Cloud Illusions

Our son came back last Sunday night.  I was in bed, having to get up at a ridiculous hour on Monday mornings now.  An hour so ridiculous it is almost Sunday night, but I still missed our son's arrival.  He left behind his son and former - or as they say these days "it's complicated" - girlfriend.  We are giving him a chance to push the reset button.

He is staying out back in our "cottage" which isn't really a cottage but a converted garage but it has a bathroom and kitchenette.  It also has my art supplies and art table and television and DVDs.  The television as been on the Cartoon Network since he arrived.  He didn't bring books.  He won't be borrowing ours or the ones at the library, in spite of my encouraging him to do so.  Cartoons.  And a game he has on his phone. 

He has changed.  He is much more willing to please and he is really trying to stay positive and motivated.  There are challenges out there for him.  I guess there are for all of us, but it is sometimes easier to see the ones that present obstacles for those we love.  That said, today he was offered a part-time job at one of the local grocery stores.  He applied a few days ago and went to a group interview this morning.  That is encouraging.  He hasn't had a job since sometime last year.

I'm in pain.  Pretty must 24/7.  The trigeminal neuralgia I've been taken medication for the past year or two has gotten worse.  I'm upping the medication, but I have to do it slowly.  Now I have developed neuropathy most severely in my right foot.  I was tested for diabetes but the results came back and it looks like I just barely dodged that bullet, but I have got to make some big changes.  This is my second warning, and it is a bigger one than a few years ago.  I'll be talking to my doctor again soon.  The pain is pretty continuous, but I do not want to define myself that way.  Last thing I want to be is "that person", the one who starts every conversation with a list of complaints.  I fear I may have already become him, however.  I'd rather people think of me as the funny guy who loves Italian films and bright colors and dogs and cats and muscular men and dark, strong coffee.  Who also suffers from pain issues now and then.  But it doesn't stop him from loving Pasolini and a cappuccino!

Tomorrow is Papa Seed's birthday.  Damn if I haven't already messed it up.  The return of our son and the pain stuff and money issues (again with the money issues, always with the money issues) I just couldn't get it together once again to plan something.  Today I started off in a pretty bad mood and he let me know that he was no longer wanting to do what I had thought we might do, since he was no longer feeling celebratory.  There, I did it.  Messed it up.  So he has been cleaning and cooking. 

I used to be so romantic.  I used to be so creative.  I used to have energy. 

Tomorrow we will both be at work.  Our son will be sleeping.  When we get home and our son wakes up, I'll figure something out for dinner and we will sit down and switch the TV channel from the Cartoon Network to Cosmos.  I have a little surprise for him too, one which a new friend helped me get.  Hopefully it will help put me look a little more like the old fun, creative guy.  The one who likes Soul Music and the color orange and bubble baths and images of smiling, radiant suns.  A little less like the cranky guy in pain.  Both sides are me, but I want the funny, fun one to show more.

(The insert I made for the invitations to our Day of the Dead party - November, 2007)

The very end of April and the first two weeks of May are a time of deep reflection for me.  Even during the years when I'm not aware of or try to ignore certain dates, memories and nostalgia and sadness and deep thoughts come flooding through.  The birthday of my first partner, Amador, followed by Cinco de Mayo (for reasons I'll leave unsaid, a holiday that was significant during our time together) and a half hour later the date of his death and the date of my Mama's birthday, followed by Mother's Day and my Father's birthday.  Three of the most important people in my life.  There were others as well.  Two other men I later had brief, but intense relationships, shared a birthday with Amador (one of them deceased, the other I've lost contact with).  There are other anniversaries and memories attached to these days.

I have spent many hours in the past week getting lost in a Facebook group for folks who grew up in Sacramento.  I think I joined the group some time ago, but it wasn't until this past week I found myself totally absorbed by it.  Finally hit me why now.  Lots of memories there.  Spent my young life wanting out of that place - now I have so many fond memories of people, places and things that are gone forever.

For several years Papa Seed and I would host a Day of the Dead party in our home, before we moved to where we've lived for the past six years. At first it was a small quiet affair, but it got bigger each year.  We would cook for weeks and I'd make papier mache skeletons and skulls and other decorations.  We'd have an altar and ask our friends to bring photos or mementos of loved one to place there for the evening.  Before I found my way on stage, I had used every opportunity to perform at parties we would have in our home.  Sing-A-Longs, speeches - whatever I could do to make our guest captive audience members to my frustrated performer persona.

My Mama had died not long before one of our last gatherings, not long after we adopted our son.  In her honor, I wrote a piece which I read in front of our guests.  I was cleaning up in one of our rooms today, and I found what I had written and "performed" for those at the party.  After I read it, I had everyone sing "My Favorite Things" together.

This is what I said:

My mother would rescue the birds that fell from trees.

She'd put them in a cardboard box and try to nurse them back to health.

We had an old yellow radio on the top of the fridge that would play "Walk Right In, Sit Right Down, Daddy let your hair hang down...", "Guantanamera" and "Puff the Magic Dragon" while my mother would fry eggs and sip her endless cup of coffee.

Being the youngest - the baby - it was just the two of us in the house in the afternoons during the early years. I'd sit under table tents and eat tuna fish sandwiches and wait for "I Love Lucy" to come on.  My mother loved Lucy.  Everyone did it turns out, but I remember my mother loving her before I found out that it was universal.  I was pretty much sure my mother had discovered everything first.

Black raspberries, basketball, Snoopy and Charlie Brown, Glen Miller, Beverly Sills, Rock Hudson, ice cream, weak coffee, flowers, Cary Grant.

One Monday morning when I was very small, after a Sunday that my family had spent visiting Disneyland I woke up very sad.  I think that was the saddest I had ever felt up to that point.  My mother and I walked to the post office together and I stayed sad.  When we got home I asked her "Why can't we just live at Disneyland all the time?"  She said we couldn't do that because then we wouldn't appreciate it like we did when we would visit there.

As The World Turns, sewing, iceberg lettuce, baby animals.

My mother gave the world four children.  One of each, I used to say - but that didn't actually happen until the grandchildren - then the great grandchildren - showed up, We all managed to add our own combinations of pleasure and disappointment, stress and love to her life.  She didn't always understand but she never stopped loving.

Norman Rockwell, jigsaw puzzles, bridge and canasta, Carol Burnett, milk chocolate.

A few things I learned from my Mama - stray animals are more important than pedigrees, how to make a Christmas tree from old Reader's Digests, Musicals are beautiful, always add a bit of sugar to spaghetti sauce, say please, excuse me and thank you, never let your coffee cup go empty, if someone is even five minutes late they have probably been in a terrible, dreadful accident or have had some life threatening medical emergency, when you go on vacation you send postcards to the dogs, you should have a bowl of ice cream every night, listen to the birds sing, be a militant left-hander, I am always loved.

My mother was sure I'd be an artist.  I always thought I would be one too.  The second time I saw her cry was when I told her I was Gay. The first was when her father died.  She got over it.  She loved Amador. He died on her birthday. After I moved to Seattle, she befriended her hairdresser who oddly enough was Gay too.  Apparently, he was her safe entry way to the life. She got comfortable enough that when she came to visit me - back when I was still young and single and in shape enough to do something about it - my mother who never swore or spoke of these kind of things mentioned a rather specific sex act that most if not all gay men are familiar with, conversationally.  I started washing the dishes and changed the subject to something like trees or cats or some such.  Then came Rodney and my mother never treated him like anything other than her son.  "How's my boy?" she would say when we talked on the phone, asking about him. Late in my father's illness when he had forgotten who his grandchildren were, he still remembered Rodney by name - and the same became true for my Mama.  Although she insisted on calling him Rod, which he hates, he stopped correcting her. She loved him and I knew I was very fortunate.

The one thing she could never come to terms with would be my inability to have children.  "You always loved children" she would say and I would try to brush it off.  "But you'd be so good with them" she'd insist (although I figured if I had children they'd be tormented with Billie Holiday or Nina Simone theme weeks complete with appropriate food and dress, late night trips to see Fellini films in theaters the size of a living room and lunch boxes packed neatly with sushi and chopsticks).  It is that twist of fate that her wish came true after she was able to comprehend it, as she was getting ready to leave this mortal coil.  Instead of teaching him the lyrics to Sweeney Todd, I've sat in the cold bleachers watching football.  Instead of Italian film nights, we watch comedies and eat hamburgers - and while I've taught him to make cookies just as she did me, I've yet to get him to eat Thai food.  And he loves his ice cream late at night.  She would approve, she would be proud, she would love him. This is not at all how I saw this happening. I guess I wasn't at all what she saw happening either. And so, although she is gone in one way, I know when I look at our son that she is still putting fallen birds in cardboard boxes.  I know this because the wing that is mending is my own.

Testing...testing...

Looks like I haven't made a post here in a few years. I've thought about it. Doesn't happen.I'm still at the same job in the day, still doing a little stand-up at night, still in the same house with Papa Seed.

But there have been many changes. We said our final farewell to our beloved Kuma last spring, one of the hardest things I've ever done. A month later we said good-bye to our sweet Rusty, my Mama's dog.

Then to Papa Seed's Dad. It was a very difficult ending.

There has been a lot of rebuilding in the months since.

Life.

I'm going to attempt to get back into writing about it.

Show Time

I've been dabbling in this stand-up comedy thing since the end of last year, because my self-esteem wasn't quite fragile enough and I needed to completely destroy it and put myself in public forums where my self-worth is determined by a bunch of strangers.

So far, so good. I've made the decision to just stop at least three times now, but because I can't commit to any decision I make, I'm still doing it.

I've always known that stand-up comedy is for young straight guys, so it is no surprise that 90% of the folks I'm with in "the scene" fit that description. What I was too silly to realize is that this is a scene that takes place at night, when I'm in bed. I can't do it from bed, however, thus my dilemma du jour.

The advice I've been given is "do open mics, do open mics, do open mics". I have been doing them, but since most start at nine, about the time I'm usually turning out the light so I can get up before five to get my day started, I can't get to many. I meet the young straight guys there and get to hear how they have done seven or eight that week. I few of them have jobs. A few. I'm an unfamiliar face, because I average about one a week, two if I'm wild and crazy.

I was fortunate enough to land a gig early on opening for a Drag Queen Brunch about a mile from the house. There are two things that should never be done in the daytime, in a well-lighted room; comedy and Drag. We did both. I had no idea what I was doing. The story is that when you first start out in comedy, your family and friends will show up for the first show, a few at your second, a sprinkling at your third and then you are on your own. That was an accurate portrayal of my experience. Again, I felt fortunate to have friends, family and co-workers show up. Those who didn't had excuses and asked me how things went. At first. No more. They stopped with the excuses by March, and they don't make eye contact if I say the word "comedy". Of course, this could be read in a couple of different ways. The first one is that they are busy people with full lives and families and other scheduled events and day to day chores and routines to attend to. The second way to read it is that I suck. I always pick Option B. It is just my nature.

Getting laughs and applause on stage is one of the biggest highs I've ever had in my life. It is clearly addicting as well. Getting crickets or seeing yawns or watching people walk out isn't quite the kicky cool sensation as getting the laughs for some reason. I'm getting used to it, however. I think I'm at about 50/50 these days. I truly have NO idea how good or horrible I am. I am basing a good performance on how many folks, preferably strangers or other comedians, come up to be afterwards to say "Great job, I really enjoyed that" in their sincere voice.

The brunch has ended and this Friday I am doing the first evening kinda sorta version of it, except now I'm the Host and not just the warm-up. And I am putting it together, which is something I've never done before. It has been fun, stressful and an adrenalin rush which is helpful because I'm having to do it in a limited amount of time and it kept me from sleeping. There is no time to sleep in Show Business.

We might get five people, we might get fifty. I might get a few laughs, I might get crickets. On Saturday I might decide to quit, or I might start my new plan to take over the world.

Stay tuned.

Bicycle

I've been trying to go on a bike ride with Papa Seed most weekends.  Our bike rides are short, or would be for most people including the younger version of me, but they are strenuous enough.  I have to keep them flat, even the slightest incline makes my heart pound up through my throat, and the butt discomfort is intense. And not in a good way.

Years ago, my old bike was my essential means of transportation in Seattle.  I used it to get to work, to go to the gym, to go to the store and for recreation.  Funny what a couple extra hundred pounds will do to a body.  I don't recommend finding out if you haven't already gone down that road in life.  The late night noodles are delicious, but being able to move turns out to be better in the long run.

I'm trying to move again.  Today we rode our bikes downtown.  I had wanted to try this route but needed to do it during the early hours of a Sunday morning when things are quiet.  Along with oceans, forests, deserts and the interiors of funky art house theaters (RIP to most of them, but they will live forever in my heart), I feel most alive in quiet and abandoned industrial parts of town (even if the abandoned part is just every seventh day).  The route to downtown takes one past such areas, as well as shipyards, train tracks and construction sites on pause.  There were only a handful of people that we passed.  True, we were at times right by busy roads and bridges, but we were not on the busy roads and bridges.  The bike path took the road less traveled.

Near the end of the first half of our ride, we reached the official waterfront, and therefore people and cars.  I don't like most cars made after, say, 1970.  You have to go about a decade earlier for most people, and even then I prefer to read about them or see them on film than to actually interact with the, at least on a Sunday morning bike ride.  So we went a short distance and turned around.  Back to the quiet, the abandoned, the still and the peaceful.  It was a moody day with clouds and a crisp, cool air.  I like a good moody day, especially when on a bike ride through the quite and the abandoned.  Life was good.

Then we had to go back over a bridge.  Not a very high one, but the incline was more than my heft enjoyed.  My heart pounding, the gears of my bicycle kept slipping.  3/4 of the way up, I had to give in and then came the announcement that the bridge was "going up".  What was a racing heart became a frantic one, complete with dread and sweats.  The bell was deafening, my anxiety was blinding as I raced back to the halfway mark with visions of riding right off the edge of a lifting bridge to my horrible death (in fact, the bridge was low enough that I probably would have just caused a big splash before safely swimming to a boat dock).  Totally harshed my mellow from the quiet ship yards and big abandoned gray buildings.

The bridge doesn't actually go up.  The middle just swings around so one pleasure boater can get through while the rest of us wait.  I wouldn't have died even if I hadn't made it across the finish line.  Well, I may have.  My heart was pounding pretty hard.

A bit later I was home, exhausted and sore.  But proud of myself for pushing on.  I'll keep at it.  Eventually I will whip those soft inclines into complete submission.  It is ON!

Down and Not Quite Out in Middle-Age

Listening to Patti Smith's "Banga" gets me to thinking about how she had to be older to make her most youthful and innocent sounding album.  Sure, her wisdom and experience is clearly present as well, but there is a quality to her voice that is so sweet and pure and a vibrancy to some of the music that borders on playfulness.  It is easily one of her most powerful pieces of work

I wish I felt more youthful and innocent, and especially would like to feel more vibrant and playful.  I don't want to be young again - wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, especially in these gosh-darn messed up modern times.  Actual youth confuse me, what with their discarding of books and films for first person shooter "games" and tiny little screens to view photos and mini-movies.  At least five or six times a day I want to go for the throat of some young adult who will ask some variation of "What is that?" about a very newsworthy current event.  Now that newspapers are rarely found in homes and the evening news is just one of 600,000 options for post-work or school viewing, there is no need to keep up with anything that hasn't been reported by your Facebook friends, and most of that noise you can just scroll right by.  We know more about what our internet friends had for lunch than we do about what our government is doing.

I'm not the first middle-aged curmudgeon to bitch and moan about such things, and I won't be the last.  I am just as powerless as my peers to do anything about it as well.  Just sit back and let it all be, but I'll complain about it too.  That's how I roll.

My own attention span seems to shrink like an Amazon rainforest, month to month, day to day, hour to hour.  By the time I'm ready for diapers again, I'll have the focus of heavily caffeinated gnat, unless the depression helps me balance out into something like more of a flatliner with frequent brain jolts.  Most of my thoughts these days are centered around doing things I haven't the motivation or stamina to actually accomplish.  I have mental "To Do" lists of cleaning, writing, painting, exercising, cooking and learning but the exhaustion keeps me grounded in a chair, the joint pain and back pain and foot pain makes it difficult to move and the overwhelmingness of it all knocks me down when I start to gather the strength to move a finger.  I'll just sit it out.  This too shall pass.  Tomorrow I'll get up and get things done.  I ain't been licked yet.  Ms Ross sang that one, kids.  Google it.

Hell, I have things to do and things to say.  These damn young 'uns, I'm not going to let them take over the world just yet.  We are going to have to share for a bit longer.  You go and do your hot yoga. I'll just figure out a way to get up off my ass.  We shall live again, we shall live again.

I'm Back!

Damn it, I'm Back!

Had some weirdness attached to my Blogger account, complicated by a bad case of the Whatev's but today I finally had both the motivation slash burning desire and the patience to figure out how to get back in. So here I am now, entertain me.

Since I've been gone ~

* I've turned 53

* I started doing Stand-Up Comedy

* I started doing a monthly Stand-Up Comedy warm-up act right before a gaggle of Drag Queens entertain a brunch crowd

* I've become a Grandfather

* I met my gorgeous Grandson

* "Broke up" with Papa Seed (SPOILER ALERT - It was temporary)

* Went on a solo vacation and spent a week in a Hollywood hotel room sicker than sick

* Started therapy.

* Started couple's therapy with Papa Seed

* Celebrated 20 years together with Papa Seed

* Watched our beloved Kuma go blind and become disabled

* Watched our sweet, sweet Rusty get dementia and become disabled

* Watched our love puddle Aspen become more wonderful daily

* Been held a love captive by the terrorist cat known as Kerouac

* Walked. A lot.

* Read some books, ate some food, watched some films, heard some music.

* Other stuff as needed

Stick around please, now that I'm back. I'll give more detailed descriptions of what is now known only as the future.

November

Funny - when I decided to start a new blog I had in mind that it would be used to reflect my thoughts and note my experiences on being a Dad. I figured that would be the central focus of my life. But writing about it was harder than I thought for a number of reasons, and what being a Dad meant kept changing as our boys shifted through the house in numbers and legal monikers for the relationships. Now they have all left, the last two leaving a month ago. Not a one has attempted to keep the lines of communication open, in spite of our best attempts. I know this will change again. It always does. But it has been hard - the silence. Really hard.

But Fall is a good time for change and separation. Papa Seed and I need to reconnect. Our lives have become complicated. Our lives have become difficult. We have added walls between us and forgot to add doors and windows. We need to come up with some new doors and windows. We don't need to house teenagers right now, and our days of doing that are done. New chapter. It is enough that our dogs are older and that they have health problems, including blindness in one case. It is enough that the burst of energy that now creates havoc and chaos in our home is in the form of a kitten - a rather fleeting moment in a feline's life. It is enough that we have serious financial woes that we are trying to conquer. I could go on, but it is enough. We don't need any more distractions, drama, conflict and bodies to care for - we have enough.

I've been having some serious pain issues. I'm home from work after a couple of sleepless nights and raiding the medicine cabinet to grab anything that might temper it. At times, the pain is beyond excruciating. I've seen my dentist and my doctor and the doctor thinks he knows what is going on and that it should work itself out, but it has been almost two weeks and it hasn't and it has gotten worse. I'm seeing another doctor in the morning. I guess there is no harm in being at home resting, but it feels like wasted time. I've forgotten how to rest - how to relax. I know only how to distract and resent. I'm going to change that.

It really is my favorite time of year. I love the colors, the time spent reading thick books, the serious films that are released, the soups around every corner and the chill in the air. I like the flannel shirts and knitted caps and golden leaves and twisted branches exposed. I like fires in fireplaces and root vegetables and crows and spiders and new shows on TV. I like the threat of storms and the potential of snow and the short days and long nights. I like candles and blankets and hearty beers.

Inward - that is the direction for now. Inward and Onward. Go Rest, Young Man! Go Rest!

My Rapscallion

KEROUAC

Our little boy, our little ne'er-do-well and thief of hearts, is growing by the minute. I find him endlessly fascinating - so very different than all of the other living bodies we've had in this home. I have no idea what is going through his mind, but I suppose if I did I wouldn't find him so amusing, frustrating, lovable and captivating. As our dogs get old and slow down, this new little burst of endless energy and demonic wit has changed us all.

I Love Fall Most Of All

Bessie

BESSIE

Bessie was my favorite of all the girls from the start. Maybe it was because she had the most distinct looks. She looked like a baby owl - in fact, I called her "Owl" for the first couple months of her life, and held her more than the others. I think it was this kind of bonding that I did with the girls since they were a day old that turned me from a fried chicken eater to not being able to tolerate the the taste of the bird. I'm still conflicted. I'm not a vegetarian - don't intend to be. But after three sets of chickens, this was the group that I bonded with the most.

When one turned out to be a Rooster - The Reverend Green (AKA Odetta before the "change")- chicken raising took on an entirely different meaning to me. Having to give up the Rev because Roosters are OUTLAWS in Seattle and our Earth Mother Hippie Lesbian Mother of Child and Forgiveness and Kindness neighbor complained and said he was throwing off her "biorhythms" and that even being shut up in a tiny room that was overheated and stuffy with the windows shut, and wearing earplugs, and covering her head with a pillow, she was unable to get enough sleep to go to hear her friend's band play or get up to do her four hour temporary job work-stuff. So I sent the Rev to another place - a good place where he can roam more freely - but it broke my heart.

And now a few months later, Earth Mother's dog mauled two of our chickens. Bobbie Gentry is now in a box in my office, bandaged and looking sad. I hope she makes it. Bessie wasn't so lucky. She was almost gone, and Papa Seed had to end her life. It was devastating for both of us. My little Bessie, of the sweet looks and the beautiful, beautiful blue-green eggs.

I posted this elsewhere and I received some very sweet messages. Alas, also a lot of comments are more about wanting me to report the dog and some other odd personal agenda messages. I know that people mean well. I guess all I want is to be sad about my sweet Bessie. When I put the girls to bed at night, shutting up their door, I say "Good Night" and sometimes sing them the Sondheim song that contains the words, "No ones going to hurt you, not while I'm around..."

I love my ladies. I had no idea chicken love could be so sweet, especially when not eating them. I will miss my sweet, sweet Bessie. I'm so sorry I didn't protect her the way I said I would. I'm just sad.

The Universal Church of Cosmic Chaac

Church is now in session. Please remain seated. Or you can stand. Or dance. Or sleep or walk or whatever you want to do. All is good, all is right, all is sacred. Except for celery, war, racism and other forms of bigotry. Those ain't right. Or sickness. That isn't good either. But most of the rest is good. Canned pineapple is evil too. Beware of that one. Coffee, cowboys, squids, hugs, film noir - those things are way good. Sacred, in fact.

What A Long Strange Trip

I've got to stop with The Facebook. My blogs gather dust, yet they are much more conducive to my style of communicating, which is to endlessly blabber on about my life, things of interest and complaints. People are on Facebook to play games - like, really play games. Except for Scrabble and some similar word game, I don't play games. Well, chess. But I don't do that on Facebook.

Since last I was here - a son left for California with his girlfriend, a nephew stayed with us while he got his life together, then another nephew joined him for a similar reason and then they left for new girlfriends. There is a pattern here. We adopted a little foundling kitten, Kerouac, who managed to teach me that I still have some love to give, even if it is received with claws and out of control vet fees.

I tried to learn how to knit and failed, so I tried again and failed and then I tried again and failed, but I'm going to try again because I'll be damned if some little crafty thing that old ladies in rocking chairs do with their tiny little round spectacles and arthritic hands will defeat me. I have a Spanish tutor now, a guy from Peru. I dropped out of voice lessons, but want to find another instructor. I bought a little leather-craft kit but haven't taken it out of the box. I took a mosaic class but haven't done anything since. I will be doing both of these things soon. I lost at least 25 pounds and I'm walking almost daily and trying to eat decent foods 90% of the time. Papa Seed and I are rebonding after life seemed destined to move us in opposite directions, or at least put other things as the focus. I joined Netflix. I made beef jerky.

Kuma has gone blind, and both he and Rusty have trouble walking these days. It breaks my heart and leaves me beyond depressed when I allow myself to think about it. Aspen looks bored because he no longer gets to go on his daily walks, but I need to change that. I hate leaving the other guys behind - it seems unfair.

Our nine chickens give us an average of five or six eggs a day, but they will probably slow down now that it is getting colder and darker.

Fall is my favorite season. I'm glad it is here.

The Egg And I

Chicken Update
Since last updating we had to find a new home for The Reverend. Neighbors were complaining. It was a tearful good-bye, I had become so attached to the fella, but he is in a better place now - a couple of acres, new lady friends, sheep and grass and a coop about 20 times bigger than what he left behind.

We started getting little tiny eggs a week or so ago. Finally realized they were coming from our little tiny chicken - a chicken that was brought to us by folks out walking one night who found her on the trail and thought she belonged to us. She didn't, but we said we'd keep her until we found her home. We didn't, but she lives with us now. It wasn't until yesterday that we figured out via Google that she is a Black Old English Game Bantam and she is going to stay small and so will her eggs. The photo is deceiving - the eggs are about a half the size of regular eggs.

I Update
Man, life is a roller coaster. Bad rib, sprained ankle, money problems, relationship angst, family issues, panic and anxiety. Always something. But heck, I'm taking voice lessons, I have a new tattoo, I'm doing creative things almost daily, I manage to get to work most days and enjoy myself while I'm there and I read a bit now and then. Hanging in there.

The Reverend

Don't Hate The Rev. from Zazzle.com

T-shirt designed by a friend to support The Reverend, our slightly illegal backyard family member.

More information on The Reverend's Facebook page.

Friends of The Reverend

Full text of a letter delivered to our neighbors (along with a jar of strawberry jam):

July 14th, 2011

Hello Neighbors,

We wanted to extend an apology to anyone who survives the morning cacophony of crows, stellar jays, raccoons, car alarms, sirens and the occasional fire truck visit only to get the morning sermon from one of our chicken flock – The Reverend Green, or “The Reverend” as we call him.

Seriously, a sincere apology.

He is a most unexpected part of our family, but one that we have become quite attached to. We have been hoping he would stay quiet (and was until last Thursday), and so far we’ve only noticed a 15 or 20 minutes max sermon around 5:45 – 6:00 AM (we are usually up after the Crow Festival of 3:30 AM) but realize that can still be annoying, especially to those who aren’t feeling the LOVE of The Reverend and his Congregation first thing in the morning.

Since we spend about half of the year living on a street that feels like it is doing a reenactment of the Tet Offensive and American Civil War COMBINATION 24/7, we thought this would be a minor inconvenience at best. Who knew America got a six month birthday celebration, and just ending in time for the World of New Year’s Celebrations? Nothing says “Happy Birthday” like having our largest dog try to crawl under our legs and watching the windows wave back and forth all night long and looking at the clock to see it is 3:00 AM and we still haven’t slept and need to be up in two hours.

We wanted to let you know that we are attempting to put in some sound proofing and ways to delay the sermon until most folks are on their way to work. We’ve been doing research. If that still doesn’t work, and we are hopeful that it does, we are trying to come up with a back-up plan that we hope we don’t have to do. We have contacted folks that we know just in case. But we hope you notice a big difference after this weekend.

Our hens have not started laying eggs yet, but they should be doing that soon – within a month we expect. We will have more than we can eat and would love to share them with you. In addition we are over-run with strawberries, raspberries and soon blueberries that we would like (to bribe you with) share with you. We know we have a HUGE WOODEN FENCE and usually are overrun with mean looking teenagers (we are down to one plus a girlfriend and he is harmless), but we really aren’t nearly as stand-off-ish as we fear we might appear. We are nice guys. We have references and Moms. You can come and meet the girls; Nina, Nico, Aretha, Bobbie Gentry, Yva II, Etta, Yoko and Bessie. And you can have a word with The Rev too. We often invite folks from the trail (especially those with kids) to come on over to see the chickens and pick berries – feels odd we haven’t had many of those we share a street with do the same. Heck, if you catch us on the right day we might even have some homebrew (Rodney makes his own) to share.

PLEASE let us know if our efforts to be peaceful and good neighbors are not working. We really do love living in this amazing home with our creek and the forest and the coyotes and the kids and the library and the Taco Truck and the Pho and the birds. We feel so fortunate.

Thank you

(signed with our names, address, emails and phone numbers)

Beat The Heat!

Summer is here and while most folks enjoy that bright sky and warm temperatures, I'm not most folks. I like images of the sun, but the real thing is a bit intense. I don't do well in heat. Heat to me begins around 60 degrees with the brutality multiplying by 10 for every five degrees above that.

There are some things I enjoy a great deal about summer; ice cream, outdoor music festivals, fresh tomatoes, men with nice bodies strutting around half naked and now this new beverage favorite that I created after having something similar at a Happy Hour a few months ago. I had to use the Power of Google to give me some ideas, but really it is just kind of an improvised drink, because anything that requires more than improvisation in the summer heat just isn't going to happen.

Here then is a step by step on how to make a Watermelon Margarita

Start by chopping up a fresh watermelon into cubes. If you want it to be slushy, freeze those cubes, but if you want to serve it over ice you can just get right to it. I like the taste of the frozen ones, but I'm one of those folks who get the dreaded Ice Cream Headaches, or Brain Freezes, so I prefer over ice most of the time.



Stick the cubes watermelon in a blender. You just have to kind of eyeball how much you want. Easy Math - The more watermelon = the more drink.



Next up comes Lime Time. One or two, freshly squeezed, should do you. Hold on to those squeezed limes for the glass later.





Add a little sugar to taste.





Now add a little kick. I use a jalapeno, avoiding most of the seeds so as not to overpower the drink, but it all depends on how lively you like your refreshments. Chop the sucker up and toss it in the blender.



Now GET THE PARTY STARTED. You want to add some Tequila and some Triple Sec. Probably two shots of Tequila for every shot of Triple Sec, so say three shots of Tequila and one and a half of Triple Sec. Or double this.







BLEND!

You can just gulp it straight from the blender, but it pays to get a tad more fancy. First get out that box of Kosher Salt you have up in your cupboard, and if you don't have Kosher Salt, why do you have a kitchen?



Take one of those limes that you squeezed a minute ago, and coat the rim of a glass with the juice. Then dip the glass in the salt (which you've placed on a plate for ease with this step).





Add the Watermelon Beverage and you have just made one of the true delights of summer! Congratulations and CHEERS!
(Best served with a plate of nachos or ceviche)



Of course you can not freeze the watermelon, as I mentioned above, and pour this over some ice. Still delicious. I'm going to try a Strawberry version soon. Really any fruit plus booze plus ice equals good summer fun! Enjoy your summer!

My America

I hear it singing, too. I hear it in my blood and in my experiences. I hear it in my heroes and from the earth and from the sky. It is a place, but not a place, a thought but not just one thought. It is not made from boundaries or a period of time, but a constant shifting and constant revolutions, some small and some large. It belongs to no one and it belongs to everyone.



Walt Whitman, Olympic Mountains, Yellowstone Scrabble, Cornel West, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Woody Allen, James Baldwin, Amiri Baraka, Washington D.C., The New York Times, Loraine Hansberry, Zora Neale Hurston, Martin Luther King, Jr., Gil Scott-Heron, White Night Riots, Mattachine Society, John Coltrane, Daughters of Bilities, Gay Sunshine Press, The Croatan, Broadway, John Rechy, Alice Waters, Edgar Allan Poe, Moby Dick, To Kill A Mockingbird, Badlands, Truman Capote, Barack Obama, Cesar Chavez, Marlon Brando, Tupac Shakur, Stonewall Riots, Bessie Smith, Boston, Brown vs Board of Education of Topeka - Kansas, Tucson, Yosemite, Breakfast Cereal, Divine, WAR, Woolworth’s Lunch Counter Protest, State Fairs, Candy Corn, Radical Faeries, Hippies, Planned Parenthood, Bubble Gum, Mount Rainier, Drive-In Theaters, Smithsonian Institute, Lassen, National Geographic Society, Andy Warhol, Spike Lee, National Audubon Society, Roadside Attractions, Film Noir, Life Magazine, Suspension Bridge, Westerns, Jazz, Charles Mingus, Harry Hay, Benjamin Franklin, Saguaro Cacti, Nathaniel Hawthorne, John Cage, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Teddy Roosevelt, George Washington Carver, Joe Coleman, David Foster Wallace, NPR, Greil Marcus, Stan Brakhage, Paper Moon, James Brown, Howard Zinn, Patti Smith, The Grateful Dead Carlsbad Caverns, Henry David Thoreau, Edward Hopper, A Streetcar Named Desire, Draft Card Burning, Feminist Movement, The Ramones, Grand Canyon, X, Odetta, Sweet Honey In The Rock, Mark Twain, Petrified Forest, Miles Davis, Ernest Hemmingway, Tom Waits, Postcards, Mason Jars, Candy Darling, Bruce Springsteen, Al Green, Executive Order 9981, Rosa Parks, Little Rock Nine, Lena Horne, Aretha Franklin, Barbra Streisand, Letter From a Birmingham Jail, NAACP, Civil Rights Act of 1964, The Black Panthers, Huey Newton, William Burroughs, Roe vs Wade, Julia Child, Tyler Florence, Gumbo, Grinders, Apple Pie, Bourbon Whiskey, Bob Dylan, Bobby Seale, Pecan Pie, The Beats, Dan Savage, Delicatessens, Bagels, Mickey Newbury, Waylon Jennings, Burt Bacharach, Irving Berlin, Elliott Carter, R. Crumb, Janis Joplin, Morton Feldman, Woody Gutherie, Lou Harrison, Velvet Underground, Harry Partch, Mission Style Burritos, Allen Ginsberg, Harry Smith, Cole Porter, Stephen Sondheim, Stevie Wonder, San Francisco, New York Marriage Equality, Cinderella Liberty, Taxi Driver, Robert Altman’s Nashville, Charlie Chaplin, The Wizard of Oz, Sonoran Desert, Dan Clowes, City Lights, Midnight Cowboy, Jack Kerouac, The Chicano Movement, New England Clam Chowder, All In The Family, Tex-Mex Cuisine, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Timothy Leary, The Civil Rights Act of 1968, Gary Snyder, Michael McClure, Gregg Araki, Anna May Wong, Immigrants, John Cassavetes, Women’s Suffrage, Boudin, The Emancipation Proclamation, Declaration of Independence, Ratification of the Constitution, ACLU, The Marx Brothers, La Raza, BBQ, ACORN, William Faulkner, Bless the Beasts and the Children, Jambalaya, Tabasco, Langston Hughes, John Steinbeck, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, Herman Melville, Route 66, Jasper Johns, Rebel Without a Cause, Austin, Texas, Baretta, I Love Lucy, Cape Cod, Modern Times, The Harlem Renaissance, Georgia O’Keeffee, Franz Kline, Jackson Pollock, Willem De Kooning, Pop Art, Man Ray, James Broughton, Hernandez Brothers, Charles Schultz, Eightball, Adrian Tomine, Woodstock, Human Be-In, Evergreen Review, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Susan Sontag, Charles Bukowski, The Whole Earth Catolog, Back-To-The Land Movement, Southern Poverty Law Center, Van Jones, Gone With The Wind, The New York Times, Home Colony, Oregon Country Fair, Angela Davis, Love and Rockets, Frederick Douglass, Freedom, Equality, Happiness

Spring Chickens

Has it really been a half of a year since I posted on here? I intend to often, but waste time on Facebook or staring off in space or sitting in front of MSNBC far too often.

So far, the year has had more than an average chunk of musical events, the return of one of the boys whom we never thought would return, relationship counseling and issues, nine new chickens, aging dogs, weight loss/weight gain, money issues, above average number of books read, houseguests and a newcomer to the mid-life crisis (Papa Seed!).

Etta, Odetta, Yva II, Yoko, Nina, Aretha, Bobbie Gentry, Nico and Bessie joined our family as little one day old peepers along with eight of their sisters who went off to live with another family when they reached seven weeks of age. Our house was full of dust by the time the girls moved outside. They are now pretty big girls and seem different than the other chickens we've had. These are much more of a "pack" - they do everything together. They seem less afraid of dogs and humans, but hate being picked up. Pretty mellow girls so far, and any pecking order - which I know can still be coming down the pike - has been minor to date. I love having chickens again. I don't know if I will ever be able to enjoy life without chickens again. I've also lost the desire to eat chicken, which used to be one of my favorite foods. I still did it with the last two batches, but something about this one that has turned me off, at least for now, from having it as a food source.

Welcome Home

I get the best greeting when I get home. One, two or three of the dogs will be at the gate. I get the full on welcome. Then they run inside to be right at the door when I walk in. It is just the best welcome anyone could ever wish for and I get it daily, often several times within a day.

The snow is supposed to be coming in every second. I think there are a few flakes falling now. It should be gone - washed away by the rain - by morning, so I am going to stay up as long as I can. Tomorrow is my last day of work before we head to San Francisco, so I don't need to be that alert. They will understand.

And Now For Something Completely Different

There isn't any smooth way of returning to a blog after putting it on hold for months and months. It was an interesting little bit of time, however. Our son has moved on and is now living with his girlfriend and several other roommates, our nephews/de facto sons have been on various adventures most of which aren't legal and are possibly part of the roommate situation I just mentioned. Our chickens either flew off to their freedom or were killed by a predator. I think I know which one, but I know which one I'd rather believe. Two of our three dogs are now old enough to have serious problems with joints, arthritis and injuries. So am I. After working towards slowly getting healthier, I became overwhelmed by life and used that as an excuse for not being diligent when it comes to walking/exercise/food. I feel the difference. I really feel the difference.

But all is not heartbreak and misery. Oh no. Papa Seed and I have been able to get out and about now and then. We've done adult things, like stay up late and go to clubs to hear music and order cocktails in a bar on Christmas Eve and sit in a living room and read all night. Right now he is painting the former bedroom of Mancub as he begins turning it into a home office. We will be flying off to San Francisco in a few days to celebrate my 52nd year on the planet and to reconnect with friends I haven't seen in years - 33 years, 16 years, 8 years and one year for instance. We got busy. Time happens. I'm rectifying it finally. It is never too late for it to be today.

And while I'm not doing "Resolutions", I am all about new goals and adventures. I'm also all about the new amazon.com tote bag option. Find what you want and put it in the tote and it gets delivered once a week - no shipping, no handling, no fuss. They don't deliver to our home, but they do deliver to my work. I know this because I have experienced this for three weeks in a row now.



I've decided that, always late to a fad, I'd make this next year the year I learn how to make cocktails. I'm really not that big of a drinker, but there is always time to make that change. I guess the fancy cocktails either were or are trendy, depending on how au currant the source. I bought a couple of books to guide me on this new path. A journey of rum and whiskey, on the rocks.

I've never watched an entire episode of "The Biggest Loser". I watched a few minutes one season and it seemed humiliating. But the exercise DVDs are supposed to be pretty decent for bigger folks. I need something like that. I have a couple already - including what I call the fat person's yoga DVD. Even those are difficult for me. I have to use those exercise bands, thus that featured item in my shopping pleasure photograph.

And while we have 100's of cookbooks already, including many vegan and vegetarian ones (not bad for a couple of omnivores), I wanted to combine my love of Latin American food with my 2011 goal of eating something like 60% vegan, 20% vegetarian and 20% omnivore. That is a goal. It is not a label and I might not hit it and that is okay.



Although I have a library of unwatched DVDs and Blu-rays, I also can't resist a good bargain when Marlon Brando and the Marx Brothers are concerned, so I added a little something that will hopefully inspire me on an "art project" that I'll hopefully be posting about in the next year as well. Intriguing? Stay tuned.