When Good Things Happen to Good People

So often we hear of bad things happening to good people. But, every now and then good things happen to good people.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from a friend I used to work with at the bank in Downingtown, Pennsylvania. Her name is Renee. She is young, smart, funny, and just a delightful person to be around. Even though my gayness, I was attracted to her. Not sexually but because of her effervescent personality and her ability to laugh at herself as well as the absurdities of life around us. Also, I wasn’t totally immune to her beauty and sexy, husky voice. Renee has those special qualities that not all women posses. I knew it was just a matter of time before some smart guy snagged this beautiful woman. Yesterday Renee told me that she is engaged to be married! I am so happy for her.

Renee replaced me in the job I had at the bank when I moved to Delaware. She was unsure if she could do the job but I had no doubt. Renee is the type of person who doesn’t give herself enough credit for how good she really is. She’s doing the job now and doing just fine, as I knew she would.

When we worked together we often went to a Trivia Night at a local bar/eatery called the Brickside Grille. Our group had many good times there. Oh how I miss those times. Ironically, I just got an e-mail from another friend of mine (former classmate, we’re planning our 50th class reunion) who asked me to join them for Trivia Night at the Brickside when I next visit Pennsylvania. I think I will. It’s been about two years (where does the time go?) since our group attending the fun and festivities of a trivia night. We even won a few times. Great fun!

This morning Bill and I went for breakfast at Zorba’s in Rehoboth, thus resuming our weekly tradition of having breakfast out once a week. I’m glad Bill has come out of his depression and we can get back to normal.

This afternoon I meet my friend Jack and Paul at Casa Dileo for dinner then Bingo-a-Go-Go at the Rehoboth Convention Center. My neighbor Barbara is meeting us at the door. I haven’t been able to attend any of these gay bingo events for the past year and a half because of my work schedule. I’m in luck this month because I’m not scheduled to work weekends. I’m really looking forward to a night of fun and laughter and good times. It’s been too long.

Just to put the icing on the cake, the weather has taken a turn from the cold to the mild. As I look out the window to my left I see the bright sun beckoning me outside for a walk. I’m on it. Life if good….again.

Back to Normal

We’re back to normal around here, or at least what passes for normal. I made the first move yesterday morning. I knocked on Bill’s basement bedroom door. Instead of saying “Go away” he said “What do you want?” This is a break. I asked if I could talk to him. Without waiting for an answer I went into his darkened bedroom and asked him a question (which I forget now, but it was to break the ice.) I forget what he said but at least we got the conversation started. Oh, I remember. I asked him to come upstairs in the sun room to enjoy the light. He said he wanted to continue to sit in his room for awhile. The world “awhile” was another break. I told him “Okay” and left him and went upstairs.

About an hour later I went back downstairs again and he was at his computer in his basement office, which adjoins his bedroom. Thus there was a break in the solid frozen over lake of our relationship. I talked to him about some other innocuous things about the house. We talked about our neighbor’s new dog. Bill was still distant but relaxing a bit. He still said he wished he was dead. He frequently says that. He’ll probably outlive me. I returned upstairs to my office and caught up on my e-mail.

Through my Find a Grave web site, a distant relative contacted me regarding my research in our common family tree. At this time of my life my favorite activity (other than taking digital pictures and gardening) is researching my family tree. This lady from Washington State is descended from my great great grandmother Cynthia Lou Rhudy. This is a branch on my family tree of which I have very little information. It is also the only line of my family tree which leads to German and Swiss ancestry. Up until this discovery, all my ancestry has been English and Scotch-Irish. She could help me fill in a lot of empty branches and I could help her. She also put me in contact with another distant relative who also has information on our family tree. We exchanged files yesterday. Finding these distant relatives like this who are also researching our common family tree is one of the joys of my life at this time. It's like find pots of gold at the end of the rainbow. Not only do I get to fill in heretofore unknown branches on my family tree, I'm also discovering more about my family and, in turn, more about myself. Two dreams of the dreams I had when I was a young man, owning my own house and discovering my roots. I have achieved both of those dreams. I was also hoping to find Prince Charming. I did, sort of.

During the past two weeks I have tried to bury myself in this favorite activity of mine, researching and recording my family history. But I wasn’t getting the same pleasure from it that I had in the past. I think a lot of it had to do with the stress and tension of the home situation with Bill. Now that we’re back on track I have my enthusiasm back for digging into my family tree.

I’m looking forward to this weekend’s activity. Four times a year a gay bingo event takes place at the Rehoboth Convention center. I’ve missed these events for the past year and a half because I’ve had to work. However, this weekend I don’t have to work. My friend Paul called and invited me to join him and his friend Jack for dinner then a night of festive fun and laughs at the Bingo – A – Go – Go. I asked my neighbor and friend Barbara to go with me. The weekend is looking good. Who knows, one of us might even win a prize.

I am so relieved that Bill and I are back on track again. The past two weeks have been exhausting. It never gets any easier no matter how many times it happens. It will probably happen again but I'm not going to worry about that now. I'm going to enjoy the moment. Life is good again.

Hugs

The first hug that I remember receiving wasn’t really a hug at all but more like an embrace. I was 13 years old and in an 8th grade class when the teacher came up behind me and put her right arm around my shoulders. She was looking over my shoulder to see how I was doing on the assignment she had given to the class earlier. To this day I remember clearly the strange feeling I had with her arm resting on my shoulder. I felt warm and wanted. It felt good.

Jump forward ten years to my next memory of a hug. I was 23 years old and working at Girard Bank in Philadelphia. I was sitting at my desk when a co-worker of mine came up behind me and again placed her right arm on my shoulder and asked me if I wanted a chocolate covered strawberry. I am serious. Her name was Norma Lockwood and she was a buxom, older, busy body. The same warm feeling emanated from my shoulder where she rested her arm. On neither occasion did I take this as a sexual connotation from either woman. I took it as an expression of friendship that I had never experienced before. Hugs up to this point, were totally alien to me.

The family I grew up in was not one of hugs. That doesn’t mean that there wasn’t love in my family. Their love took forms other than physical expression. Kissing was (and is) unknown in my family. It wasn’t until just a few years ago that my brother John and I started to hug my Mom. At first we did it as a joke because when we hugged Mom, she was like a tree trunk. She literally doesn’t know how to hug. But she likes to be hugged.

I attribute my Mom’s lack of hugging ability to her childhood. Her Mother died before she was two years old and she was raised by an indifferent step-mother. Actually, my Mother’s childhood was much like Cinderella’s with the wicked step-mother who made her clean the house and her put her children before my Mom. My Mom met her Prince Charming (my Dad) when she was 16 years old and “escaped” when she was 17 years. I am the product of that fairytale. But that’s another whole story which may be told in a later posting.

My Mom’s family had a Quaker background. Quaker’s aren’t known for their physical expressions of affection. My Dad’s family is of Appalachian mountain folk (hillbilly) stock. My Dad came from another culture not known for physical expressions of affection. So I was brought up with the double whammy of austere expressions of affection. Other than an occasional beating (prevalent in the Appalachian mountain folk culture in raising children), there were no physical expressions of affection from either of my parents. But you know the expression “You never know you’re missing something if you never had it”? I didn’t know I was missing this vital part of the human experience.

Over the years since that day in 1967 at Girard Bank when Mrs. Lockwood rested her meaty arm on my shoulder and pressed her mammary glands against my back (something I never did get used to by the way), I’ve had a few hugs. However, none of my subsequent hugs over the years have matched the shock of those first two hugs.

Now that I’m living down here near Rehoboth Beach, Delaware which has a large gay and lesbian population, I frequently give and receive hugs upon meeting and departing from my friends. It is the culturally acceptable thing to do down here, especially in public because it shows our straight brethren that we too are comfortable with our sexuality and not afraid to show it in public. Of course only gay men are hugged. No hugging of straight men. That is still a taboo. Unfortunately there is still a social stigma attached to two straight men (unless they’re relatives) or a gay man and a straight man hugging. Even in this area of gay and lesbian tolerance in the east coast gay capital of the United State, Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. If you see two men hugging in public down here, chances are they’re both gay. If you see two women hugging, all bets are off. But then, women have always played by a different set of rules.

This weekend I was invited to join friends at the quarterly gay bingo function to be held at the Rehoboth Convention Center in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The past two years I’ve missed out on these occasions because I’ve had to work the weekends the event was held. Fortunately, I don’t have to work this weekend so I will be able to join my friends. I may not win at bingo but one thing is for sure, there will be a lot of hugs going around. I’ll take pictures.

11:04 am

Yesterday a friend of mine sent me one of those e-mails informing me that something good was going to happen to me at precisely 11:04 am today. Actually, the e-mail said that I would “receive good news at 11:04 am.” All I had to do was to pass it on to at least seven of me e-mail friends. My friend said he normally doesn’t forward e-mails like that but something told him to forward that one yesterday. He also asked me to let him know if anything happened at 11:04 am today. Well……………………I did get good news at 11:04 am.

Actually, I didn’t think of his e-mail until about an hour later when I was getting haircut in Rehoboth Beach. Earlier in the morning I had taken a test at the Inn (where I also happen to work coincidentally) to be a census taker. One friend of mine told me “an idiot could pass that test.” Another friend told me “it’s no problem” (or something along those lines – he will be sure to correct me if I misquote him thus the disclaimer.)

Well, I was somewhat surprised to find that the test was harder than I anticipated. There were 30 questions that we had 30 minutes to complete. I was on question 10 when the test giver informed us we were half way through our 30 minutes. I was getting slowed down on the mathematical questions. No calculators were allowed and it was taking me quite a while to do some simple math multiplication with decimals. I decided to skip through the test and answer first the easy questions as the test giver had suggested. The rest of the questions weren’t that easy for me either. This old 67 year old brain is out of practice for test taking. I was getting nervous.

Then the test was over. I hadn’t answered seven questions. One question I didn’t even get to read. I was sure I failed. Oh the shame. The test giver informed us she could give us our test score if we wanted to wait a few minutes. Oh, why not? She called my name 3rd from last. I was sure I failed. As I approached her she had a smile on her face and said “You passed. Have a good day!” Great surprise! Now I could face my co-workers (who were standing by the front desk) and tell them I passed rather than be a miserable failure. As I approached the front desk I saw the owner also there with a smile on his face. He asked “How did you do Ron?” I said “I passed!” I was so excited that I forgot my man bag (a semi brief case – actually like a large purse.) Walking outside I hear a ferocious knock on the window. It was the owner motioning me back in the hotel. I thought “What now?” He handed me by bag and said “You’re going to need your make-up kit.” Funny.

Next stop was a haircut. After getting myself settled in the barber’s chair I replayed the morning’s events in my mind. It was then I realized that my friend’s prediction did indeed come true. I receive the information that I had passed the test at right about 11:04 am. The test was at 10 on the dot. It was over at 10:30. Gathering the test papers and scoring them took about 20 minutes. By the time the test giver called me (3rd from last, remember?) it was just after 11 am.

I’ve long suspected that I have a guardian angel. Now I know. I’ll have to give him a name.

A New Day

As I opened up my garage door this morning to put out my trash can for pickup, this was the view that greeted me. Frost covered the grass on my front lawn. Without the wind, the 27 degree temperature was bracing instead of painful. Lights from my neighbors’ houses punctured the early morning haze. This literally is the dawn of a new day for me.

At 10 o’clock this morning I have an appointment at the Inn to take a census employment test. I have my birth certificate, Social Security card and DD-214 (proof that I was in the Army) certificate at the ready to prove that I am a citizen of these United States. This is a job that is almost a perfect fit for me. As part of my genealogy research, I work with census records through Ancestry.com. I am a stickler for detail and accuracy. I also like to get out, ride around and meet people. The only downside is if I have to take a census in an area away from my home. I’ll work the census if it is in my neighborhood or nearby. I won’t work if I’m assigned to an area like Georgetown or Dover. I wouldn’t think that I would be assigned those areas but you never know with the government. I'm hoping common sense applies.

Speaking of the government, I’m sorry to see Barack Obama get off to such a bad start choosing people for his cabinet who don’t know how to pay their taxes. What kind of rules do those people play by anyway? If I make a mistake on my taxes I get notices from the IRS threatening fines and/or jail time. Annually I fill out a means test form for the VA. If I make a mistake of even $1.00, that form is bounced back to me, threatening to take me off the VA medical care system. I guess what Leona Helmsley said all those years ago before her arrogance caught up with her, “Only the little people pay taxes.”

The other thing that makes me angry are the bonuses the Wall Street and banking executives continue to pay themselves, even though their financial institutions are failing. It’s like Senator Claire McCaskell said “What planet are these people living on?” The tired old excuse that these crooks use is “You have to pay good money to keep good people.” What? A million dollars won’t do? What’s with the billions of dollars in bonuses? It’s not that hard to understand really. The past eight years have seen the greatest transference of wealth in this country from the middle class to the upper class in our history. Now we see the result; loss of jobs, home values falling, and zero interest rates. Great job Republicans and Democrats. They’re all in it together.

Thank goodness I have my genealogy research to get me away from all of this. Recently I have met (through e-mail) several distant relatives who are researching heretofore unknown branches of my family tree. I get a great deal of pleasure and comfort discovering and sharing information about my family with other family members. I am so thankful that I have the time and resources to indulge in this favorite pastime of mine. Genealogy research and taking digital are my two favorite activities at this time of my life. I’m looking forward to spring when I can begin my other favorite activity, gardening. Each year I try to outdo myself from the previous year with an outstanding floral display. Even though I continue to have sadness in my home, I still have a lot to live for. For that I am very thankful.

Wolves and Sheep

Yesterday’s spring like temperatures was one of those special wintertime treats that happen every now and then. After I finished checking my e-mails and posting my blog yesterday morning, I treated myself to a brisk walk on the wide and solitary roads in the development behind where I live. There is nothing like a relaxing walk in the fresh air and blue skies to invigorate me for the rest of the day. Most of all my stress and worry melts away. It’s magic. And it’s free.

Not so today. As I type this, snow is tiny white snowflakes are falling from the gray morning sky onto the winter grass outside my window. This retiree won’t be going out today. I don’t have to go out until tomorrow. I’m scheduled to take a test applying for a census taker job. Ironically, I will take the test at my workplace. The owner of the hotel has donated one of his meeting rooms for the prospective census employees to take their test. Very convenient.

Bill continues to shun me. It’s not easy on me (or him I suspect) but he’s painted himself into this corner. He has to get out of it himself. So we continue to live in the same house, leading our separate lives. He has now cut off his family, my Mother, my brother, our friend Ed, his friend Damon, and now me. It is a sad and unfortunate way to live.

It’s ironic, but the original incidents that cause the episodes are often forgotten. One that I still remember clearly is when I didn’t close the basement door all the way. Oh it was closed and locked but it wasn’t AIR LOCKED. I didn’t leave the door open. I didn’t leave the door unlocked. I didn’t AIR LOCK the door. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking on egg shells. One of the reasons I moved from our Pennsylvania house was because Bill had this whole system of which doors were to be closed and which ones were allowed to be left open. I felt like a rat in a maze, trying to figure which room I was allowed to be in to keep warm. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own home. This house has an open floor plan. I no longer had to worry about closing this door, and leaving another door open depending on what the temperature was outside. I could move about freely in my own home. It was wonderful. Of course Bill did want to partition off the open floor plan of the kitchen, sun room and living room. I knocked down that plan right away. No more living like a rat in a cubicle.

The plan today is to hang out inside catching up on my e-mails. A distant relative from the Rhudy side of my family tree discovered me on the Internet and has been sending me family information from her line. Perhaps my favorite pastime at this time of my life is my genealogy research. I have met so many wonderful people through my Tipton Tales and Trails blog and my Find a Grave postings. They are my pleasure and happiness these days. I can depend on their friendship. They help me keep my sanity in these stressful times.

Some years ago when I first got on the Internet I tried to find friends through the personals. That was a disaster. Every person I met, without exception was a fraud and phony. Everyone who I either communicated with by e-mail or met in person was not who they represented themselves to be. I blame myself because I didn’t realize these people were looking for anonymous sexual encounters. I was incredibly stupid to believe the personal ads.

A good friend of mine long ago told me “Ron, your only problem is that you suffer from terminal naiveté.” I’ve always remembered that friendly admonishment. It is true. No matter how old I get, I still believe what I’m told until proven wrong. I have tried to be cynical and suspicious (like most of my friends) but I’m just not hard wired that way. For a long time now I realized that the world is full of two kinds of people. There are those who throw trash out their window on the roadway, knowing someone else will pick it up. Then there are those who pick up the trash. There are those who would return a wallet then found on the beach and there are those who would look for the cash and throw the wallet away. There are those who would help an injured animal on the roadway and there are those who would run over it. I can cite numerous analogies but the point I am making is that the world is full of wolves and sheep. Unfortunately I am one of the sheep. I live my life constantly on guard to protect myself from the wolves. However, I have been fortunate that during my life’s journey, I have met other like me. The older I get the more I can tell the difference between who is a wolf and who is a good, kind, gentle and caring soul. Call me naïve, but that knowledge about who my true friends are and who is a wolf in sheep's clothing keeps me going in this world. I know the difference.

The Line of Beauty

Monday, February 2, 2009. The morning sun steams through my home office window. I like working in this little bedroom that I converted in a home office. The early morning sun is a welcome friend as I begin my day checking my e-mail. That is the one constant in my life; my home, my computer, and light. I thrive on natural light.

I don’t like working on my computer at night, when all is dark. My home office in Pennsylvania was in a basement room. I couldn't work there. Bill took out the lone window when he put up the paneling in that room. The lack of natural light depressed me. I moved my computer to a corner of my 2nd floor bedroom, next to the window. Filtered light came through the trees that surrounded our house. It was better than no light in the basement office but not as good as the early morning sunlight which I have now. I love my home office in this house. It is my retreat.

The past weekend was quiet. Bill is still shunning me. That’s his choice. Apparently that’s the way he wants to live his life. I’ll adjust my life accordingly. I tried to talk to him after “the incident” but he told me to leave him alone. I will honor his request. I'm here if he wants to resume a normal relationship. However, if he want to add me to the list of people he isn't talking too, then that is his choice. I can only live my life. I'm at the point in my life now where I don't want to and probably can't change my life to please someone else. I can only be who I am. If that isn't good enough, then so be it.

Early in the morning yesterday I took more food from my freezer to feed the sea gulls in the Wal-Mart parking lot. They were waiting for me. I quickly threw the food on the ground and tossed my Zip-Lock bags in the dumpster behind Friendly’s and got out of there fast. I didn’t want any more sea gull guacamole on my car. Now I have a new worry. A friend of mine told me that I could be arrested and led away in handcuffs for tossing ANYTHING into a dumpster. This was a crime I wasn’t aware that I was breaking. Pardon me, but I assumed that our law enforcement had more important things to worry about like, oh I don’t know, maybe robberies and murders. We have a couple unsolved murders down here in our own little Peyton Place. The two that come to mind are the Grosso murder and the Gold Gym murder. But I will take the advice of my friend and NOT toss anything in a dumpster. I have been forewarned.

Yesterday afternoon I did my taxes for last year. I was surprised to find out that I owed $638. I also owed money last year, so I increased the taxes taken out of my pay from my part-time job. I was expecting to get a refund this year. That was not to be. It’s not like I make a lot of money. I receive Social Security and have a couple of small pensions and a part time job. I now have a mortgage because of the nightmare of selling my Pennsylvania house in 2006. I’m not one of these rich gay guys, in spite of the myth that the new media likes to perpetuate. Under the law I am considered single even though I’ve been in a relationship for 45 years. In this country, if you’re single, gay or straight, you’re taxed to death. Another year and I missed out on the Bush tax cuts. And I'm not holding by breath for the tax cuts Obama promised during the election. Once these politicians get in office all they seem to care about is the very rich (Republicans) or the very poor (Democrats.) I'm just one of those schlubs who worked their whole life, trying to save for a secure retirement only to see it slowly disappear as a result of the corruption of greedy Wall Street financiers and their hand maidens, the equally corrupt politicians whose only interest is to pay off their political benefactors to stay in power.

Last night I saw a good movie that I rented from Netflix, “The Line of Beauty.” I love these BBC dramas. This one was about a working-class guy (gay) who moves in with a rich family in the 80’s during his sexual awaking and England’s political awakening. The main character was unappealing and much of the acting was uneven, but it was an interesting story nonetheless because it showed the utter depravity that some people can sink to even in surrounds of opulence and luxury. Maybe it’s better being poor. If this movie was anywhere near reality, then the rich don’t have it any better than the rest of us poor blokes.

I am watching more movies these days since I’m living here alone. Movies perform the function for which they were invented. They take me away from my everyday sadness. I hope my next movie is a comedy. I need to laugh.

I go to work today at the Inn. That will take my mind off of things a bit. Wednesday I take my Census worker qualification test. My friend Ed, who was a census worker in 2000 told me “Any idiot can pass that test.” He proved it. He passed it. Coincidentally I take the test at my workplace. That’s convenient.

Saturday and Sunday I took a walk in the development behind me. Watching the snow geese fly above me and hearing the busy chirping of the birds in the brush is very soothing. I’m like a wound up knot. Seeing the Canada geese on the retention pond relaxes me like no pill can. During these bad times I find a walk is the best medicine. I need to take one everyday.

For dinner last night I made Chicken Marabella. The aroma of the dish baking in the oven filled the house with warmth and comfort. I made enough to last me all week. I also made my signature Tarragon Potato Salad with red potatoes, red onions, celery, lime mayonnaise and LOTS of tarragon. This is a recipe I adapted from a Nage potato salad that was leftover from an Inn function. The Chicken Marabella is a recipe I discovered when a friend brought a covered dish to a house party recently. Just goes to show you it is good to get out and experience the world. When you least expect it, something good happens. That’s what keeps me going.