Friends

Me (3rd from left) and my friends (from left to right) Billy, Pee Wee, Me, Chubby and my brother Isaac at 120 Washington Avenue in Downingtown, PA 1951

My longtime good friend Larry recently wrote a blog posting about how difficult it is for him to make friends. He said he has had this difficulty since childhood.  He places most of the blame on his parents for being an only child and living in the county during his early childhood.  He said he had no kids his age during that period of his life to form the basis of developing friendships.  He believes this has affected him his whole life and is basically the reason for his lifelong shyness.


I met Larry when I was in third grade and was perhaps his best friend.  We remained good friends until his family moved (again) right before we were to enter ninth grade in high school.  I remember to this day how traumatic the impending loss of his friendship was as I was about to begin junior high (now middle) school.


We maintained a long distance friendship but it was never like it was when we lived on the same street (Washington Avenue) in Downingtown trading comic books and going out Friday and Saturday night bowling and looking for dances to meet girls.  


I could write a book on friendships and friends I've had and lost (and probably will if I live long enough) but suffice it for me to say I've never had trouble making friends.  


Maybe that was because I grew up with two younger brothers.  Ironically I wasn't particularly friendly with my two younger brothers even though we are all only a year apart.  My brothers John and Isaac were a tag team against their older brother.  They were pals with each other.  I was the Older Brother.  I had my own friends and couldn't be bothered with my little brothers.  Sounds brutal but it was true.  Another irony, my brothers and I are good friends now.

Me and my brothers after weeding Pop's corn - 1950 (I'm in the middle)

Growing up as a "townie" I always had friends just outside the door of the apartment house we lived in on Washington Avenue.  "Chubby" (real name Dayton Shores) was my best buddy on Washington Avenue.


In grade school my little buddies were Billy Null, Timmy Mahan, Donald Murphy, and the aforementioned Larry Meredith.  


The friends came and went.  I tend to have a few really good friends (what I call "First Tier").  Then I have the Second Tier friends.  They're the one that come and go.  Then I have/had a lot of friends who I say "Hi!" too.  I've never had a problem making friends.  That's one complaint I cannot make.


In high school my best friend was probably Bill B.  He's still my friend to this day even though much of his time is taken up with his family.  Stuart Meisel, the only Jew in our class, was/is a good friend of mine.  Even though I knew I was "different" (gay) from the young age of 4 years old, most of my friends were straight.  I remember two who were probably gay (Lee Harris and Eddie Rose) but they faded out of my life after third grade.  I do not know why.  They just disappeared.  I do remember that both of them were very effeminate.  I probably didn't feel comfortable around them and that's probably why I left  their friendships.  


The three years I was in the Army I made many friends, some of whom I have to this day.  I really enjoyed my time in the Army and would have stayed if I wasn't gay.  I had lots and lots of good friends.  I miss many of those guys to this day.  

Ft. Devens, Mass 1960 - my friends Bill Allen (seated on the left), me (seated on the right)

Bob McCamlety (to the left in the back and who I am having lunch with today), and Bill Egan (to the right in the back).  The only one I maintained a friendship with is Bob McCamley.  Bill Allen and Dick Egan and I parted ways after school at Ft. Devens.  I don't know what happened to them.

To this day I don't feel comfortable around swishy, effeminate men.  That's probably why I have made so few gay friends where I live now, Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.  Rehoboth Beach is the destination of may gay retirees.  I have made some gay friends.  They are the non swishy type.  Yes, I am prejudiced.  I'm not comfortable around overtly feminine men who camp it up.  There is a lot of that going on at the aptly named Camp Rehoboth in Rehoboth Beach Delaware.  


While I'm sure there are many fine people in Camp Rehoboth and the gay community in general, I haven't been able to form lasting friendships with them for a multiple of reasons.  I have long since ceased to concern myself over this fact.  As they say today "It is what it is."


We all need friends.  I am no exception.  I am very thankful that I have a few good friends.  


Today I am going to join a few of them for lunch at the La Quezalteca Mexican restaurant in Millsboro.  Jack, Paul, Bob M., Jim, and Bob C.   We'll catch up on our latest medical histories.  We'll discuss the current political situation (we're all Dems).  Of course there will be some gentle teasing as usually happens when a group of old men (gay or straight) gather.  


Life is good.  

Jim Donahue, Bob McCamley (they're Life Partners) and me last week) November 2010

I Scream, You Scream

The Dairy Farm Ice Cream stand on Dairy Farm Road, off of Route 9

Yesterday, for the first time in my recorded memory I had an ice cream cone that bored me.

Both Bill and I are on a diet.  However, yesterday I decided to give ourselves a little treat.  After dinner, I asked Bill is he would like to get an ice cream cone.  We have a dairy farm about a mile away that serves fresh, home made ice cream.  This is not low calorie ice cream.  When you're on a diet, the only way the diet works is that you have to give yourself a little treat every now and then.  Yesterday was that time.

So I rev my new Subaru Forester and we take  off Dairy Cream Road (yes, that is the name of the road to the dairy farm - very original.)  The time is about 6:30 pm, the end of another of our seemingly endless long, hot, and humid summer days.  The dog days of summer.  A perfect time for a cold ice cream cone.

We get to the dairy farm and I see a problem right away.  The place is packed.  I find in my older years, that not only does the extreme heat and cold bother me more but crowds also stress me out.  Especially crowds with a lot of antsy kids running about and screaming.  Yesterday was no exception.  I walked right into the Trap.

I park my Forester and get out and head to the ice cream stand which is located immediately to the left of the cows in the barn.  This being the end of another hot and humid summer day, the odor of the cow poop was particularly strong.  In fact, the fresh Farm Smell was making me light headed.  That along with the families with the little kids and all those baby voices talking at once and scooting around the place was causing me to think I made a Big Mistake.

I go to one of the windows.  There is a family of about 15 at that window.  They want every concoction and different flavor of ice cream that the farm made.  I wait patiently.  Finally, after the last Little Darling got their scoop of creamy goodness, it was my turn.  The young girl at the window was pleasant enough when she said to me "Hi!  How are you? What would you like?" Well, this was different.  When we used to go for ice cream last year I was always waited on my some faceless young girl (why is it that only girls work these ice cream stands and not young guys?  Just wondering.)  She usually gave me a tired look and said "Yes?"  Maybe business dropped off because of this kind of sullen customer service and someone advised them to perk up the customer service angle.  Whatever.

So I tell her "I would like a double dip of black raspberry."  For me, brings back memories of my childhood when after picking raspberries with my Mom and Pop and brothers they would treat us to an ice cream cone at a local gas station on Rt. 322 right outside of West Chester, PA.)  I told her I wanted a double dip of banana ice cream for Bill.

She scoops out the ice cream and gives me my cones.  Already they're melting in the summer heat.

I quickly go back to my car where Bill is waiting for me.  I hand him his cone through the window.  I stand outside and lick my cone because I don't want to take a chance on any black raspberry ice cream dripping on my new gray car upholstery.  I didn't dare ask Bill to step out, I didn't want to get into an argument tonight.

As I was standing outside my Subaru, a local, tattooed, flabby red neck brushes by me and says something to me.  I didn't understand what he said but I sensed by his tone of voice and body language and the way he looked at me it wasn't something kind or complimentary.  I turned and looked at him and he gave me a sneer and look at Bill.  "What's his problem?" I thought.  Then it dawned on me.  Bill and I were the only couple there that was male.  Well actually he was there with three other guys who were seated at one of the picnic tables and were looking at us.  Uh oh.  I think I know what was going on.  Bill and I were out of our Safety Zone and now in Straight Country.  Only families need apply.

You see, Bill and I live on the east side of Rt. 1 in a new development in a diverse community.  In our community there are four gay and lesbian couples that I know of.  There are several black families.  Our neighbor directly across our house are a husband and wife doctor team who happen to be Muslim.  Most of our other neighbors are retirees  I only know of two families in our neighborhood who have small children.  In other words, we live in a "mixed" neighborhood.  And today we ventured into Sussex County.  We crossed over Rt. 1 and then Rt. 9 and deep into Redneck territory.  We were out of our element.  Apparently what my tattooed friend said was a reminder of that fact.

I wasn't in the mood for THAT attitude yesterday.  My Mom's dying, this heat and humidity this summer has been brutal, I'm trying to stretch my retirement income and part time job income into paying every increasing bills and this Sussex County Yahoo is going to remind me that I'm out of place?  I glared back at him daring him to say anything else to me.  I wasn't going anywhere.

Here in our little area of Rehoboth Beach we have what is called Camp Rehoboth.  They like to think that they have made the area safe for gays and lesbians.  That's what they LIKE to think.  In reality all they are is a clique of mostly Washington D.C. gays and lesbians who like to go to each others parties and raise funds to keep Camp Rehoboth going.  They're more interested in drag shows and their various faux causes in Rehoboth than the real life I encountered at the dairy farm yesterday.  I reality I faced down my very own display of homophobia yesterday deep in Sussex County.  Not to brag on myself but this is what I have been doing most of my adult life (since I came out at 21 years of age.)

I have to admit that I was lulled into a false sense of security and safety living as I do in our diverse community east of Rt. 1.  Yesterday was just another rude reminder that homophobia is alive and well.  Even in "enlightened" southern Delaware.

As a result of this drama yesterday, for the first time in my life the ice cream I ate was tasteless.  Oh, it tasted like black raspberry ice-cream.  It was cold and creamy and had the fresh taste of black raspberries.  But I was bored eating it.  I wanted to throw it away.  I didn't.  I finished it.  But I didn't enjoy it.

Maybe I'm getting too old for this blind hatred I have endured all my life from ignorant and hateful people like yesterday.  I am just so tired of them.

Where the ice cream comes from - very ripe smell yesterday - didn't mix well with the ice cream

Amish at the Beach

Amish Patriarch at Rehoboth Beach

The name "Rehoboth" means "room for all."  This morning during my walk on the beach collecting stones I had visual proof of that statement.  An Amish family made their way to the beach this morning to enjoy the refreshing ocean breezes.  Of course I had my ever present camera but how to take a picture?

Most Amish don't like their picture taken.  When I lived in Chester County, Pennsylvania I encountered Amish all the time.  Chester County is right next to Lancaster County Pennsylvania which is heavily populated with Amish families.  I would have loved to take pictures of the many times I've seen them in their iconic scenes but I refrained out of respect for them.  However, this morning I just couldn't pass up the opportunity.  The only problem was how to take pictures of them without them knowing I'm taking their pictures.  Below is the result of my challenge:

Young Amish man feeding a seagull

Amish sharing the beach with the Great Unwashed

Amish silhouettes on the beach

Amish children headed for the beach

I love living near the beach.  There is always something interesting happening.  Everybody loves the beach.  It is something primordial.  Even for the Amish.

Rehoboth Beach, Delaware 1964

Bill K. and Ron H. Rehoboth Beach, DE 1964

I'm often asked, "When did you move to Delaware?" My answer is that I officially moved to Delaware November 17th, 2006. That was the date I sold our house in Pennsylvania and moved into our new house in Delaware. What I don't say is that I made the decision to move to Delaware, specifically the Rehoboth Beach area, way back in 1964.

Growing up in the small town of Downingtown, Pennsylvania I always wanted to "go to the shore." I envied my schoolmates who had families that took them to "the shore" (aka "the beach) for holidays and in the summertime. My dad would go fishing with some of his brothers and friends off of Cape May, New Jersey but he never thought to offer to take any of his sons along. If he had, I would have gone along with him. The option of taking his family for a day of fun and frolic at the beach wasn't even considered. That was our "Pop." In our family, his needs always came first. Entertainment for his three sons was not one of his priorities. Not that I'm complaining, my brothers and I had plenty to keep us busy during the summer where we lived on 120 Washington Avenue in Downingtown, PA. Our favorite playground was the railroad tracks a couple of blocks behind our second floor apartment building on Washington Avenue. I never felt like I was deprived during my childhood but I do remember envying my friends who went to the beach and saw the ocean waves.

Me (on the right) and my brothers 1947 - this is as close as we ever got to "the shore."

The first time I saw the ocean was when I was 23 years old. In July of 1964 I met Bill, my life partner. He lived in Pennsauken, New Jersey. I lived in an efficiency apartment in Coatesville, Pennsylvania, a long way away from "the shore." I used to spend my weekends with Bill at apartment in Pennsauken, NJ. One weekend, looking for something to do, I asked Bill if he could take me to "the shore." Finally, I'm going to see the ocean!

My brothers and I and Mom - the closest we ever got to water - the park pond 

Thus, on a Saturday in August of 1964 Bill and I headed for Ocean City, New Jersey. The sun was out, the heat was on and the crowds in place. My first impression was "where has this been all my life?" I immediately felt at home. Maybe it had to do with that I'm a Scorpio and a water sign. Whatever the reason, I felt at home. The only problem was the lifeguards. Every time I went out in the water, the lifeguard whistle would blow. I wasn't going out far, just wading in the water. But once the water reached my knees the lifeguard would blast his whistle. I looked back to see what the problem was only to see the lifeguard, who was laying on his back, impatiently waving me back to shore. To me it looked like the lifeguard didn't want to move his head too much so he wanted me and all the other bathers in his line of view.



I walked back to where Bill and I had laid our towels on the beach and told Bill I wanted to leave. What was the point? I'm finally at "the shore" and I couldn't go in the water past my knees. We left and I haven't returned to the Jersey shore since that summer day in 1964. And I never intend to return especially now since "Snookie" and "The Situation" are what the Jersey shore is all about.



I hadn't given up on going to the beach. Instead, I decided instead of going to "the shore", is what you call going to the beach in New Jersey, that I would go to Rehoboth Beach.

Rehoboth Beach, DE April 8, 2010

A few weeks later, Bill and I along with my friends Ron H. and Ed C., headed to Rehoboth Beach, New Jersey. This was in August of 1964, long before Gayberry. This was even before Camp Rehoboth! This was even before Murray and Steve established their exclusive beach house circuit of friends. Wow, we were pioneers.

We loved Rehoboth Beach. Ron, Ed and I worked on our tans. Bill wasn't into baking in the sun. He only went along to please me. He couldn't care less about Rehoboth Beach or any beach. Bill's not a water person. The only problem was the 2 1/2 hour one way ride to Rehoboth Beach.

My friend Ed C. sunning himself at Rehoboth Beach, DE July 1964

That summer day in 1964 was my first introduction to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware and I was in love! Bill and I returned a few more times and then in the 70's my good friend Bob McC. purchased a 22 acre wooded parcel of land outside of Georgetown, Delaware. From that day on I often took advantage of my friendship with Bob and visited him, with other friends, at his single-wide in the middle of the woods. Occasionally I could talk him into dropping me off at the beach for a day of fun in the sun.

Me at Rehoboth Beach last week - older and grayer but the Dream is realized

I don't know the exact date that I decided that I wanted to retire to Delaware but I did make that decision. I thought "Someday, somehow, I will retire to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware." As I have found so often in my life, if you set a goal for yourself and work hard towards that goal, you will reach it. I had a dream and in November of 2006 I realized that dream.


I love every day I live here on the coastal shore of southern Delaware. My friend Ed C. has a home right in Rehoboth Beach. My friend Bob McC. still lives on his 22 acres of wooded paradise. My friend Ron H. passed away in 2005. Bill and I live six miles from the beach in Rehoboth. Bill still doesn't like the beach but moved here to please me. And that perhaps is the best thing that has ever happened to me. To be with someone most of my adult life who treats me like a prince.

Me catching some rays on my first visit to Rehoboth Beach, July 1964

So here I am, living at the beach with the one that I love. I have good friends, good health and a good job. Each day is like a vacation day. I worked hard for a long time to get where I am today. I take nothing for granted. I treasure each day I am privileged to live upon this earth. When my time comes, I will have no regrets. I have lived the good life. I am living the good life.

Me with my friend and neighbor Barbara at Rehoboth Beach April 2010

A Night Out on the Town

We braved the after effects of the Saturday night winter snow storm and ventured into downtown Rehoboth Beach for a festive night on the town.






My friend Bob C. and I were going to see the first performance of the Camp Rehoboth Chorus. But first we met our friends Jack and Paul for dinner at The Feathered One, also known as The Purple Parrot.







For several months last year we had a semi-routine of meeting friends on Sunday night at the Parrot for dinner. This was before the Tourist Hordes descending on Rehoboth during the summer. We locals don't even attempt to go into town during the season. But the off season? It's wonderful.







We missed our friends Wayne and Harvey last night. Wayne was working and Harvey moved to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. No more cold weather for Harvey.







After a delightful and festive dinner (and after Paul had to have the waiter back out his $9.00 Happy Hour price for a table wine) we were off to the Rehoboth Theater of the Arts for the inaugural performance of the Camp Rehoboth Chorus.



We carefully made our way down Rehoboth Avenue and over to Baltimore Avenue on the mostly snow covered sidewalks to the former church that is now the Rehoboth Beach Theater of the Arts.



Upon entering the building we could see that the Camp Rehoboth Chorus would he well attended. Our friends Big Bob and Jim were in the chorus. I came to see them and take a video with my Flip video (my newest toy.)



The concert was a grand success! Smiles abounded in the audience. Much credit goes to the organizer Fay Jacobs. It was so good to see a broad smile on her face during the whole performance.

If I had any complaint at all, it was that the seats (folding chairs) were very uncomfortable. The chairs were placed too close together. Many of the folks in the audience are large which isn't conducive to this airline type of seating. My back was killing me after the second song.



During intermission I moved the seats to the right and left of me but it was noticed immediately by my friend Bob C. when he returned. Robbing Peter to pay Paul.



I'm looking forward to the next concert but I hope they do something about the seating arrangement. At least the seats were padded.

Still on a High

Two days after the National Equality March in Washington, D.C., I'm still on a natural high. Of course that is the best kind of high one can attain (not that I would know of any other "highs.")

My friend Bob and I must have walked at least five miles around Washington on Sunday. Most of the marchers were in their early 20's. They can walk all day and dance the night away. That was not the case with these two marchers in their 60's (and I'm closer to 70 which is still hard for me to believe.)  If we tried that we would probably end up in the local emergency room.



Last night at work all the walking we did in Washington finally caught up with me. Both of my hip joints ached so much they made me light headed. I felt like they needed a shot of W-2. I was walking around like a man with a boom handle up his behind.



Man oh man; the old body just can't do what it used to do. When I was in my early 20's I remember times I would be up all night and not get to bed until 4 or 5 in the morning and go do work the next day at 8:30. How I ever did that I have no idea. If I tried that now I......well it would be impossible.



All morning I sat at the computer and reviewed my 230 pictures and videos of the Equality March. I will sort through those and put a nice album up on my Facebook account for all to share. I do have some rather nice iconic pictures to share. This is what I enjoy doing. I think I missed my mark in life; I should have been a photographer. Just more proof that one should follow one's heart when pursuing a lifetime career. Do what you enjoy doing. I've always liked taking pictures.



My friend Bob and I went out to dinner with our friend The Cajun at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach tonight.

We have our town back again. While we appreciate all the summertime tourists and all the money they bring into the local economy it is always nice to regain our town again. While it was a bit chilly sitting at the open air tables at the Parrot and the street traffic was light, that was a small price to pay to have the noise and crowds gone.



We ordered our usual Wimpy burgers (which are anything but "wimpy") and Happy Hour glasses of wine. Our cute waiter wasn't hassled by a crowded restaurant and was thus able to spend some time with the three Old Guys.

Yes indeed. Today was a good day which was topped off by a cute waiter. Life for me doesn't get much better than that. I’m good. Life is good.

Feed the Meter

This evening I met my friend The Cajun in Rehoboth beach for a drink and a Wimpy burger at the Purple Parrot. We haven't been to any downtown Rehoboth Beach restaurant since before Memorial Day, the influx of the Horde (aka Summer Tourists.) We locals tend to stay away from downtown Rehoboth during the height of the summer season. We turn the town over to the tourists to deposit their cash at our many and sundry summertime attractions. One of the biggest money earners are the parking meters. $1.50 gets you an hour parking spot right in downtown Rehoboth Beach, where all the action is.




Traveling down Rt. 1 was a breeze early this evening as compared to the summertime traffic which is likely as not to be backed up. Taking the turn on Rt. 1A into Rehoboth was a pleasure this evening.


My friend The Cajun and I caught up on the past few months. We're both in the service industry (he a host at a local restaurant and me a front desk clerk at a local hotel.) We traded war stories about our summer's encounters with some of the more interesting personalities to visit the area this summer. Always fun to dish I say.



We both had a delicious Wimpy (char grilled hamburger) with the best French Fries this side of Provincetown, Mass. We had our desired window seat where we could people watch. The late Sunday afternoon daylight illuminated the thinned out herd of summertime visitors still strolling up and down Rehoboth Avenue. After a festive martini or two for my friend and a modest glass of Zinfandel white wine for me, we were ready to call it a day.



My friend took off for his home and I availed myself of the remaining daylight and took a several block walk to a former friend's house on Laurel Street to see if his neighbor has sold their house. I love downtown Rehoboth sans the crowds. I especially love walking through the neighborhoods on a quiet Sunday evening like this. I think if I ever win the Powerball Lottery (I'm WAY overdue to win) I just may buy myself one of these adorable beach cottages for my very own. I know the likelihood of me getting struck by lightening five times is greater than me winning the Powerball but I can dream can't I?



As the sun set I headed back to my car parked on Rehoboth Avenue. I still had 27 minutes left in my meter but I was ready to go. I don't like to travel at night anymore. I wanted to get home before dark. I guess I'm officially entering the age of Old Codger, afraid to drive in the dark.



I got home just before dark and here I sit now writing about it. I'm about to go to bed shortly because I have to get up way too early tomorrow (4:30 am) to get ready to catch the 6:00 am American Legion van to the Wilmington VA.



I enjoyed this evening but I don't think I'll do as many evenings out this year as I did in years past. I'm just not comfortable driving in the dark. For instance, tonight as I was driving up the four lane highway that is Route 1 there was a motorcyclist with his moll hanging on the back of him weaving in and out of traffic. I could hardly see them in the twilight and the floaters in my eyes. At my age I don't need to be out on the roads at night in the dark looking out for motorcyclists weaving in and out of traffic.



Besides, I'm having a hard time devouring a whole Wimpy. I guess there is just no getting around it. I am getting old. Gone are the days of youthful indiscretions and staying up all night and going to work first thing in the morning. These days I'm looking forward to that bed and sweet dreams. Still, it was nice visiting with my friend The Cajun this evening. Maybe we can do it again, like in January.

Why I Retired to the Delmarva Peninsula

The Delmarva Peninsula is a large peninsula on the East Coast of the United States, occupied by portions of three U.S. states: Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia. Named as a portmanteau of the letters of the states that occupy it, it is almost 300 by 100km or about 180 by 60 miles, and is bordered by the Chesapeake Bay on the west, and the Delaware River, Delaware Bay, and Atlantic Ocean on the east. Its northern isthmus is cut by the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. Bridges cross the canal and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel join the peninsula to the mainland. Other points of access include Lewes, Delaware, reachable by ferry from Cape May, New Jersey. Dover, the capital of Delaware, is in the northeast corner, but the peninsula's main commercial area is Salisbury, Maryland, near the center of the peninsula.

This is where I live and work folks, on the eastern most edge of the Delmarva Peninsula. I work in Lewes, Delaware near Cape Henlopen State Park and the Cape May/Lewes Ferry. I live three miles north of where I work in a development near Oyster Rocks Road, two miles from the ocean. All my life I wanted to work and live near the water. Two and a half years ago I realized my dream. I sold my house in the wooded hills of Chester County, Pennsylvania and moved to sunny coastal shores of Sussex County, Delaware.

For many years (since the late 70's) I have visited my longtime friend Big Bob who lives near Georgetown, Delaware on 22 acres of heavily forested land in his double wide trailer. At the time Bob moved to Delaware (the early 70's) he was told my his real estate agent "You'll never see any other houses on this road in your lifetime." Of course that real estate agent was wildly off target. Bob's road plus many other formerly pristine areas of Sussex County (known affectionaly as "Slower Lower" by its residents) now have many houses on both sides of the road. Even this formerly rural area of chicken farmers and corn fields has not escaped the advance of development and population growth.

At first I was put off my the flat coastal plains of Sussex County. I was used to the rolling hills and winding roads of Chester County, Pennsylvania where I had lived before pulling up stakes and moving to Delaware. However, over time I came to love the big sky and wide open spaces of Delaware. As the area of Pennsylvania where I lived became crowded and congested, the relative sparsness of the lower county of Delaware became more attractive to me as a potential retirement location.

Another factor in my decision to retire to Delaware was to escape the high taxes of Pennsylvania. For most of my adult life I have paid the excessive taxes that Pennsylvania places on single people like myself. Even though I had no children in the school, I paid the same school tax rate. I will go into the taxes in another blog posting, but suffice it for me to say that once I retired I could no longer afford to live in Pennsylvania. There was no reason for me to stay other than my Mother still lived there. The few friends I had were tied up in their families and thus had little or no time to spend with me. I had no gay friends in Pennsylvania. Since I was retiring this is something I had to consider, to have a support group of my gay friends and that was non-existent in Pennsylvania. I had to consider moving to a state that wasn't taxing me out of existence. I estimated had I continued to live in Pennsylvania, in five years time my taxes would be more than my entire Social Security retirement check. It was definitely time to get out of Dodge.

Another very important factor was my sense of comfort and well being. Although my neighbors were cordial to me in suburban Pennsylvania, the heavy cloak of "you're not one of us" was always there. When Bill and I would shop at Home Depot we would invariably receive stares from some of the other customers. Same thing if we ate out together. Always the "look." Straight people don't understand this "look." A good example is the attitude of a former school classmate of mine. He said "Why do you always have to bring up the homosexual thing and act a like a martyr?" I answered "That's because that is what I am." Straight people don't feel this constant oppression that we gay people feel all the time in a straight world. I guess my former school classmate expect me to practice the civilian version of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" and then everything will be fine. I am what I am. I don't wear a sign around my neck saying "I'm gay" but I don't hide the fact either. My friend wasn't comfortable with that attitude, especially when I visited him in his neighborhood.

Where we live in Delaware now (near Rehoboth Beach - the "East Coast Gay Capital of the United States"), Bill and I can shop in Home Depot or Lowe's and we don't get the "look." That probably because the store is full of male/male and female/female couples. Same sex couples in Rehoboth Beach is less of a curiosity and more the norm and part of life than it is in Chester County, Pennsylvania. This is something most straight people can never grasp. The feeling of freedom. The absence of that glowering feeling of disapproval that we're not quite as equal as our heterosexual fellow human beings.

Ironically, I started this blog as a paean to the joy of living on the Delmarva peninsula. A reader of my blog sent me an e-mail telling me that I lived on an island. In many ways I do. I live in a wonderful natural paradise on the eastern shore of the United States. Every day I wake up I am overjoyed to have finally realized my dream of living and working "near the water" in an atmosphere that is relatively free of the oppression of homophobia. I make the qualification of "relatively free" because, even here there are pockets of ignorance and intolerance that sometimes manifest itself in ugly and unexpected ways.

Since moving down here 2 1/2 years ago I have made some friends in the gay community but not as many as I had expected. I don't know, maybe it's me but I find most of the gay men and women (especially the women) very insular and into their own cliques. Much of the local gay community's activity seems to be drag shows and fund raisers as excuses for parties. I don't fault those involved for those activities but I was sort of expecting that the gay community to have moved past drag shows and dressing up like women which only reinforces the gay stereotype to the straight community. I can see where camping it up is fun but I had hoped that most of the gay community had moved past that stereotype. That's not me or Bill so that is probably why we have made so few friends in the gay community. Almost all of our new friends are straight from where we live and where I work. No camp required to be friends with our straight friends. That said, I have made a few good gay friends since I moved here and I value and appreciate their friendship. I feel that the few gay friends that I have made are friends for life and for that I am very thankful. Note: haven't made any lesbian friends though. Now that is a much tougher nut to crack. I'm not holding my breath on that one.

While no place on earth is pefect, Shangri-La was a myth after all, I'm about as happy as I can be living where I live now, on the "island" of Delmarva. I wouldn't live anywhere else at this time of my life. Now if Delaware can pass a law approving of same sex marriages this would be Shangri-La.

Gay Life in Southern Delaware

The dog days of summer are here already. Still, life is good here in the southern most county of Delaware, Sussex County. The August issue of Delaware today has an excellent article on the New Delawarean. That's me, a retiree from seeking refuge from the tax happy state of Pennsylvania. My school taxes were so high in Pennsylvania that I could no longer afford to live in that verdant state. In addition to the ever increasing school taxes, there were the other taxes like the state sales tax, country tax, and township tax. The tax burden left me no choice but to move to a tax friendlier state like Delaware. It was either Delaware or South Carolina (where my younger brother lives.) Another factor in my decision to move to Delaware, specifically the Rehoboth Beach area, is that it is a more inclusive community. What does "inclusive community" mean you ask? Gay friendly. I don't have to live in a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" environment down here. In Pennsylvania, my partner and I were accepted as long as we kept a low profile. We don't want to be "accepted." We just want to live like other people. We can do that here in southern Delaware. Ironically, we're not involved in the local gay community at all. We live in a neighborhood which is basically straight. There are three other gay couple in this neighborhood, one male and two females. The organized gay community in the Rehoboth Beach area is generally conceded to be Camp Rehoboth. Unfortunately, they operate more like a private exclusive club than an open "all inclusive" organization. Their main function seems to be fund raising to further perpetuate their survival, much the same as TV evangelical ministers are always raising funds to keep them on TV in order to raise more funds. This isn't knocking Camp Rehoboth or their purported function of "creating a more inclusive environment", but stating the reality of their primary function - raising funds. My partner and I are enjoying a comfortable retirement in Delaware without the benefit of Camp Rehoboth and their "sensistivity training" of local police officers. We're retirees just like any other retirees in our neighborhood, gay and straight. We buy groceries, pay our bills, mow our lawn, and have family issues just like any other family. Now that the dog days of summer are here, we're just trying to stay cool like the straight folks.