebrate it. After I came out to my parents and I took them to an anti-Anita Bryant Rally (where they were tear gassed for the only time in their lives) and the Holy Union of two lesbian friends (the "groom", a stripper from Park City, wore a tuxedo; the "bride" wore her mother's wedding dress). I had also come out to local leaders in the Mormon Church and their response was formal excommunication (but that's a story for another blog). My parents made friends with my only gay friends Gene and John (two older men who kept me somewhat sane).
I was living on my own, in my own apartment, depressed as hell, and I had just lost my job (even cab companies didn't want "queers" working for them). Every month I'd buy The Advocate, a popular monthly gay magazine published in Los Angeles. Today it is a respectable glbt publication, but back in the 1970s it was a trashy gay "rag" best known for it's pink section of classified sex ads. I answered one from a guy who lived near Tucson and was looking for somebody to help him with his nursery business selling plants at swap meets. We agreed to give it a try.
I didn't tell anyone I was leaving. I was sick of my life. I just wanted out so the morning after my parents 33rd wedding anniversary I walked out of my apartment. Locking the door, I shoved the key back under the door and headed off to the Greyhound Bus Station. I'd been lent $100 by the pastor of the Newman Center to help with rent, I used it to buy a bus ticket. Later I found out that Gene and John had cleared out my apartment and packed it all in my parent's basement.
The rest of the summer I lived in Arivaca, a tiny ranching community with my "friend" from The Advocate. By the end of the summer we knew it wasn't going to work so I moved into Tucson. No way was I ever going back to Salt Lake City not if I could help it!
Sometime I'll tell all about my time in Tucson, but for now as I look back over the last 30 years I am so glad I left Salt Lake City. I rarely went back before my Mother's death in 2000 and haven't been back since. Salt Lake has changed so much but it isn't home. I learned early on the truth of the old saw about home being where the heart is. I carried home from Salt Lake City to Tucson, to California and now home is here in Baltimore. I've gathered friends around me you are my family. I am so blest.
It was 30 years ago this week that I left Salt Lake City and moved to Tucson, Arizona. Until I moved to Tucson I'd lived most of my life in Salt Lake. Salt Lake was a different city 30 years ago- much more conservative, much more provincial.
I came out some five years earlier and was slowly learning to celebrate it. After I came out to my parents and I took them to an anti-Anita Bryant Rally (where they were tear gassed for the only time in their lives) and the Holy Union of two lesbian friends (the "groom", a stripper from Park City, wore a tuxedo; the "bride" wore her mother's wedding dress). I had also come out to local leaders in the Mormon Church and their response was formal excommunication (but that's a story for another blog). My parents made friends with my only gay friends Gene and John (two older men who kept me somewhat sane).
I was living on my own, in my own apartment, depressed as hell, and I had just lost my job (even cab companies didn't want "queers" working for them). Every month I'd buy The Advocate, a popular monthly gay magazine published in Los Angeles. Today it is a respectable glbt publication, but back in the 1970s it was a trashy gay "rag" best known for it's pink section of classified sex ads. I answered one from a guy who lived near Tucson and was looking for somebody to help him with his nursery business selling plants at swap meets. We agreed to give it a try.
I didn't tell anyone I was leaving. I was sick of my life. I just wanted out so the morning after my parents 33rd wedding anniversary I walked out of my apartment. Locking the door, I shoved the key back under the door and headed off to the Greyhound Bus Station. I'd been lent $100 by the pastor of the Newman Center to help with rent, I used it to buy a bus ticket. Later I found out that Gene and John had cleared out my apartment and packed it all in my parent's basement.
The rest of the summer I lived in Arivaca, a tiny ranching community with my "friend" from The Advocate. By the end of the summer we knew it wasn't going to work so I moved into Tucson. No way was I ever going back to Salt Lake City not if I could help it!
Sometime I'll tell all about my time in Tucson, but for now as I look back over the last 30 years I am so glad I left Salt Lake City. I rarely went back before my Mother's death in 2000 and haven't been back since. Salt Lake has changed so much but it isn't home. I learned early on the truth of the old saw about home being where the heart is. I carried home from Salt Lake City to Tucson, to California and now home is here in Baltimore. I've gathered friends around me you are my family. I am so blest.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Kipling, Cleaning & War
'tis been a most peculiar day. It's been raining most of the day with tornado and storm warnings.
Last night I had dinner with my friends Mark and Steven. We three "old maids" all over 50 and what lives we've lived!
There was a party here at the house last night Michael (my house mate's "son") is home on leave for a few days and staying here with Josh. They and their friends are the quietest partyers I know.
With the rain we've stayed in all day. Jazz of course kept me in sight. I had made a list the other day of things I wanted to do to clean "house" for Beltaine (May 1st) including simplifying the small altar and "shrine" I've set up on the shelves where I keep my foldable clothes. As I've let things get cluttered I've found myself distracted in my devotions. I already feel better with it tidy and it's evening candle lit.
I also figured that with the rain I would water the house plants. I've been meaning to go through my closet and clothes and simplify. I've so many things that I've grown out of.....tee shirts, jeans, shirts, and out dated useless toiletries. The clothes, for the most part, are going to Goodwill. The toiletries and some tee shirts I gave to Karen. I'm tired but it's a good tiredness, I feel like I've made some progress. Tomorrow more rain so I'll probably work on the computer desk. We'll see how long I can keep things up before chaos reigns supreme.
As I write this I'm also listening to Masterpiece Theater, the current program is "My Boy Jack" about Rudyard Kipling's son Jack and his volunteering for the Army at the beginning of WWI. He's been wounded and captured and his parents (especially his mother) are struggling to find him. He was 17 and already a second lieutenant (his father had to give permission for him to go overseas). He tried so hard to meet his father's expectations ...one of his men is just explaining how he was killed trying to help his men (all shown in flashbacks). His father is accepting his responsibility in his son's death. It's only a TV show about a war waged 90 years ago, but it is so current. The grief and horror of war without the pomp and glory. I know Karen is terrified for Michael who will probably head to Afganistan-Iraq around Christmas. War is so god awful... why can't our leaders see it...taste it...smell it...hate it?
Last night I had dinner with my friends Mark and Steven. We three "old maids" all over 50 and what lives we've lived!
There was a party here at the house last night Michael (my house mate's "son") is home on leave for a few days and staying here with Josh. They and their friends are the quietest partyers I know.
With the rain we've stayed in all day. Jazz of course kept me in sight. I had made a list the other day of things I wanted to do to clean "house" for Beltaine (May 1st) including simplifying the small altar and "shrine" I've set up on the shelves where I keep my foldable clothes. As I've let things get cluttered I've found myself distracted in my devotions. I already feel better with it tidy and it's evening candle lit.
I also figured that with the rain I would water the house plants. I've been meaning to go through my closet and clothes and simplify. I've so many things that I've grown out of.....tee shirts, jeans, shirts, and out dated useless toiletries. The clothes, for the most part, are going to Goodwill. The toiletries and some tee shirts I gave to Karen. I'm tired but it's a good tiredness, I feel like I've made some progress. Tomorrow more rain so I'll probably work on the computer desk. We'll see how long I can keep things up before chaos reigns supreme.
As I write this I'm also listening to Masterpiece Theater, the current program is "My Boy Jack" about Rudyard Kipling's son Jack and his volunteering for the Army at the beginning of WWI. He's been wounded and captured and his parents (especially his mother) are struggling to find him. He was 17 and already a second lieutenant (his father had to give permission for him to go overseas). He tried so hard to meet his father's expectations ...one of his men is just explaining how he was killed trying to help his men (all shown in flashbacks). His father is accepting his responsibility in his son's death. It's only a TV show about a war waged 90 years ago, but it is so current. The grief and horror of war without the pomp and glory. I know Karen is terrified for Michael who will probably head to Afganistan-Iraq around Christmas. War is so god awful... why can't our leaders see it...taste it...smell it...hate it?
B16
Today the pope went home. After almost a week B16 left from JFK airport for Rome. As I was cleaning today I had the TV on listening and watching the coverage of his Mass in New York City. I still love the pomp and ritual and music but it was fascinating to be looking at this visit through the eyes of disbelief. When JP2 was here a few years back I was post-catholic but not post-christian. I was pleased that Benedict faced the clergy sexual abuse head on but he doesn't recognize the role his bishops played. The shuffling of priests to keep them out of trouble at the expense of the children these men abused. One of the victims who met with the pope tried to tell him that there was a "middle management" problem but it seems that that part of the problem will continue to be ignored.
I am so pleased I am no longer a part of that community.
I am so pleased I am no longer a part of that community.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Three Strong Women
My father (and I) came from a family of very strong women. Women who with their husbands, sons and fathers settled the American Great Basin in the 19th century. So often the history of the settling of the West focuses on the men and gives short shrift to the women. In our family (and if truth be told most others) the women were just as strong as the men folk.
This is the story of three women who referred to themselves as "The Three Sisters" although they were actually sisters-in-law.
It was childhood tragedy that brought them together.
Lymeda Murphy, the oldest, was my grandmother. Born in December, 1885, the daughter of Jim and Addaline Murphy. She was 16 years old when her mother died. Her father wasn't able to care for her and her brothers and sisters so she was sent to live and work on the Just family ranch near Firth, Idaho.
Kate Reid, the youngest, was 4 when her mother died. She and her older brothers, Jim and Rufus Ezekial, also went to live and work on the Just family spread.
Agnes Just, the boss' daughter, was between them in age. These became the Three Sisters.
When she was 19 Lymeda married Kate's oldest brother Jim and shortly after that Agnes married Rufus Ezekial. Kate, in turn, married another local boy, Bob Blair. It wasn't until they started their own family that Lymeda and Jim moved to their own place, but the "Three Sisters" remained the best of friends.
In the early years of the 20th century women did not wear pants when they went into town. Out on the ranch no one would have known but to go into town would have been just too shocking. Well, never let it be said that Lymeda and Agnes let little things like that get in their way. They once told me about the time the two of them were out horseback riding and decided to go into Firth to pick up supplies at the General Store. They didn't need the wagon so they just rode on into town. Well, talk about scandalized....folks came out and watched them ride through town. Someone went and got their husbands and told the men they had to do something about their wives. Both men just laughed and asked who in town had the nerve to tell Lymeda and Agnes what they could or couldn't do. Nobody that knew them. I guess it helped that they were well liked.
In time my grandmother, Lymeda, became the county's first licensed midwife. At her funeral in 1968 her Mormon Bishop asked the congregation..."If your parents were delivered by her, please stand." "If you were delivered by her please stand," and finally "If she delivered any of your animals, please stand." He then had the family stand and look around....we were the last to stand, hardly anyone was seated.
This is the story of three women who referred to themselves as "The Three Sisters" although they were actually sisters-in-law.
It was childhood tragedy that brought them together.
Lymeda Murphy, the oldest, was my grandmother. Born in December, 1885, the daughter of Jim and Addaline Murphy. She was 16 years old when her mother died. Her father wasn't able to care for her and her brothers and sisters so she was sent to live and work on the Just family ranch near Firth, Idaho.
Kate Reid, the youngest, was 4 when her mother died. She and her older brothers, Jim and Rufus Ezekial, also went to live and work on the Just family spread.
Agnes Just, the boss' daughter, was between them in age. These became the Three Sisters.
When she was 19 Lymeda married Kate's oldest brother Jim and shortly after that Agnes married Rufus Ezekial. Kate, in turn, married another local boy, Bob Blair. It wasn't until they started their own family that Lymeda and Jim moved to their own place, but the "Three Sisters" remained the best of friends.
In the early years of the 20th century women did not wear pants when they went into town. Out on the ranch no one would have known but to go into town would have been just too shocking. Well, never let it be said that Lymeda and Agnes let little things like that get in their way. They once told me about the time the two of them were out horseback riding and decided to go into Firth to pick up supplies at the General Store. They didn't need the wagon so they just rode on into town. Well, talk about scandalized....folks came out and watched them ride through town. Someone went and got their husbands and told the men they had to do something about their wives. Both men just laughed and asked who in town had the nerve to tell Lymeda and Agnes what they could or couldn't do. Nobody that knew them. I guess it helped that they were well liked.
In time my grandmother, Lymeda, became the county's first licensed midwife. At her funeral in 1968 her Mormon Bishop asked the congregation..."If your parents were delivered by her, please stand." "If you were delivered by her please stand," and finally "If she delivered any of your animals, please stand." He then had the family stand and look around....we were the last to stand, hardly anyone was seated.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
"Music hath charms...."
There is some music that has an incredible affect on me. Some have a sentimental attachment, (there are hymns from my childhood that still really move me). But other pieces are just so incredibly beautiful that when I hear them my heart soars (some of Bach's Brandenberg Concerti ). Doesn't matter if there are words it's that glorious sound that does it.
This morning, as I do most mornings, I flipped on the TV to catch Good Morning America to listen to and watch before getting out of bed. The lead story was the death of the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti. As I lay there I felt the tears running down my face soaking my beard. Now I rarely cry at another's death and I don't have a particular attachment to Pavarotti. So why the tears? They were playing his signature aria Nessun Dorma (Puccini's masterpiece from Turandot).
Nessun Dorma is one of those pieces of music that seems to reach into my heart and wring out the tears. I really don't know why. The story is a fantasy tale of a Chinese princess name Turandot. The hero, a Prince has kept his name secret from Turandot who is challenged to learn it by dawn or she will have to marry him. Turandot has decreed that no one can sleep that night, they must discover his name. The Prince's aria begins with Turandot's command "No one sleeps..." (nessun dorma). And ends "Vanish, o night! Set behind the mountains, stars! At daybreak, I shall conquer." In 1990 it was the theme for the World Cup which was hosted by Italy.
I hope you will celebrate the music that moves you. It doesn't matter if the music is classical, rap, R&B or country western. As you listen remember those who brought you that music... the composers, writers, and performers.
This morning, as I do most mornings, I flipped on the TV to catch Good Morning America to listen to and watch before getting out of bed. The lead story was the death of the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti. As I lay there I felt the tears running down my face soaking my beard. Now I rarely cry at another's death and I don't have a particular attachment to Pavarotti. So why the tears? They were playing his signature aria Nessun Dorma (Puccini's masterpiece from Turandot).
Nessun Dorma is one of those pieces of music that seems to reach into my heart and wring out the tears. I really don't know why. The story is a fantasy tale of a Chinese princess name Turandot. The hero, a Prince has kept his name secret from Turandot who is challenged to learn it by dawn or she will have to marry him. Turandot has decreed that no one can sleep that night, they must discover his name. The Prince's aria begins with Turandot's command "No one sleeps..." (nessun dorma). And ends "Vanish, o night! Set behind the mountains, stars! At daybreak, I shall conquer." In 1990 it was the theme for the World Cup which was hosted by Italy.
I hope you will celebrate the music that moves you. It doesn't matter if the music is classical, rap, R&B or country western. As you listen remember those who brought you that music... the composers, writers, and performers.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
My Name is Larry Craig!
It's not really easy having sympathy for Sen. Larry Craig, but strangely enough I do.
Back in the 1970s, when I first came out in Salt Lake City, I was rather well acquainted with all the most popular public rest rooms. I knew how to tap my foot and pass toilet paper notes with the best of them and I was reasonably good at "lewd conduct". Back then if you wanted to meet another man to have sex with you're options were limited. There were no gay community centers, gay student groups, no gay social groups. In Salt Lake there was a really seedy bar "The Radio City Lounge". In many places, like Utah and Idaho, "perverts and known homosexuals", by law, could not have a liquor license. Rumor had it that gay bars were "Mafia" owned and operated. Oh and we also had a municipal bath house, built over a natural hot springs, that was pretty disgusting.
If this was what it meant to be gay is it any wonder that a lot of men denied being gay? If this is all he knows about being gay is it any wonder Larry Craig denies being gay? If our places were reversed I might be the disgraced senator and Larry might very well be sitting here writing this.
As this story has unfolded I have been struck by something that hasn't been mentioned much. Why was Larry Craig arrested? Did he threaten anyone? No. Did he defraud anyone? No. Did he approach anyone underage? No. He was looking for another man he could have consensual sex with. We know that at least one young, attractive vice cop was working the Minneapolis Airport looking for someone to entrap. In some places "lewd conduct" would be considered a "nuisance crime" like littering. He'd be given a ticket and sent on his way. In Minneapolis in addition to the time he spent hanging out in the rest room the officer spent 45 minutes interrogating the senator. It seems to me that it was homophobia feeding on homophobia. It was homophobia that created the crime and it was homophobia that led to Larry Craig being arrested.
So Larry Craig's career as a good Republican Senator has been destroyed. His fellow Republicans have broken speed records distancing themselves from him. One even said that he had committed "the unpardonable sin". This has to be hyperbole, cruising a rest room worse than lying to the American people to take us into war in Iraq?
So what do we, as gay men, do about this man who doesn't want to admit to being one of us? Do we "owe" him anything? No. Should we offer him our friendship and support? Well, perhaps, but I really doubt he'll accept it. But let us offer it anyway. After all do we want to be confused with the "friends" who abandoned him. I don't think so.
Back in the 1970s, when I first came out in Salt Lake City, I was rather well acquainted with all the most popular public rest rooms. I knew how to tap my foot and pass toilet paper notes with the best of them and I was reasonably good at "lewd conduct". Back then if you wanted to meet another man to have sex with you're options were limited. There were no gay community centers, gay student groups, no gay social groups. In Salt Lake there was a really seedy bar "The Radio City Lounge". In many places, like Utah and Idaho, "perverts and known homosexuals", by law, could not have a liquor license. Rumor had it that gay bars were "Mafia" owned and operated. Oh and we also had a municipal bath house, built over a natural hot springs, that was pretty disgusting.
If this was what it meant to be gay is it any wonder that a lot of men denied being gay? If this is all he knows about being gay is it any wonder Larry Craig denies being gay? If our places were reversed I might be the disgraced senator and Larry might very well be sitting here writing this.
As this story has unfolded I have been struck by something that hasn't been mentioned much. Why was Larry Craig arrested? Did he threaten anyone? No. Did he defraud anyone? No. Did he approach anyone underage? No. He was looking for another man he could have consensual sex with. We know that at least one young, attractive vice cop was working the Minneapolis Airport looking for someone to entrap. In some places "lewd conduct" would be considered a "nuisance crime" like littering. He'd be given a ticket and sent on his way. In Minneapolis in addition to the time he spent hanging out in the rest room the officer spent 45 minutes interrogating the senator. It seems to me that it was homophobia feeding on homophobia. It was homophobia that created the crime and it was homophobia that led to Larry Craig being arrested.
So Larry Craig's career as a good Republican Senator has been destroyed. His fellow Republicans have broken speed records distancing themselves from him. One even said that he had committed "the unpardonable sin". This has to be hyperbole, cruising a rest room worse than lying to the American people to take us into war in Iraq?
So what do we, as gay men, do about this man who doesn't want to admit to being one of us? Do we "owe" him anything? No. Should we offer him our friendship and support? Well, perhaps, but I really doubt he'll accept it. But let us offer it anyway. After all do we want to be confused with the "friends" who abandoned him. I don't think so.
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