Time Is On Our Side! ?

 My daughter will celebrate another birthday tomorrow. As is often the case with impending birthdays or other celebratory events, we've spent some time leading in reminiscing. I found myself being pulled back to my twenties, her twenties, and to some degree, my mother's twenties which I don't remember at all since my mother was only 20 when she gave birth to me. 

I guess twenties kept coming up as being...pivotal. 

?! 

Mine certainly were. But then so were other decades in my six.  I find myself thinking about what this current decade will bring; what I shall manifest, how I might want or need to pivot to adjust to changes that have and will continue to occur as is the natural order of things.  

Time will tell.  

"How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?"  ~Satchel Paige  

 

Another Year Older

Pete at Fifteen

Do you remember when you first learned to read? Or write? Or ride a bike? Or anything that you can point back to that changed the course of your life? That opened your world? That upset the applecart in sometimes good or sometimes not so good ways?  

That first one? 

Fully disclosure, I do not remember many of the life altering moments. Well, not the exact moments but certainly took in full measure of the changes, the shifts.  I recall quite fondly the first time I rode a bicycle all by myself.  I remember the first bike I received as a gift. I remember using those wheels, and my power churning those wheels to put some distance between home and the rest of the world.  

Well, the neighborhood, at least.  

One of the exact moments I remember is meeting Pete.  And I remember bringing him home from the shelter.  Pete, you see, was my first pet as an adult.  Actually, the first cat....ever.  My family owned dogs (many dogs) when I was growing up.  My children didn't have pets as children.   

So Pete checked many boxes with his presence.  

Pete, like Buttah, were the pets, the cats I didn't think I wanted and certainly didn't think I needed.  

I was wrong. Pete is exactly what my household needed at the time and is exactly right for the household now.  He's a prince.  He's not a cuddle puddle kind of cat and that is okay, I have understood that about him from the very beginning. I respect his boundaries. He loves that about me.  

The other first I remember is the very first blog post on this space.  I remember discovering blogs as I was discovering myself, as I was, in the word of former first lady, Michelle Obama, "becoming." I was living a shadow life, a shell of my actual self, going through the motions, keeping up appearances, following the path set out before me.  

It would be some posts later before I actually uttered the words, that truth, the soul of me--that which others in my life report to have known, or had guessed to be true.  It would be some 1,000 (plus) posts later that revealed other truths, insights, humors, highs, lows . . .   

And loss. 

Within these pages I talk about the loss of my mother, my father, the diva dog and the orange boy. Thanks to these pages I was comforted and supported. I have cherished the community that visited here and grateful for the bloggers who have shared their lives, journeys, insights, truths, highs, lows, and more.  I cherish the friends made through blogging.  

Like Pete, this space is fifteen years old this year.  (Pete, 03/06   Middle Girl, 03/29) 

Like I love the prickly Pete. I love this space even as the community at large has opted for other mediums or distanced themselves off the internet. I love what remains, I love what may be again someday. And even if it is never like it was, this space will remain a special repository for my thoughts, truths, joys, and pains.  

I remain ever grateful for the readers, commenters, fellow bloggers, and friends.    

May peace be with us all. 

                                                                                       

Dog With A Ball In The Creek

     

  

       

  

  

  

OCTOBER

Inktober 2019  Prompt: RING 

October is a red letter month around these parts, first and foremost because it is the birth month of my only daughter. It is also LGBTQI History Month, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, as well as, Squirrel Awareness Month. 

In fact, there are many national observances in the month of October. 

I heard about Inktober two years ago (as I recall) and have wanted to participate toward kick-starting
my sketchbook practices and giving my creative muscles a workout. 

Last year I did the first prompt too. But, I didn't share it anywhere or with anyone.  This year I'm hoping that by sharing here and on other social media platforms along with the community of artists participating in Inktober, I'll be moved to do more than the one. 

Not promising 31 images for the 31 days . . . or, am I?

Tomorrow's prompt: Mindless.   

I ♥ LESBOS

daughter and friend, Pride Parade 

This week, Wednesday, my daughter celebrates another birthday. To know my daughter is to know that she is all about her birthdays. She isn't a party girl in that sense of the word but a sentimental soul who appreciates acknowledgment especially in the form of cards (flowers and other trinkets).

I may have fed into her celebratory style over the years by stretching out the celebration, making cards, offering trinkets. On the event of her 30th, for instance, 30 days of testimonials on this blog.

This year is not a milestone year, but monumental none-the-less, because it just is.

This week, Wednesday is also National Coming Out Day.  Also a very momentous day for my daughter and me. She has stood with and supported me from the very beginning.  And of course, I have stood with her and supported her through her own coming out pronouncement. 

This year is not a milestone year but monumental none-the-less because we need the support of one another  as much, if not more than ever before thanks to the current political climate and rollbacks in protections established by the previous administration

I am pleased, honored, grateful to call my daughter my friend, my sister in arms. May she have a glorious birthday week, a fantabulous actual day of celebration and may all the out voices sing out loud, sing out proud toward supporting our sisters and brothers yet to take those tremouls steps toward living their truth.

more more more 

A Week in Pictures

Welcome to the last Day of July 

My daughter opted for a strawberry shortcake creation 

My #57 dessert. And speaking of cake (memory lane) 

A neighbor's painted rocks. "Rock On" 

A banana in a planter 

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She Would Have Been Seventy-Seven

Me and Mom 1980-ish

Muddy Waters mural by Eduardo Korba

Traffic on the Chicago River

Vietnam Memorial along the River Walk 

One of the many chill out spots along the River Walk 

 

Entry to Northerly Island on a rany afternoon

Birds on the Beach

A gorilla suited performer belting out Man in the Mirror

 

On a clearer day Navy Pier is visible. 

View from  EL platform looking East. 

 My mom would not have had the stamina for all the walking I did on Friday but she would have appreciated many of the sights seen. The rain that came later in the afternoon cut the second part of the journey short. But all-in-all it was a day full of reflection, history, sights, and sounds. She was with me every step of the way.

CLICK FOR MORE 

Three (now Two) From One Thousand

The actor at a table read. 

Last year, I shared this  The year before that, this  And many years before, this .  All that has been said before remains true and even more. In addition to acting and the music noted in previous posts, the man who will turn the page on his 35th birthday on Wednesday, will add a directing credit to his resume.

He has spoken at length of the challenges, the joys, and the pains of the process. And how he is enjoying every minute of it. He said, "If I can cultivate an environment where a bunch of strangers want to work together to create, then much of my work is done.

Casting (an arduous process) is now complete. Rehearsals will begin soon. And then, opening day!

Not sure I can adequately convey just how hard this guy works, how "matter-of-factly" he takes the knocks that come his way, how focused and committed he is to craft, to art, to creativity, to life and how art plays into that.

I wish my son a happy birthday (in two days). I wish his spirit and verve for life and art continues to grow.


                                                                               

Go HERE for more #MicroBlog Monday Fun!

Birthday Weakend

Obviously, mom was a big part of every one of my birthday celebrations until . . . 

And I'll take with me the memories

To be my sunshine after the rain

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.

And obviously, she is missed. 

After three years it isn't necessarily easier, but it isn't any harder.  

The memory of her enthusiasm and her smile carried me through. 

I am now beyond the half-way mark of the fifties.  
News of a big change was delivered this weekend. .  

Boom. 

It shall remain hard to say goodbye to yesterday. 

#MicroBlog Monday 
click for more. 

.  

Too Sharp to B Flat

Photo by Amol Art 

My son ("The Actor") is, through a variety of means (youtube tutorials, books picked up in thrifts, and one-on-ones with working musicians) learning to play the blues harp as well as acoustic guitar.

He's played on the streets to the delight of passers-by, he's participated in open mic type jam sessions at one of the few spaces featuring live music, he has held guest appearances with some featured acts.

The actor has been having a grand time learning, jamming, building his repertoire. Though he isn't striving to become a working musician he does anticipate having music in the mix will further enhance his résumé.

Today is the anniversary of the actor's birth. He continues his slice through time with his usual grace and aplomb; staying in tune and razor sharp to the bone.

 Happy 34th birthday to Bluesman slash Actor.

#MicroBlogMonday Check out Mel and others!

My Second, My Last, My Everything

Brown Eyes

 

*Counting down to birthday number thirty! 

*micro celebrations over the next month.

#SixWordSaturday

 

Dream Driving

Once we were lovers, but somehow things have changed, now we're just lonely people, trying to forget each other's names.

For many days leading in and for a few after my birthday, I awoke with this song creeping out of the corners of my mind. Birthdays, like New Year's bring about the thoughts, a look through the rear view as well as ahead.

And thoughts often revolve around relationships--past, present, and future--for relationships are life.

All the past relationships, intimate and otherwise, hold some fond memories--more hurt--but some pockets of pleasure, as well. It is the pleasures on which I choose to dwell. There is no present intimate relationship, and to be honest, I don't see such an event on the road ahead. But, just because I don't see it doesn't mean IT isn't out there waiting for me to drive through. I keep the trunk stocked, just in case.

I get along pretty well with my son and daughter. I love them, of course. But, I like them a bunch. And they seem to like me which works out really well. And while it is stress filled having the three of us (plus two cats and a 55 pound dog) under the same roof, everyone is respectful and . . well, humor wins the day--most days. Relationships with other family and friends are continual works in progress. I work to nurture all my relationships. Still, every now and again, even with extreme care, relationships fade. . .

. . . and then there is me, learning to embrace the skin I'm in, to appreciate the square peg-nacity that I bring to the round party, to drive my lane, at my own speed, in my own vehicle--nurturing the relationship with my own true self, for that . . . well, is life.

And sometimes at night I think I hear you calling my name, Mmm, mmm, mmm, these dreams, they keep me going these days*

*These Dreams written by Jim Croce.

#MicroBlogMonday  

Celebrate Good Times, Come On*

 The beginnings of a birthday feast. 

My daughter's gifted me with her talents, her company, wrapped around a baseball game. 

(NYYanks over the ChiSox) and fireworks. 

It was a fun day, a fun and restorative weekend. 

Officially Fifty-Five and feeling pretty good. 

*thank you Kool&TheGang

#MicroBlog Monday  click the link for more MicroBlogs. :-) 

Him

The Look of Love 

Dapper Man and Machine 

The Look of Love II

The actor opened 2015 with his foot solidly in the door of stage acting. He has booked three shows (two of the three are Shakespeare plays) with the rehearsals for the first beginning soon. He's auditioned for a number of on-screen performances hoping to add more of that type of work to his résumé.  He's decided that directing is not for him, at least not now. He is passionate about performing , being a teaching artist and of late, music. More on the music later, but for now, happy birthday to my funny, serious, passionate young man. May your realities and dreams collide in several grand explosions of good, better, best.

Just To See Her

Remember where I was a year ago? I do, not just because I can go back and read but also because it feels like yesterday. I think because I'm in pretty much the same place, the same pain, the same state, the same . . .
Oh sure, I was taking a leap into a new opportunity and at that moment the idea of it made me feel vital. But a few months later the realization that I was trying to turn a sows ear into a silk purse settled out my body, wearing on me like kudzu.

So, I set out to clear the vines. I had to find a new job. After being sick most of December, I got busy smack dab in the midst of the worst winter ever to look and look and look. And I found one. Now, four months into that opportunity I am feeling a sense of relief. Most of my duties are familiar but there is some new information to digest and skills to acquire.

There has had to be work behind the scenes to shrink expenses, renegotiate the mortgage, get down to small ball, re-think, re-imagine the newest normal. Not all of the pieces are in place, but they are getting there. And she is still my guide.

However, like last year my birthday is not cause for raucous fanfare. I will be at work. The student will be at school. The actor will be engrossed in the next project. And that is okay. Maybe there will be a brunch on Saturday or Sunday.

Otherwise, I work, maintain, endeavor to have home projects, art projects, mind and body PROjects.occupy. Those things and the folly that is the 45 pound pooch and the two (especially the orange one) cats  will keep me rolling along.

  .  
 Officially fifty-four.

Twenty-Eight

ell

only daughters

When my only daughter was in her late teens she went to live with her dad; my discipline too harsh, my boundaries for her, too restricting. The official reason, "I miss you, I want to get to know you better" struck just the right chord with him  (and me). 

Yet, I was angry. I was sad. I was afraid for her as she was spinning out of control. 

It wasn't long before several piles of shit hit the fan. 

Clean-up was a bitch.

But, clean-up we all did. She matured. I understood. He....well, he didn't do much of anything, which probably was the best thing he could do to help my only daughter and me repair, rebuild, and grow together. 

Whenever talking about my son and daughter I can often be heard saying that they are as different as night and day. And they are with regard to they personalities and their separate approaches to the here-and-now, the day-to-day. But, they are both performers, thinkers, talkers . . . and more. 

And while we are all, not only housemates, but friends, my only daughter and me are . . .   well,, just different than my son and me. 

Which is fine as as I speak both son and daughter. 

On this, my only daughter's twenty-eighth birthday, I want to thank her for challenging me. I want to thank her for being the loud, active, funny, animal loving, pop-culture embracing, passionate seeker of all life has to offer girl, young woman she has been, continues to be.  

I want to assure her than I am proud of her and proud to have played any role in her development.

Go for your dreams dear daughter. Don't hold back. Don't be afraid. Don't settle. 

May you have the happiest of happy days and may there be more and more and even more ahead. 

Smile

My mother worked in a fish market when I was a teenager. Actually, she worked many a "odd" jobs, trying to make ends meet. We lived in a housing project, were recipients of government assistance, and got second (or more) hand clothes long before is was cool to be retro or the even cooler, vintage.

Ends never met.

Still, she loved working in the fish market because she got to meet and talk to people. Most of the neighborhood poured through that market at one point or another and she was in her element. Smiling, talking, doing her thing. She even became quite adept at catching, conking, skinning, and gutting, the live catfish that were the market's big draw.

The job didn't last long because none of them did for a plethora of reasons. But, what I have taken away from those fish market days (besides the vivid memory of the first time seeing her kill her first catfish) is the smile she wore. While not an easy time by any stretch of the imagination, my mother took pride in doing what she could to provide for my brothers and me and she loved people. She could (and would) talk to anybody.

Tomorrow is my mother's birthday, she would have been seventy-three. I found this song among her possessions but didn't listen to it until today. I know she is smiling.

Happy Birthday Mom.

♥ ♥ ♥

Deborah Dear

Dear Deborah, 


Finally, you are officially fifty-two. The daughter has been teasing, calling you, "52" since the day after you celebrated number fifty-one. The taunting, good in nature coming after you did something particularly 52-ish, like forget where you were going mid-step or a word mid-sentence, or something like put your shirt on backwards and inside out, has served as a constant reminder that, well, fudge, you're gettin' UP there.  

But that's okay. Gettin' UP there ain't so bad  especially if you have your health and some semblance of your mind. Or so I've been told. 


That said, dear Deborah, the birthday was several days ago and I'm writing today to tell you that the partying must be over. Enough with the Irish whiskey, French vodka (two martinis at Melting Pot! Really? two?)  Belgian Beer, and the rich desserts. Enough! Truth be known you've been in celebratory mode for the entire month prior to your birthday weekend. 


Well, that's what we'll call it, celebrating.


But I know the truth, and deep down, so do you. And I'm here to tell you here and now, 


Enough! 


No more blaming the heat, heartache, knee pain, crappy dye jobs, or crappier days at work. No more drowning in the dumps because your mom is...well, who she is and your dad, not a dad at all. I won't mention your brothers because well, what is the point of that?  


Enough!  


Your calendar notation for Tuesday reads, 'early AM ride' and did you? NO! It wasn't raining, wasn't unbearably hot. Sure, you were out late Monday (and again, two martinis?okay enough about that, it WAS your birthday, but still . . ) true enough, but if the skipping days doesn't stop doesn't stop you won't get back on track. And you must, you know, get BACK at It and YOU KNOW IT!!  It is so much more than a body thing, it is a mind thing. 


So, have some Hil....  

AND get your head out of your ass and get said ass in gear. I don't give, to steal a phrase from daughter, "two shits and a fuck" about  your looking sexy for the beach (or whatever) but I do want you to feel good. Bump that, I want you to feel GREAT, inside and out. I want you to think, I want you to write, I want you to create. I love what the actor said the other day, "crazy for creatives!"   I want the two of you to collaborate. I want. I want. I want...YOU BACK!! Now, dammit. I want to see you, feel you, hear you fucking Laugh Out LOUD once a day, every day right up to birthday number fifty-three. 


And then some. 


Happy, happy, joy, joy...for realz. 


♥, 


 ME  


  

Seventy Two

My mother will be 72 on Saturday. Her assessment of me hasn't changed much in the nearly two years since I wrote "Skimming the Surface".  The biggest change to our relationship is my brother's return from prison. He, as always, permeates the family dynamic. Her call to thank me for the hand-crafted, personalized birthday card I sent, wound up being about him and his upcoming (reported--kinda like the boy who cried wolf) nuptials. Never-the-less, complicated or not, I wish my mother the happiest of days. 

  

SKIMMING THE SURFACE* 

My mother has decided that I’m complicated. Nothing I say or do can dissuade her from that assessment. In fact, everything I say or do, seems to serve to solidify the opinion she has come to in the past year or so since I came out to her.

She is either unable or unwilling to expound on that which renders me complicated. So, I can only speculate.

I suspect that the “complicated” tag transcends my sexuality.  I suspect that my mother is finally struggling to know who I am after all these years. I suspect that she has come to realize that our relationship for most of my life merely skimmed the surface of the who of us. That we never delved beyond the obvious or the mundane. I suspect she has come to believe that I do not espouse all her values. 

I suspect that said belief makes her extremely uneasy.

The eight years leading into and now the few out of my lesbian-flavored epiphany are all about discovery. I’d spent so many years prior hiding, suppressing, denying, and comporting myself to align ever-so-carefully with what I thought others wanted, that I cast barely a shadow of any authenticity. I walked the walk and talked the talk that everyone expected. Carefully coloring my life within the lines. In my mind, to do otherwise conscripted me to a lifetime of pain and suffering, in line with the messages delivered to me during my early years.

I suspect that she doesn’t believe me when I say, “I’m fine.” I suspect she believes our relationship is tenuous at best and non-existent at worst. I suspect that each time we disagree she believes it will be the last time we speak. I suspect she is afraid. She is afraid that I don’t love her (enough), that I don’t care (enough), that I don’t have (enough) in me to do what she’ll require as she loses more and more of her self-sufficiency. I suspect she doesn’t want that burden for me and me alone. I suspect she’s most afraid that we’ll run out of time, that we won’t be able to repair the mistakes of the past.

These years have been about discovery. I’ve discovered that I’m intensely fierce with my love.  I’ve discovered that my authenticity hasn’t and won’t bring the world to a crashing end. I’ve discovered that my mother is troubled. I’ve discovered it isn’t all about me. I’ve discovered that I can’t fix her; I can love, assist, and try to encourage her, to the best of my ability.  I’ve discovered that troubled or no, she is much stronger than she realizes. I’ve discovered that she supports me, complications and all.

She is either unable or unwilling to expound on that which renders me complicated. So, I can only speculate.

I suspect that the “complicated” tag transcends my sexuality and further that all the discoveries will ultimately lead to a happier, more fulfilled rest of each of our lives.

*As Published in Our Big Gayborhood 

♥ of my ♥

♥ For some October spells Autumn in fuller force. The trees are turning, the leaves are falling, the skies are clear and the air just a tad crisp. For some others October spells Halloween. Costumes are planned (made/secured) treats are purchased, pumpkins are carved, and parties attended. For still others, October spells apples; seeing favored varieties at the local market, bobbing heads in buckets full of them, and dipping them in caramel and rolling with nuts. And for others October spells lamenting over how the marketing of THE HOLIDAYS  seem to arrive earlier and earlier every year. AAARRRGGGHHH!!

♥ Since 1985 October spells birthday.  Or more specifically, D's birthday. My second a final child, a beautifully precious, and quit loud girl child. This girl child from the very beginning of her existence established her world and our places in it. October then, has been about excecuting  the birthday event of the year. The celebrations have taken many forms over the years the once constant being NO HALLOWEEN theme. Ever. This year's low key celebration, no exception.

♥ My girl is twenty-six years old today. Though we have enjoyed a grand mother-daughter bond through-out the years, the years haven't exactly been a cake walk. She has challenged me in ways the actor never did. Yet, we are friends and enjoy spending time together. My girl can be demanding and let's face it, stubborn. But she is also extremely loving and generous. She is smart, funny, and . . . well, she's mah-ve-lous. Moreover, she has the very best smile on the block. I adore that smile.

♥ The last few days have been very trying for her (for us) for a variety of reasons. This birthday will not be among her happiest. Never-the-less, it goes without saying that I wish her the very best for this day and for many, many days beyond. It goes without saying that I hope that she can believe in herself as much as I believe. I know that recent setbacks will slow but not stop the train. It goes without saying that the effervescence she usually exudes will return in full force and for a long, long time.

♥ Happy, happy, joy, joy, to my little girl*  Sweetest daughter, continue to keep your eye on the prize and your back to the wind.

♥ Ma


*it's a family thing. :-)

Number One Son

He came into the world in the usual way. Well, usual in that for centuries women were giving birth to babies. Baby boys, even. And in that way, usual as there was nothing extraordinary about his birth, except of course, that it was happening to me for the first time. Not a usual day for me. He arrived sooner than expected. The end of February was circled on the calendar. But, given that he began to make his move a couple of weeks early, he did have the patience to wait inside the womb until I reached the hospital. See, having gone into labor very late the night before, or rather very early that morning, I stalled until daybreak before calling the ambulance. Risky yes, but I didn't want to ride alone, in the dark. It worked out, he waited (another 4 hours in fact.)

I don't remember a birthday since his middle-school days where he didn't have a game, wasn't in rehearsals, or in performance. This year is no exception. He is in rehearsals for a play that opens on the twenty-seventh which was the 1982 circled "due date." Weird, that.

It doesn't, "seem like only yesterday" nor does it feel like twenty-nine years. Some days he's telling me a tale of one his many adventures, donning voices, making the telling an adventure onto itself. And somewhere in there, he'll make a gesture, fix an expression on his face, or affect a particular dialect and I'm transported back to that little boy with light in his eyes and chocolate on his face, fingers, and of course his shirt.

The light is still there as is the love of chocolate, though he is neater.

To my number one son, may twenty-nine be the best one yet and a gateway to bigger roles, paydays, whatever your heart desires and many more adventures.

Peace