My 40th Pride

This Pride season has felt strangely similar to my first in 1982. Standing together, standing strong, standing for All, demanding the basic right to exist. To be recognized and seen as human beings, deserving the most basic of human rights, remains our basic goal. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

When I moved West in 2019, the progress Pride flag had made its debut.

http://www.KGW.com

For the last three years this version of the Pride flag has been ubiquitous to the Portland/SW Washington metro area. It was a natural instinct to do a little research

http://www.bbc.co.uk

Quite a history lesson for me, I figured others didn’t know as much either. This new Progress Pride flag I feel, is our perfect symbol! Starting on the left I see Light- the pure light from which All emerges. From that light the energies of , what we currently call masculine (blue) and feminine (pink), begin to form.

Brown and Black for me, represent the spectrum of our skin color upon which all reside. This first section as arrows pointing forward represents the entirely of humanity in its quest forward toward enlightenment.

The rainbow colors continue to represent all the diversity of our race. The one race we are- Human.

This is my flag, a flag that holds the potential of the human race to live together with all our diversity!

Considering the Supreme Court ruling yesterday and the demonstrations across our country today, we are going to need a uniting symbol. There is so much hate in the world searching for a cause. Love needs to stand up to the mounting hatred we face.

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My Spiritual Journey to Washington

It’s been three years since I packed everything; husband, cat and car, into a 38 foot Motorhome for a journey West. So much had brought me to that moment. In the prior three years (most documented on this blog): I witnessed my life crumble into ruin, old demons creep in stealthily and depression crashing along with major anxiety as icing…

I stood before the congregation of the Battle Ground Community UMC on Sunday, my new spiritual home. I was there to tell the story of my Spiritual Journey. I had five minutes, a lot had to be omitted. Here I elaborate that Witness unabridged. Let’s begin at the start!

I was conceived Catholic. From Birth to College, Catholicism was my faith. I was baptized surrounded by the family my parents brought together, Irish Catholics & Slavic Catholics. As soon as I received my First Holy Communion I became an altar-boy. I served proudly and proficiently way past Confirmation. I was on my way to becoming a priest. My mother was instrumental in more than my Catholic upbringing. She was also responsible for my love of books, reading and nature, along with the importance of love and family. She continually reminded me that “God does not make Junk!” We spent summers in the woods and the winters in Scouts. I loved being with nature.

Everything changed for me at puberty, when strange feelings started to happen. While living in Riverview, Florida when I was 16, I overheard a discussion my parents were having with a Seminarian. Like I said, Very Catholic. He was trying to come to terms with the amount of sexual activity that took place between the guys in Seminary. I was shocked! If this activity was a sin, as preached in church, then why did God let it happen to priests learning The Way? I struggled greatly with this.

The priesthood was immediately out! I fell back on my desire to study Theatre Arts. After graduation (the day I came out to myself), I relocated to Winter Park, Florida for College. I started my life as an openly gay man, as open as one could be in 1981. I came out to my parents via letter the following Spring. My mother’s instinct kicked in as she and my father immediately drove to Rollins College to take me to the Seminary. They were open mouthed when I reminded them of how rampant homosexuality was in the Seminary! “Why” Mom anguished in tears? I replied – “because God doesn’t make junk!”

The years between college and meeting Ezra were another life, in another time and not relevant here. So let’s fast forward to 1998. The year everything changed…

To be continued

3/3 – a valley rainbow in three parts

The Opening Night Excitation

To say my parents loved “The Big Bang Theory” isn’t the factor. The anomaly is, my husband and I had never watched an entire episode during its First Run. For eight years with every visit to our home Mom and Dad came with a new comparison of us to Leonard & Sheldon. Then they would plead with us to watch the show with them. And for eight years we never took them up.

Dad’s favorite drinking cup

During COVID lockdown, we finally decided to binge The Big Bang Theory. Thanks to HBOMax, we’ve watched 276 shows so far. I calculated the last show Mom & Dad most likely watched was the episode when Amy & Sheldon had their first Coital encounter. They missed out on the last 3 seasons, which included the Big wedding. My dad would have found Hamill officiating the wedding, fascinating and delighted in Shatner’s D&D stint in the final season.

Watching and laughing this past year, has been like having my parents here with us, sharing the laughs all over again! We have truly felt them every step of the way. I want these last three episodes to last forever. What was I thinking?! I can reset the universe and start all over again, with a Big Bang💥!

A Carole for Wyatt

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Wood

All the Creatures were sleeping just as they should

Yet, Down by the River in an RV so Bright

Were “These Guys” Celebrating long into the Night

Wyatt ”twas resting, down for his long winter’s nap. He was tucked tight in his bed

And still with his hat

When suddenly “these guys” raised such a clatter, Wyatt sprang from his den to see what was the matter

And What, with his sleepy eyes did this adventuring Bear see? Why, Michael & Ezra, singing, laughing, filled with such delight and glee

Wyatt asked, For what is the ruckus you two now do make?

I’m trying to hibernate for goodness sake!

They responded, “it’s Christmas,Wyatt! It’s something we do. And now that you are awake you can celebrate too!

Celebrate?! He exclaimed with frustration & distain, “I only want sleep so, Hurry! Explain!

“What is this Christmas, what is it that you shout? Why are you wassailing and prancing about?

Christmas, “these guys” said, is when we get together with family and friends.

We remember good times and forget about the weather. We sing songs, we decorate trees, we make a great fuss. And every year we do this! Yes, most of us!

Wyatt asked about his brother Wylie, sister Wynona too

“Is the something they would celebrate? Is this something they’d do?

That depends on our sisters, Debbie & Teresa! Their traditions might be caroling, exchanging presents or even eating pizza!

So, with Christmas explained

The trio were sure they were done. But a Christmas story isn’t over until someone says

God Bless Us, Every One!

See Me!

“Don’t shove your gay down my throat”, I’ve heard some form of this disparage all my life. For decades, it appears, my very existence has been a “shove down” somebody’s throat. How can being my “true self” be that abhorrent to another person?

On the outside I have the appearance of a middle-aged white man of privilege. And while I have ridden the wave of advantage, like most who look similar, it stops as soon as my true self is known. I am instantaneously ostracized the moment my husband escorts me to the company picnic, marginalized and tossed to the bottom of the minority ladder. My own parents did too, initially.

So recently, when two of my cousins posted the same Facebook meme with similar words (heading above) as the first line, I was stunned! I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut. I hope they did not realize how hurtful reading those words would be for me when they decided to Share that post.

It gets me to thinking, do they truly see me at all?

a minute in the Garden

**This was an un-published draft- posting it today**

The Florida Spring is in full bloom as the Garden approaches it’s second anniversary. We’ve been busy cutting & clearing away the death and decay of winter, leaving bare and exposed branches ready to sprout in new growth. Signs already appear as the Caladiums sprout their colorful elephant ears.

I captured this 60 seconds when all was finished for the day. Listening to and starting with the restarted fountain. The view is not unlike a butterfly as it discovers the Garden. Flying & flitting through the foliage and statutes. A perfect minute with Mother. Her warmth and love felt all around. The Garden ready to explode with growth.Take a minute and step into the Memory Garden, view the vid below. Let the sights and sounds give you at that one moment of calm so needed in our daily lives. It’s perfect therapy when the weight of the world seems to be whirling around us all. WWIT?! Feel the love from the Memory Garden.

Third Time’s the Charm

What was I Thinking three years ago when I was faced with losing my Mother?! I surely wasn’t Thinking that I’d lose over half my Family since then. At the time I was numb to the thought that my Mother was not going to survive until Mother’s Day. I was Thinking of my Father who was losing the love of his life and the dreams they had together. I was Thinking of my Sisters, Nieces and Nephews, some of whom this was their First Momentous Loss. I truly didn’t think of my Own Grief.

What was I Thinking three years ago when I started this Blog?! I began creating it in Grief to honor my Mother’s memory. She loved to read, and she loved reading what I wrote. The Blog soon developed into a tool of communication with my Father as we learned to live together again. He’d read what I wrote, and we’d discuss it at length over Dinner the next evening. I then used it to express my Frustrations as my Dad slipped away from us later that year. 

Three years have passed, and I still Think of Them. Not a day goes by when one or the other (or both) are not mentioned in casual conversation. Everywhere I go I see them, remember them and miss them. Tampa Bay has been my home for over 50 years. Several times through the decades I’ve tried to leave, only to return. But, now the reason to stay is gone, this goodbye is the Final One. I long for cool breezy evenings along the Columbia River somewhere near the base of Mount Hood in Oregon. The Journey begins first of May. I told my Mother and Father both that Ezra and I had been Thinking of making this move. They each approved. Yet, they didn’t know that we’d take a Clue from their book and use a Class A RV to make that Trek. Then again, maybe They did. What Was I Thinking?!?

#MothersDay #Grief #WWIT?!?

9/11 Terrorists used Airplanes – “American-Terrorists” use Guns.

Let’s Recap…

We Americans are consistently reminded that “the terrorists” want to destroy our way of life…

Yet, since the coordinated airplane attacks on September 11, 2001, American citizens have used guns to target and kill; Children (Sandy Hook Elementary), African Americans, (Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church), the LGBTQ community (Pulse nightclub), Country Music fans (Route 91 Harvest Festival), and now Jewish worshipers (Tree of Life Congregation Synagogue).

In addition to these despicable tragedies; movie theaters, malls, and grocery stores have also been places where American citizens have killed each other.

So if we can create an entire security system (TSA) after one day of Airplane violence, why can’t we do something to curb 17 years of escalating gun violence?! WWIT?!

Acorsiquacks

Today begins in grief. . .  It is the first day one of my oldest friends, Lynn Bliss, begins her life without her mother. Diane Chartier passed away 3.18.2018 in the early afternoon. She had been battling pneumonia most of the winter.   Lynn, my heart weighs heavy with yours and feels the emptiness you now know. WWIT?!

Diane was a very close friend with my mother, Diane. The two D’s, Diane ‘squared’, (D²); are together again exploring their limits in heaven. They met sometime around the bicentennial (July of 1976) and remained mates for life; over forty years of friendship. Our two families became very close and remain as such all these years later. These two women climbed mountains together, specifically Standing Indian off the Appalachian Trail in 1982.  

My mother has her best friend again, in that place beyond this life.  I wish them many great adventures together. One day we will all join our family, friends and loved ones in that ‘place’. Until that day arrives, we remember and honor those already passed with tributes and ceremony. Today I celebrate the vibrant spark of a woman who pushed herself to make it to the top of a mountain and stand triumphant with fist in air. Diane Chartier, you will always be remembered.  

“Groundhog Day” @ Grandma’s

Grief, the foul bedfellow I unwillingly welcomed into my life last year, remains. I didn’t have time to dismiss it before another Grief arrived. Those two have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of a third. This associate should have arrived long before the other two. Yet arrives now bringing sorrow, heartache and depression. WWIT?! Juggling three various stages of grief is rubbing my soul raw!

Grandmother is not long for this world. No amount of prayers will reverse the natural aging process. The mind she held to so tightly in her arthritic hands, has finally escaped. Each day begins anew, repeating itself as the seven days combine into one. As her physical mind diminishes her past mind has been discovered in her journals. From 1973 until last month, she documented her life more closely than High Septon Maynard on Games of Thrones. The first thing she mentions each day is her hands, “I can’t use them anymore.” I promise her, “my hands will write for you now.” But first these hands must escort grandma into the gloaming.

Greeting death for the third time has me weary, facing the abyss this often isn’t safe for the soul. I know and see the Light at the end of the . . . “It’s A Small World” and the boats have backed up and no one is moving… Eventually these events will be reduced to the hum of an obnoxiously infectious song. Yet, not until I have witnessed my Bopchie’s last breath. While she may be ready for this final journey, I timorously face it with her.