Another Milestone

As I mentioned in a previous post, being a Gay Man of 70 years, I have not been able to measure my life in milestones as do non-gay men who grew up when I did. In the traditional situation, a man measures his life by his accomplishments and successes but also by family events.

Nowadays a gay couple or individual can adopt and have a somewhat traditional family of his/her own. In the post I discussed what it felt like being a "father figure" and/or mentor to a series of young men who entered Gregory and my life and how this served as a series of milestones for me.

Isaac became part of our experience when he was born to dear friends Jan and Jake and now to me during his recent living in the condo until he leaves for his adventure in Japan.

Ben, Ken, and Alaksh arrived as companions to Gregory when I needed support in providing Gregory as close to a normal existence as possible considering his diagnosis of Young Onset Alzheimer's Disease and also giving myself "away time" from the 24/7 responsibility that is loving and living with someone who has dementia.

One other important young man, who I though about last night as I anticipate his Christmas vacation visit, was also a milestone event for me but I did not discuss him previously. I will use his initials, CP, so as not to embarrass him in this honest essay and if my failing to include him previously caused upset, I apologize and hope to make up for it here.

I first met CP when he was just a child, nephew of dear friends. He did not distinguish himself in my mind over the years of his being part of this multiple nephew/niece group of dear friends whom we only saw each July 4th.

As he grew up, became a man, and began attending university, we reacquainted on a more intellectual, adult/adult level.

I have to admit I was attracted to him: young, handsome, intelligent, kind, friendly. Why wouldn't I be. I was attracted to his respect for me and honoring me as someone to whom he looked up. I was flattered and why wouldn't I be.

While I admit to this "crush," he was never in danger of my acting on the "crush" as I honor the friendship above all else and even more strongly would never betray or seek to realize an inappropriate man/youth attraction/fantasy with anyone so far out of my age range and certainly not without mutual consent.

So CP and I began what was to become months of e-mail communications based on the book, "Letters to a Young Poet" by Rainer-Maria Rilke. Our mutual love of writing was the glue that supported our new relationship. Recommended readings and shared writings were sent back and forth.

We talked about poetry, writing, life, death, and everything in-between. He shared his youthful ideas: sometimes foolish, sometimes insightful. I shared my "wiser" ideas: sometimes foolish, sometimes insightful. Over time we came to know and respect each other and our foolish if not sometimes insightful ideas.

Most often we agreed with each other and most often we learned from each other. Most importantly we peaked each other's interest, motived each other to higher thinking, and motivated our continued sharing.

Since then, conversations have disappeared, understandably so as he became more immeshed in his university studies and as I became more entrenched in my life partner Gregory's diminished abilities due to his diagnosis of Young Onset Alzheimer's Disease.

So thank you CP for being one of my milestones in "growing into old age gracefully" and into having been yet again a mentor to another amazing young man. I look forward to our upcoming visit during your Christmas break. Like the nurturing person I am (and to use an older gay joking phrase - an Old Auntie,) I will probably bake some cookies for your visit.

For My Friend Jan

"In The Table" & "On The Wall"

Last night Gregory and I were featured artists at Jan and Jake's "In The Table Gallery." Jan wrote a wonderful BLOG about the event and instead of trying to do the job as well as she did, I have posted the link to her entry:
Jan's BLOG: "Nexus"

Thoughts of Elaine and Buttons

Elaine, my creative accomplished friend. Ears burning? I have been thinking about you with an intense focus as I sit here at the counter that divides the kitchen from the main room of our condo, mending a shirt which has miraculously lost all eight of its buttons at the same time.


I am not complaining. At least I found all the buttons. One hour later, the shirt has all if its white, four holed buttons firmly reattached, at least for the time being. I guess it would have been worse to witness the buttons undo themselves one at a time, over time.


Next to me sits the completed shirt and an open basket with my scant sewing tools: a red tomato of a pin cushion with its green calix and attached red bud that I seem to remember is for sharpening needles, a yellow handled scissors which is probably too large for the job, a zip top bag full of miscellaneous buttons that somehow seem to collect me when I am not looking, and a wooden darning egg.


There is another zip top bag with assorted spools of various colored threads (mostly useless and matching some long forgotten piece of clothing) each end of which is wound and slotted where it belongs. There is a small box of various sized safety pins one of which is HUGE and a souvenir of one of my Lyric Opera costume temporary mends.


There are other assorted items like a tape measure, thimble, crochet needle, wooden box filled with extra needles, pencil, cardboard of straight pins, and a "thing-a-majig" that is used to take out seams and other erroneously left over bits of thread.


As I was sewing on the multitude of buttons I was trying to remember how I learned how these basic techniques of sewing, who taught me the skills? It may have been my mother but I do not remember any tender moments with me sitting by her side as she taught me. In elementary school, seventh or eighth grade I believe, I did take a class which in those days was called Home Economics and probably made an apron or some simple item. 


Gregory's mother, Helen, taught me how to thread a needle by licking it, pinching it between my fingers, and pushing the eye of the needle into the pinch as the thread like magic seemed to know what to do without my help. She also taught me to roll the end of the thread around a spit moistened finger as a way of tying an end knot in the thread.


Gregory taught me how to sew a coat button around a wooden match stick and then to wind the thread around the button a number of times, so there would be enough give in the button to get through the woolen thickness of the coat. 


So Elaine, my dear friend, to you who can run a sewing machine (and several other machines the names of which I am sure I do not know) I say, "Amazing." To you who can buy the right amount of material to make a blouse or a skirt or a jacket and have the blouse, skirt, or jacket actually look like a blouse, skirt, or jacket ... I salute you. 


To someone who can create unique looking items, be they clothes, quilts, or whatever; that have unique buttons in unexpected places and exciting unexpected lines and folds, I say "Hurrah!" To you who attends workshops and seminars to learn more and to share the creativity of other masters, I say, "KUDOS!"


With fond memories of your wonderful, huge sewing studio (organized, waiting to be organized, or just messy) with your private space to contemplate the nature and activity of creativity (I so yearn for a "Room of My Own") I say, "Here's to you!"


As for me, I have to go put some antiseptic on the many holes I have poked in my fingers. Maybe next time I will attempt to hem a cuff!

New Ways of Seeing

Thanks to my friend Jan for the motivation for this piece. Her Blog on Liu Bolin caused me to become sad, pensive, overwhelmed.


I am ALWAYS in awe of someone who can look at life, through their art, in a way that no one else has until that moment. To create new ways of seeing. It was there all along, s/he saw it, and now I can see it too.


I am always in awe of someone who can follow their vision, their passion and who dedicates their life to those beliefs.


Experiencing an artist's ability to cause me to see life differently makes me feel like my creativity is only a rehash of what is, not a view of what might be, could be, or should be. I yearn to live my life artistically and by doing so to bring joy and understanding to others. I'll keep trying. Why do I feel like I will never be that "Best Little Boy?"


My friend Jan causes these same emotions in me. I love her and am an avid fan of hers because: 1) She is good. 2) She is inventive. 3) She is one of a kind. 4) She is intense. 5) She doesn’t know how to settle for the ordinary. 6) I love her.


• • • • •

You can visit her blog at: Jan's Blog

The specific blog I am referring to here is at: Liu Bolin

More art by Liu Bolin can be seen here: Eli Klein Fine Art

A Facebook Conversation

C J: Sometimes people don't realize the hurt that they can cause by silence.

M H: So true! But sometimes the noise hurts more.

C J: Sometimes. Then at least speak softly with the openness and willingness to see things through to harmony.