Your Partner

The best kinds of mornings happen when your partner makes breakfast while you’re reading work email.  It gets better when you shower and start getting dressed but can’t iron because the power cord is cut and your partner helps you solder it back together so you can look spiffy in pressed shirt, tie, and slacks.  This, when your partner isn’t feeling too hot and doesn’t complain or bitch and moan like you yourself are prone to do.  You feel like a million bucks when he tells you how nice you look.

When he checks in on you during the day which is filled with meetings, trainings, and more meetings, you smile when you hear the sound of his voice.  You melt when you hear the excitement and encouragement in his voice because your manuscript was accepted at a writing conference. You’re going, and you know that he’ll be with you every step of the way.

Two Beer Batches

The temperature outside was on the cool side so I moved the chiminea and lit a fire.  In honor of being as lazy as possible and not showering until later, I wore my beannie cap (compliments of monsieur TLC).  I hadn’t shaved in a week.  I couldn’t tell if the cap or my face was more fuzzy.  Scott had moved the heavy burner and kettle to the patio.  Midas kept dropping the ball at our feet, but I didn’t want him too close to the fire or the burner so I had him move away and lay down.  He pouted by turning to face the fence.  When we weren’t looking, he’d roll a ball our way and lay back down but turned to see if we say THE BALL.  Yes Midas, we saw the ball, but we had a mission.

We brewed two batches of beer – ten gallons – roughly 5 gallons apiece.  The first was called ‘Fire in the Hole’.  It was a full-grain mix, which involves mashing and recirculation and specific temperatures, then brewing the wort for an hour, adding hops and clarifier, more hops, then aerating and putting the batch into a carboy to brew.  Whew.  Bad run-on sentence.  The beer will be lighter than a regular stout, but darker than a regular ale.  We hope it tastes good since we’re taking it to a Holiday party on December 19th.  Funny

The second batch was a Honey Stout.  Obviously, there was honey involved:  1.5 pounds.  When the beer is ready, I want to have fresh chocolate chip cookies ready, cooling on the oven… and open up a bottle and have the stout with fresh cookies.  Bitter and sweet, baby.

I thought about taking pictures for all of 2 seconds.  As you can see, laziness won that round.  No pictures, no fingerprints, no evidence, no crime.

Gratitude: Repetition of a theme

I’m posting these quotes from circa 2006, but they still apply, and they still say better than I can say about how I feel about Scott, friends, friends who are family, and family.

Love you.  Mean it.

“Live with intention.
Walk to the edge.
Listen hard.
Practice wellness.
Play with abandon.
L a u g h.
Choose with no regret.
Continue to Learn.
Appreciate your friends.
Do what you love.
Live as if this is all there is.”
-Mary Anne M.B.L. Radmacher

“It’s up to you.
The journey is the prize.”
{seen on a bumpersticker}

“To see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wildflower,
hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour.”
-William Blake

“The best and most beautiful things in the world
cannot be seen or even touched.
They must be felt with the heart.”
-Helen Keller

After the Flood

“What religion or reason
Could drive a man to forsake his lover”
-from Erasure’s “A Little Respect

I left organized religion at an early age:  twelve.  Full disclosure here, my exit was motivated by the bishop who told me to “not come back” because I had been talking during the opening prayer, but I actively chose this wonderfully open-ended imperative as a gift.  My mother was horrified, of course, but by all the gods, I was free of Mormondom.  In my teens, I was already outside of institutions that called homosexuality sinful and wrong.  Like the conversations I had with my parents and family when I was eight (“why am I being baptised to wash away sin if I haven’t done anything yet?”), I asked myself as a young adult how my existence could be evil and wrong?  I looked like my peers.  I acted like my peers.  Frankly, I didn’t see the big deal about being attracted to another guy, and it felt quite natural, not wrong in any way, to be attracted to biceps, butts, and penii.  Sexuality wasn’t something I chose – it just was – like the color of my hazel-green eyes.  By the time I was in my twenties, my religion became my fellow man, with less focus on the peen and an appreciation for (and please pardon the slight pun) the total package of what it is to be a man who loves men.

Ten years ago, I left the social anomoly that is Utah.  Life behind the Zion Curtain is stifled by about 10-15 social years, and closer to 50 if you consider their perceptions of sexuality.  I was done with the returned missionaries, the closeted bishops and brethren, the ex-partners and their extended Mormon families that took great pains to include and exclude us at family gatherings.  As I snidely mentioned to K8 recently, I didn’t have to worry about being “temple worthy”:  the culture was rife with secrets and being secretive, and I had ample experiences helping the Mormon gods-in-training removing their sacred garments to love, man to man, skin to skin.  Naked, closeted, Mormon-man kind of sex.  I figured my “hate the sin” actions were approved and sanctioned, by proxy.  I had zero interest in baptizing the dead because I was fucking the very active and living.  I often wondered how their Sunday mornings went for them.  My own guilt was assuaged.

Here I am, years later, living in the Bay area with my life partner.  We were at the Berkeley Botanical gardens on Sunday morning with thirty other gay men, most of them couples.  We were all openly affectionate, holding hands or an arm across the shoulder of our partners.  It was Berkeley, so none of the families or garden attendees outside of our group even blinked at us.  Most nodded and smiled as we passed.  I remember holding Scott’s hand as we walked under maples, redwoods, cedars and trees from all over the world.  Our guide said several times that there were no accidents in nature (though he obviously never met my family).  I thought on those words when he showed rare cacti that had been cut down by a flood, but had grown back against all odds, somehow growing from the remains of the roots deep in the ground on a sheer slope.  After this battle of Proposition 8, we are not “cut down” or removed.  No.  We belong here as much as anyone else.  We are a part of nature, a part of all the gods’ plans, and we love on against all odds.

Within a canyon that is unique to all the world, containing thirty two acres of lush flora, I had a chance to let rage rest and think on the many blessings since election day.  Yes, blessings.  Gay rights are a now a national conversation.  Societies grow and change and progress when conversations extend beyond immediate communities.  Sexuality is no longer “in the closet” – that topic is out there, loud and clear.  A speaker at the SF rally said something to the effect that “the right wing teach that sexuality is a miracle.  But that miracle, like explaining popcorn, is less a mystery once you explain how it works.”  The social dark ages should have ended with the invention of the printing press – something Mormons should be VERY well versed in, since their founding Prophet was killed for ordering the destruction of printing presses that had or were about to reveal his adulterous activities.  Isn’t irony grand?

More blessings?  The Mormon and Catholic churches tried to control the “moral” conversation and it exploded in their face.  Some of the byproduct of this explosion included an acute examination of their teachings, their business ownership, and their history.  By their fruits ye shall know them, indeed.  Our GLTBQ tribe withstood their flood and grew stronger for it.  We are united and have found our voices and we will not be stifled or trifled.  We’re here.  We’ve always been here.

Three and Five

Today was our third year anniversary since our commitment ceremony.  We’re on our fifth year together.  The pics, in order, are a) a shot of the backyard with guests b) Scott and I just after we got leied c) and a shot of myself and Scott and Lynn at the far side of the pool.  The text of our ceremony is here.

We are in the process of discussing marriage.  Neither of us like my last name, and neither of us are into hyphenated names.  We’ve thought about merging the two, like our about-to-be-redone-completely website, but at the same time we’re willing to wait until we know we really can get married or not.

It could be that we’re both holding out for dowries, too.

Go and Return

Take a week between an old job you should’ve left years before and then add a week’s vacation in which you choose to not travel too far from home.  Get a friend to check on your cat, put your dog at a great boarding place in Fairfield, then take your time driving because the journey is the destination.

Thoughts of your prior life come to you at different times:  when you are drying off from a shower, when you are staring out the window as you’re driving, when you reach for the salt shaker at a restaurant you’ve never been to before.  You don’t know what the future holds and you have no images or ideas of what it looks like.  You dream, you hope, you even pray for the sake of prayer.  You wish upon a star that blazes from prior ages and you let go of everything:  the sadness, the histories, the responsibilities.

The minutes turn into hours and days and those thoughts lessen and you feel your shoulders relax, you feel the tension in your neck melt.  You’re more aware of your body and you can feel where you’ve neglected yourself, but you’re surprised at how quickly you’re getting back into shape.  When you look at your partner, you see your happiness reflected in his smile.  Kiss him, wherever you are, and know that the only thing that matters is being WITH not WHERE.

The drive home will feel longer.  You will reach across the seat and hold his hand.  You’ll pick up your dog who will circle and half-howl and half-bark at the joy of seeing you.  Your cat will ignore you until she’s ready to be acknowledged.  You’ve returned to yourself, the same and completely different.

Nibbles

My family often went camping and fishing during the summers. My first fishing pole was a Fisher Price version – I would have been about three. As I got older, I graduated to a “real” pole, one crafted with increasingly smaller pieces of bamboo past the handle that fit together in metal sockets. There was no reel, only a line of about twenty feet max and the rod. I was content to fling the line into the water and make overlapping rings in the waves with nothing on the hook. From time to time my father would call out to check for a nibble. I was standing on the edge of a lake when something did latch onto the hook and pulled, hard. The rod flew out of my hands and I cried out as the pole went into the lake, floating and bobbing along since it was mostly a wooden rod. My father, at my side, laughed and told me not to worry. He cast out with his line towards the rod, reeled in the line, and cast out again. By god, he had caught my pole with his line and he reeled it in. On the end of my line was a foot-long catfish. He looked quite proud of my feat of catching a fish without bait.

Scott does this one thing where he grabs my arm, neck or earlobe and nibbles four or five times. It catches me off guard and sends frenetic energy through my body; I’ll spastically grab him and hug him and bite him back, usually on his shoulder while he’s giggling the whole time. There is nothing like the mischievous light in my man’s eyes.

I was in a foul mood yesterday. I know that my work-attitude is the pits right now, and it’s not helpful when people tell me to chill and “just go to work and do your job” when the last thing I want to do is be there. If I was less responsible, I would have quit already and would be making lattés at Starbucks (foam or no foam?). On my way to work this morning, I decided to focus and “just do my job.” I wore headphones through most the day and I didn’t join in the reindeer games. I was surprised by a phone call from a prior client who wanted me to call their associate about an opportunity. There are some potential past/present client conflicts, but the job description has my name on it. I nibbled and I called. The hurry up and wait game begins again.

Upcoming Book Review

Today was a blur because of drugs.  One little pill and I lost most of the work day, but I still had some portion of a brain cell left, because I could read, and read I did.  I’ll do a proper review on my very next post, which will be soon (within the next 24 hours), but I will say that I know the author.  Consider this a dual-purpose post:  reminder to self and statement of intention to all ya’ll.

No, I’m not giving any hints.

Patience.

Off topic, but I’m listening to “Me Enamora” by Juanes (who is one sexy bastard) on Rhapsody.

Now excuse me, but I have a date with Scott and the hot tub.

Nuts

Applying for any job is stressful, but it feels more stressful if you really really want it. This weekend I got to not think about the fact that I’m a finalist and will find out tomorrow. What helped me was imagining the whole thing like it was one big Miss America pageant. If the imagery is slightly ridiculous and nuts, then it’s somehow easier to manage, but no, emphatically no, I’m not shaving my chest for the swimsuit or evening gown components. Will I get the crown and the walk and the wave, or do I wait in the wings until the winner gets booted out for Penthouse nudes?

Pain finally prompted me to the doctor last week, which led to tests on Thursday. On and off the last few YEARS, I’ve had a dull ache that comes and go (no pun intended) in my groin. A non-specific radiant pain. I couldn’t pin-point it. I could walk, run, work out, wear tight clothes, wear loose clothes, blah blah blah – everything and anything. But now and then I’d get all achy – kind of like blue balls without the sexual tension – just tension. Which brings us to last Thursday and the first time a woman held my nuts for my first-ever ultrasound. She was chatty and I’m not exactly quiet, even when someone’s got me by the balls. Eighteen years experience, and the majority of the ultrasounds she did were NOT for pregnancy – that shocked me. She squirted gel on my boys and applied the ultrasound and it was cold – like a stethoscope that never got warm. She said not to be embarrassed if I got aroused, which I hadn’t even considered until she said the word and by gawd, my body started responding.

Sexuality is a wondrous gift and it’s one of the simplest yet most yearned for expressions that we can share. There I was, in all my glory, and what I felt was pride at the pleasure in being alive. I wasn’t afraid or embarrassed, and I marveled that my body, even in pain, could respond to touch and temperature. Don’t get me wrong, she was completely professional but when I started laughing, she blushed and laughed with me. She turned the monitor and I could see what she was seeing. I got to hear the echoes of my heartbeat through the computer speakers – first time I’ve heard my heartbeat from THERE. She changed settings and the images contained color based on depth of tissue and blood flow. Lo and behold, she didn’t find lumps or bumps, but she found what are most likely cysts in each epididymis, and the one on the right is bigger (the cyst, not… nevermind). I’m sure the doc will share the options when he calls this week with the results. Either that, or I’ll be walking funny for a while. I could have yet another scar! Woohoo!

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention going to church this morning with Scott. We went to the First Christian Church of Concord, Disciples of Christ. My experiences with most churches have not been… fun. Mormonism did me NO favors. I kept an open mind the whole time, from the parking lot all the way through the day. The people were gracious and accepting. I didn’t feel like I was swarmed or mauled. I didn’t feel like anyone was nuts – which is a predominant feeling I get with anything Mormon-related – still – and especially if my family are involved. People laughed and cajoled with each other and looked enthusiastic as they filed into the chapel. The music was amazing. This old guy played his huge organ (that sounds SO wrong) beautifully. Children were well behaved and there was a nursery for children under five. The precession was interactive: the invocation, the blessings, the sermon, the singing/hymns. Scott said he usually just mouthed “watermelon” and it cracked me up. I will say this: I had such a positive, inclusive experience, that I could see us going back. At best, I’m a pagan witch, and at worst I’m an agnostic humanist. I have no interest in the teachings or the sermons or spiritual lessons, but I am interested in connecting with people who made Scott and I feel welcome.

Overall, I feel wonderful. Life has joy and pain – and if that’s the most I can complain about, then I’m one lucky bastard. For those who are thinking “dude, you shared about your NUTS.” Drum roll, please, as I channel TLC: my nuts, my blog, my life.

Oh – I should apologize for my flippant comment in the prior post about being heterosexual. My ability to be ridiculous knows no bounds.

from my Valentine

300 is Red,

Thunderbird is blue,

If you let me keep both cars, I will really love you!!

XOXO