Whooosh ..... Vacation Over

I have still not caught up on my sleep ... I could doze at any minute so if this ends suddenly, you'll know why.

It was quite the looong weekend we had, which began with a, yes, you'll be reading it right, a 5:45 AM flight to Atlanta, followed by another flight to LAX, a final flight to Sacramento, and, lastly, a forty-five minute drive to the foothills where my sister lives.

The high points of the flight? The ATL-LAX leg was on a plane not quite half-full, so I had an entire row to myself, as did Carlos. And, his row being up two from  mine, and across the aisle, we kept making eye-contact; I'd motion for him to com e it by me and he'd shake his head, and then he'd motion for me to come sit by him and I'd shake my head. This went on forever because we're children, until finally I either won, or Carlos decided to stop being childish, and he came back to sit with me. 

The high point I mentioned was the man sitting behind Carlos who apparently didn’t know we were travelling together and thought we were just doing a 36,000 feet high hook-up/ He could not stop watching us and had it been a night flight I might have given him more of a story to tell.

The second high point was ding at Skewers at LAX, where I had oyakadon served up by the most beautiful man ...stunning ... gorgeous. I kept wondering, WTF is he doing serving airport food? He should be on Bravo, like in Hot Oyakodon Man, or something. Breath.Taking. I wish I'd been able to slyly take his picture but I'm not that sly and the food was delicious.

After arriving in Sacramento, dog-tired and still hungry--by this time we'd been up and at 'em for roughly 8 hours--we went into the downtown area and ate lunch at a place where we'd had one of our first dates when Carlos flew out to Sacramento to see me back in 2000: Tapa The World. 

I was happy to see that it was still there, after thirteen years, and even happier that the food was still spectacular. Carlos dined on Paella while I had a Tuna Nicoise Salad and we both had big glasses of Sangria. Add to that we sat outside on a breezy beautiful day and it was the perfect way to start the trip.

Of course that ended and we headed up the freeway to my sister's house. On top of being diagnosed with cancer, she and her husband have just moved, too, and now live in a house neighbored by emus and geese, wild turkeys and deer; not a zoo, but awfully close.

It was great to see her again and even better to see her doing so well, and in great spirits. She has just finished her last round of chemo--her tumor has shrunk by 70% but she has small cell cancer, which means it doesn't often show up in tests--and now she wants to see about doing trial programs, not so much to help her, because that's not really an option, but maybe because her results can help someone else down the road who is battling cancer. We talked and laughed and ate a light dinner--it was ten o'clock our time--before driving a few miles to our hotel and fell asleep at once; and for about ten hours. Oy.

The next day we drove back down to Sacramento and just walked around Old Sacramento, the Capital, and the downtown area. It was where I lived when Carlos and I met, and where he'd come to see me, so we looked at some old haunts and wondered what happened to some and laughed that others were still there. One of the town's oldest gay bars, Faces, is still there, and has had a massive renovation and addition to it, and is now surrounded by another gay bar, The Depot, as well as many LGBT friendly restaurants and shops; it's nice to see that area growing.

Naturally, since we're all about the food, we headed to Ernesto’s for Mexican food. We'd planned on eating light because my father was arriving later in the day and my sister planned a dinner and a belated birthday celebration at her house. Unfortunately, light didn't happen after seeing the menu; ceviche appetizer, two full lunches, and churros for dessert, along with beer and the most amazing Pomegranate Margarita I Have ever had; hea-ven, I tell you, hea-ven.

After that it was back to my sister’s house for my Dad’s requested meal of taco's and lemon cake for dessert. More laughs--especially at my Dad who had shaved his head in support of my sister. She liked it so much she even removed her scarf so we could get pictures of the two, almost chrome, domes.

Then it was back to sleep; followed by the next day day-trip to Placerville, AKA Hangtown. With all the firs in California, the air was quite smoky, but Placerville was, is, a cute town, with a Farmer's Market happening and lots of very cool stores. While shopping, I got a call from one of my greatest friends, Laura, and we made plans to meet her for drinks later in the day, so we took that time to stop in at my sister’s and talk with the family and laugh some more before heading off to Fats in Folsom. 

Frank Fat was a big deal in Sacramento, emigrating from Asia, and built several restaurants in the downtown area--Frank Fats and Fat City--before expanding out to the 'burbs. Fats in Folsom is a beautiful place with thirty foot palm trees growing up through the floors and great food. We met Laura and drank and ate--I'm sensing another reason for this trip: grub and liquor--and laughed. I met Laura some eighteen years ago--I was but a child--and we became fast friends almost at once. I think of all the people I could have seen, and wanted to see, while in California, and Laura topped both lists. So, we had a good time chatting and Dim Sum-ing and sipping some really great chardonnay.

Of course, that was followed by a retrun trip to my sister's house for leftover pizza and a rundown of the next day. Her second oldest daughter, Brigitte, eloped July 31st, and she and her husband were having a wedding reception at their home the next day; a family affair, to say the least.

It was my Dad, my sister and her husband, Carlos and me, my brother and his wife, their daughter, my sister's four daughters, and my Dad's two great-grandsons, along with friends of the happy couple.

More food, more drinks. My niece decided she wasn't the champagne toast kinda girl, so their toast was done with tequila, making it quite clear that she and I are related. I have never met a tequila I didn't like! Or a tamale or spring role, or roasted vegetable, or cake. Oy. The food. The drink. The drink and the food.

As much as I love going out of town, generally by the second or third day I am ready to come home. I miss my house and yard and I miss my kids, so after the reception I was ready to head back to the hotel and prepare to head home. We said our goodbyes, and there was one final picture with my dad, his kids, their spouses, their kids, and their kid's kids. Not everyone wants to be on the blog so that little picture will have to do, but that’s the Family.

High point? Other than seeing my sister and seeing how good she's doing? Other than seeing my family and friends? Other than food and drink and more food and drink? The look of joy on Carlos' face every time one of my nieces called him Uncle Carlos and introduced him as their Uncle Carlos, their Uncle Bobby's husband. It's a little thing really, but it meant a lot.

The flight home? Oy. Sacramento to Minneapolis, Minneapolis to ATL, ATL to Columbia; we left at 7AM California time, and arrived at home at 11 PM Smallville time. Long day.

High point? We ate--I know, more food and drink--at a place called Mimosa at the Minneapolis airport where you order and pay by iPad, and then play with the iPad while waiting for your food. It could have been impersonal, but the bartender was nice and we chatted and then we laughed at Carlos trying to work the iPad.

He will not be getting an iPad.

Now we're home and it's back to abnormal. Lawns, pets, laundry, shopping, work. But it was a lovely trip, nice to see the whole family together again; it's been a number of years since we have all been in the same pace at the same time. And best of all, it was great to see my sister and find her doing so well, and enjoying life so much, and  just being ....

And the kids were just thrilled to have us home?

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Random Musing .... Singular

That's my Dad and Mom, with me and my big sister. My big sister.

My sister is in the hospital with pneumonia and she woke up around 4:30 this morning and was bored. Since she lives in California she knew she better not call anyone that early, but then she remember time differences, and how it was 7:30 in the morning here in Smallville and she placed that call.

So we talked about her having pneumonia and how she was feeling better. She told me stories of ghosts and such that people told her about; ghosts that wandered the hospital. And we laughed. My sister is kind of that hippie love child mother, and we talked about the ghosts and we talked about her kids and how her youngest had recently shaved the side of her head. We laughed.

I had recently asked if I could use a picture that I have of her in a project that might see my novel published at long last. it's one of my favorite pictures of her, wearing a blue flowered dress that my Mom made for her. I want it on the cover of the book; I actually used the picture as a way to describe a character in my book who, while she looks like my sister and acts like my sister and has some of the same adventures with her younger brother that my sister had with me, she is not that sister. My sister is much nicer, and sweeter.

But we talked about growing up together and the things we did together. I told her some good news about my Dad. He is planning on leaving Washington state and moving back down to Oregon and I was thrilled by that. Don't get me wrong, he loves Washington, but his life is more in Oregon, with friends and family closer to him. So we smiled at that thought.

We talked for over an hour and then I heard the nurses enter her room and she said she had to get off the phone so they could do their work. I said I loved her, and she said, as she always has, that she loves me, too.

She called again around 1:30PM, my time. I saw the caller ID and said, 'Hey.'

She said, 'I have cancer.'

In her lung and in her leg. Cancer. She asked that I call Dad and let him know because that was a call she couldn't make. She started to tell me more, but then she started to cry.

Then she said, 'Don't you start.'

I said, 'Too late.'

My sister has cancer. My big sister.

So, work was cancelled for the day and here I am at home. I made that call to my Dad, and he cried, which makes me cry more. I called Carlos and cried just hearing his voice.

My sister has cancer.

Still, she says she'll do everything she can to beat this, take every treatment and do whatever is necessary, and I am telling myself that if anyone can do this, my big sister can. See, she is one of the most stubborn people in the world and will not take No for an answer.

So, I am laying out the hope blanket and hoping to catch all I can. Hoping to send it all to her so she can feed her stubbornness and fight this thing.

My sister has cancer. I feel like I need to keep saying it because it doesn't feel real. not after we lost our Mother to cancer; not after we lost our aunt to it, also.

My sister has cancer and I have hope. 

She has hope. And she's stubborn.

I just needed to get that out. Thanks.

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Gay Dad Wants To Dine With Supreme Court Justice

I'm a huge proponent of Coming Out. I think all LGBT people should Come Out ... Right now. See, once we're out, there is no more fear; people will begin to realize that gay folks are pretty much like straight folks, except in terms of who we love. And fear, as we all know, is at the root of intolerance and bigotry and homophobia, and even hate; fear of the unknown.

So, it seems pretty clear that if we are all 'known' there will be less fear, and one man has a novel way to make certain someone's less fearful, and make himself more known.

Rob Watson, a gay dad, an LGBT activist and blogger, wants to become known to Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy, and he wants to do it in the best way possible: he's invited Kennedy to his home for dinner:

Dear Justice Kennedy: 

This is an invitation to dinner. I thought that would be the best way for you to decide how to vote on whether my family deserves the equal protections that other people's families enjoy. 

If you come, you will meet my 10-year-old sons, who will likely impress you, given how personable, articulate, polite and bright they are. You might ask, as many people we meet do, if they are twins. The answer will be, "They are 'almost-twins': Their birthdays are four months apart." That will bring a "huh, come again?" look, and I will explain how I adopted them as babies from different drug-addicted birth mothers through foster care. 

Many of the amicus briefs you've seen in these cases suggest that other families deserve legal protection over mine because those families were created more spontaneously or accidentally than the family of someone who went out to help children and save them from real danger. ("Marriage is ... inextricably linked to the objective biological fact that opposite-sex couples, and only such couples, are capable of creating new life together," says Dennis Hollinsworth.) I would just ask you to meet my sons, look them in they eyes and see their smiles before you decide whether the "procreation advantage" briefs are correct. 

If you were to come to dinner with my family, you would also meet Jim. He is the man in my life. It wasn't until our relationship became serious that he met my sons, and now he has taken up running a lot of the day-to-day needs of my family and has been an incredible support. He and the boys have already established a terrific bond. You will be able to see by the way I look at him, and by the way my sons look at him, that we love him. Deeply. 

Jim had a business life before he met me, as I did before meeting him. You and I can chat about how complicated blending all that can be, and what a terrific hardship it would be to each of us should the other die. Where opposite-gender couples have legal protections, we do not, and our attempt at blending our finances would fall apart, our pensions would be lost, and enormous taxes would be imposed on us. This would be the scenario even if our state allowed us to legally marry each other. If any of our biological next of kin were to interfere, then things could go badly very quickly. 

Some have told you that we gays are politically powerful. Paul Clement claims, "Gays and lesbians are one of the most influential, best-connected, best-funded, and best-organized interest groups in modern politics, and have attained more legislative victories, political power, and popular favor in less time than virtually any other group in American history." Around our dinner table we can discuss how it sure does not feel that way. On the sideboard you will see pictures of dear friends of mine who passed away from AIDS, a disease that ran rampant for years because, at the time, it was not politically defensible for the president of the United States -- the one who appointed you -- to say its name. We can try to name another health crisis in history that received such a lack of immediate action, but I don't think we will come up with one. 

We can also talk about my relationship with Jim, and how, before I met him, millions of strangers voted for me not to be able to marry him. Neither of us has yet brought up marriage, but you will see by looking at us that one of us probably will want to bring it up in the near future. We are happy and love each other that much. However, even if one of us were to propose, he would need to ask millions of people for permission to marry his love. Somehow that does not make us or my kids feel particularly "politically powerful." 

Republicans from the House of Representatives have asked you not to decide on the same-sex marriage issue as "a matter of sound social and political policy while the American people are so actively engaged in working through this issue for themselves." As I look across the table at the man I love, I would ask you to in fact decide on it so that he and I can work on our lives and our feelings for ourselves. 

If you come to dinner, we can chat about how you also started in California and whether you are liking your home in McLean, Va. I would tell you how I envy you. You see, even if Jim and I were allowed to marry in California, we could not move to Virginia as you and your wife have done, because the legal protections we'd have in California would fly out the window, and without them our family arrangements would unravel. Even if we could marry in California, we would be under statewide house arrest, essentially. We do hope that you are enjoying your freedom to move from state to state and continue to be considered married wherever you happen to live. 

We will probably then verify your taste in food and beverage, so that we can make any necessary last-minute changes in the serving of the meal. It is interesting how deeply ingrained our tastes are, in terms of what we are drawn to eat, what we desire and what our systems can tolerate. Those do not seem to be learned but something we were born with. Some people have tried to tell you that being gay is just an expression of chosen taste and behavior. "What lower courts have understood to be a homosexual 'orientation' is not a trait attributable from conception or birth. Rather, particularly as framed by Respondents here, it involves a species of conduct," states the Catholic Church in their brief. You will see me furrow my brow at such a suggestion, because every credible biologist states that sexual orientation is biologically based, as it is in most species of animals. I will also mutter under my breath, "Gee, I don't recall scientists declaring the discovery of the gene that makes one Catholic. Yet these bishops are crying that a pro-gay decision would impede on their religious freedom. If they have rights protecting their chosen religion, I should have rights protecting my innate nature." 

You may hear my comment, and that will enhance our conversation as we serve the ham. As I cut the boys' meat and try to convince Jesse that he does actually like it but just forgot, I will mention that I am glad that you did not require a kosher meal. Some of our friends do, and serving ham to them would be a faux pas. Eating ham is a sin, according to their religious beliefs. However, they do not seem to feel a need to turn their personal belief into a federal law that would require everyone to avoid ham, nor do they think that because people eat ham, society as we know it is coming to an end.

I hope that over dessert, you will just sit back and take us all in. We are not perfect, but we are a family. We love and plan and live just like any other family. Jim and I do not want anything special; we just want what we have worked for our entire lives to go to the benefit of each other and our loved ones. We do not consider ourselves better because of how we came together, but we also do not consider ourselves any worse. You will see that my kids have been raised with standards just like kids in other families have, and with manners, and that they too have bedtimes that we hit like clockwork.

With that, we would get your things, and I would walk you out to your car. I would look at you and say, "Thank you, Justice Kennedy, for coming. We were honored to have you. We know that the future of our family rests in your hands. You have the power to make it devastatingly difficult. You can make it confusing and convoluted. Or you can do the right thing. Please, Justice Kennedy, please, please, do the right thing.

Be a rock star.

Sincerely,
Rob Watson

Like I said, once we're known, it becomes clear that we are so frightening; fabulous, maybe, but not scary at all.

We just want the same things that heterosexual people have been having for years: peace, love and understanding.

source

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Mom

My mother died six years ago today. I wrote this post a few months after she passed and thought I'd share it, along with some pictures, today.

________________________________________________

I learned a lot from my Mom, and my Dad. I learned that roles people play aren't defined by gender; that what you do in a relationship, the part you play, can change over time. Mom's didn't just bake cookies and be a Room Mother; they weren't just Den Mother's or on the PTA. Mom's went back to school to become nurses so that Dad's could get a teaching degree after he retired from the Air Force.

And Dad's don't just throw baseballs with their sons. This son wasn't the best catch, and to this day, I still throw like a girl. But Dad's can also take their sons on bike rides; they can go to arts-and-crafts shows; they talk to them. Dad's can do the dishes and cook the meal's because Mom's working while he goes to school.

My Mom and Dad are those kinds of Moms and Dads.

My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer in the early part of 2006, and my Dad did what he does best. He researched and called doctors and spoke to people. He took care of my mother every day from the time she was diagnosed until the day she died. And that is not the easiest thing for anyone to do. But it's what Dad's do; Dad's who love their wives with all their hearts; Dad's who've been married to Mom's for over fifty-one years.


Carlos and I went to see my Mom and Dad just after her diagnosis. It was all good spirits and a happy visit, but lung cancer casts an ugly shadow over everything. The survival rate is minuscule; surviving even two years with lung cancer is rare. But he and my Mom went through all the tests and the chemo; losing the hair, the appetite; the sleeplessness; the days she slept too much; the forgetfulness.

In January of 2007, my Dad asked that I come out again. He was having a tough time being on-call 24/7 and he wanted a helping hand; he wanted an ear; he wanted a visitor. I stayed for about a week, and my Mom seemed in good spirits. We had fresh crab for dinner one night and Mom went crazy over hers. We told stories and laughed; we ate, we drank, we talked. And the clouds grew a bit darker.

A few weeks later my dad began using hospice care to help him care for my Mom. He needed a break every so often. It was a full-time job with no time off. I remember he gave me the name of the woman who handled the hospice care program and he asked me to call her. I had been asking him if he wanted me to come out and he said it was a decision I needed to make for myself.

So I called the woman from hospice and spoke to her; she told me my father had been working so hard caring for my Mom; she told me he was reluctant to ask for help. I told her he was stubborn as a mule--a trait all the family shares--and she said, "I can't say that, but you can." I asked if she thought I should go out there, and she said, "As soon as she can. Your mother really doesn't have much time."

Doesn't have much time. Awful, awful words.

So Carlos and I flew out to Oregon. My mother seemed all right. Alert. Awake. Happy to see us. My sister and brother had come up from California, so we were all together again, for a while.
It seemed as though, once she had her family around, my Mom knew she could go. The next few days her health began failing. She slept most of the time, but when she was awake, she would say the most wonderful things.

My sister visited the month before as well, and she told a story of having dinner, everyone around the table and Mom asleep on the couch. With the idea of death becoming more clear, my sister began talking about religion. We all have our own thoughts and ideas about religion, what's right, wrong, who to believe, what to follow. My sister said something about having so many choices, what do you believe.

My Mom woke up for a moment and said, "You take all the best parts of all of them."

Another time, in that week she died, Mom was asleep on the couch, and her legs slid off to the floor. My sister went and asked if she wanted to change positions and Mom said, "I'm just going to lay hear and let them all watch me."

I like to think she was talking about the people waiting for her.

Another day, after we'd gotten a hospital bed for her, i was sitting by her side, and she looked through the front window and asked, "Who are all those people on the deck?"

There was no one there, but she saw them, waiting for her.

A day later she died quietly and peacefully in her home. I was sitting in the living room, with Mom asleep across the room. I wanted her to go. I wanted her to be peaceful. I didn't want her to hurt, or to worry about us. I wanted her to have her hair back and her smile; and that laugh; and the way she would say, "Oh Bobby!" whenever I said something outrageous--which was, and is, often.

My Dad came out of their bedroom and went to stand by her side, and she was gone. That's a sound you don't ever want to hear, or will ever forget, the sound your Dad makes when he realizes his wife has died.

So, that's my Mom. I was glad to be there when she died; happy to hold her hand on her last day; to send her off with the sounds of her family and her dog, her husband of so many years. Not long after I got home from Oregon, Carlos and I decided to start house-hunting. Nothing seemed right. Too small; too far out; not enough trees. Then the realtor showed me another house, and I walked in the front door and you could see into the empty kitchen. I pictured my Mom, in one of her housecoats, sitting at a table we would buy, in that kitchen with her morning coffee, looking into our backyard.

That was the house we bought. And I can still see my Mom every so often, in that kitchen, looking into my yard. I think of her every day. I talk to her every day. I cry a bit, like now, as I remember and relive those last days with her. 

I've always said that it gets easier, but it never really gets better.

I miss you, Mom.
I love you.

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