Monday Morning Blues

Monday, the beginning of another week here in my retirement home in Delaware. As is usual, after breakfast I retreat to my home office which is bathed in the morning sunlight. The light and warmth of that sunlight will last until about 10 o’clock. I always try to take advantage of the special qualities of my home office early in the morning on sunny days like this. Later on, I’ll take a walk in the development behind me. The walk always clears my mind.

Bill took off early this morning to meet his American Legion van pickup to the Wilmington Veterans Medical Center. He has a dermatology appointment. He didn’t want to go but I urged him to go anyway. Last summer the VA discovered my friend Bob had melanoma cancer. The VA took quick action to cut out a chunk of Bob’s arm to save him. I don’t want something like that happening to Bill.

The weather was very mild yesterday, almost spring like. Today the temperature is already up to 50 degrees. I guess I have to start looking at yard cleanup for spring. I have several giant Pampas grass plants. The challenge is what am I going to do with all that dead grass that I have to remove for this year’s new shoots? At my old home in Pennsylvania, there was never a problem with what to do with yard debris. I had a gigantic compost pile. Everything went into that compost pile. By summer the bottom of that pile was black gold. I doubt if the people who bought my property even know that it exists. I can’t have a compost pile down here. My acre of land is totally landscaped and out in the open. No room to hide a compost pile. I wanted to get one of the compost bins but Bill won’t hear of it. I guess I’ll just have to compost the dead Pampas grass leaves in the black trash bags for the weekly trash pickup. It’s a shame to waste it but I don’t see what other alternative I have.

This past weekend I was a bit bummed out. I had an opportunity to work Saturday night. I should have done that instead of going out and wasting my time playing Bingo. Other than seeing my friends Jack and Paul again, I didn’t enjoy myself. I like to dine out, but the restaurants in Rehoboth and the general area leave a lot to be desired. They’re overpriced and tasteless. Maybe it’s me. Years ago I used to visit Provincetown, Massachusetts several times during the summer. The restaurants in Provincetown were always excellent and reasonably priced. Not so here in the summer capital for Washington, DC phonies. Maybe I’m not eating in the right restaurants. I don’t patronize restaurants that charge $30 and up for ONE entrée. I don’t have a big Washington DC salary or retirement pay. Maybe that’s the problem. I’m going to take a break for awhile from the social and nighttime scene in this area. I don’t like driving at nights anyway. There are too many aggressive drivers down here. Must be that entitled DC mentality.

I have a beautiful and comfortable home and an interesting and absorbing hobby, genealogy. This past weekend a 3rd cousin (once removed) contacted me from Georgia. He is the great grandson of Wiley Tipton, older brother of my great-great grandfather John Tipton who died fighting for the Union Cause in the Civil War. His great grandfather Wiley, fought for the Confederate Cause. We have information to share. This past week a lady from Washington State contacted me. She is descended from my great-great grandmother’s family. We’re sharing information. I get so much more a sense of satisfaction from this activity than I do dodging the crazy aggressive drivers in traffic on Route 1 to dine at some overpriced restaurant on mediocre food.

Unless one is into church attendance, there is little social life in this area. I have a few friends but they have their own activities which do not coincide with mine. I’m going to change direction in my activities and concentrate on home life and spend more time visiting my Mom and friends in Pennsylvania. Weather permitting. The threat of snow is still strong but, perhaps the warming temperatures of this past weekend will melt the accumulated snow and ice of the past month. I need a change.

Bingo-a-Go-Go

All day I was looking forward to going out last night to Bingo-a-Go-Go in Rehoboth Beach. I haven’t been able to attend these four times a year fund raisers for AIDS because I’ve had to work at the Inn. Thus, it was a pleasant surprise when my friend Paul and Jack called me last week and asked me to join them for a night of dining and fun and festivities. Wouldn’t you know it? Monica from work called me about 1 in the afternoon and asked if I could work her shift for her because her youngest child was sick. I had to turn her down because I had already purchased the tickets for bingo and made dinner arrangements at Casa Dileo with my friend Paul and Jack. I had also invited my friend and neighbor Barbara. She said she couldn’t make dinner but would meet us at the Convention Center.

Four o’clock rolls around. I had arranged to meet Paul and Jack at 5 PM in front of Casa Dileo. I drove into Rehoboth and parked at my friend Ed’s house so I wouldn’t have to fight the traffic from the Convention Center when bingo was over. Walking from my friend Ed’s place to Casa Dileo, I ran into my first problem, construction work being done on Route 1. I couldn’t walk on the side of the road. Dodging traffic I walked to other side of the road. My cell phone rings. It’s Paul. He wants to know where I’m at. I told him I’m dodging traffic trying to walk to the restaurant. I hang up. My cell phone rings again. It’s my neighbor Barbara calling. She said she wasn’t feeling well so she wouldn’t be joining me. Take note, already I’ve received two bad omens for the night.

I meet Jack and Paul in front of the restaurant. As soon as I walk into the restaurant I’m turned off by the smell. It smelled like I was walking into a garage. I didn’t need to change the oil in my car. What was that smell? I didn’t want to ruin the evening since it was Paul’s suggestion we dine at Casa DiLeo so I said nothing. After we were seated and given our menus, I noticed that this was one of those restaurants that had the same items on the menu, doubled in price for dinner. I could get an Eggplant Parmesan dish, “lunch” price $8.95. The “Dinner” price $15.95. Either it was the same entree, with a jacked up price for dinner or it was a lot more food, neither of which was an option I wanted last night. We agreed to order a pizza and share it.

After dinner, we drove down to the Rehoboth Convention Center for the night’s festivities. I’ve been to a couple of gay bingos before. The first time was a lot of fun because it was new. The second time, well, not so much. Last night? It was boring. Basically gay bingo is every straight person's stereotype of a gay guy calling out the numbers interspersed with raunchy gay themed jokes. The word of the night last night was the four letter Anglo-Saxon word for excrement that begins with S. The bingo caller was much amused by ending just about every sentence with that well known four letter word.

Throughout the audience are about a half a dozen drag queens who checked to make sure you have a bingo when you call out “Bingo!” The joke is, if you call “Bingo!” in error, you have to wear a ratty old drag queen wig. That’s funny the first few times when you see it then it becomes old. It was old last night.

The drag queens had bright, colorful, flashy outfits which they changed several time during the evening. If you're into drag, it may have enjoyed seeing the different gowns and dresses on the slim hipped ladies with Adam's Apples. While it wasn't like checking out Princess Diana's new gowns, it was fascinating to see what new dress and wig Mona Lotts would appear. The guys playing the drag queens were a pretty somber bunch. One would expect more humor and levity but it seemed like they were also tired of the format and would rather have been somewhere else.

The event is a worthy one, it raises money for AIDS charities. It is gives the gay community a chance to assemble in one spot and experience fellowship. However, something odd this year, I only saw one person I slightly knew (introduced one through a mutual friend.) We didn’t see anyone else we knew, NO ONE. That was strange. Maybe our friends were on to something. Maybe they also got tired of the format. Maybe I don't have that many gay friends.

It wouldn’t have been a bad night if one of us could have won at least ONE bingo. But, as is always the case, no one I know wins. The last time I won a bingo was back in 1960 at the service club in Ft. Meade, Maryland. I won a Kingston Trio record album (which I think I still have, not because I like the Kingston Trio – I hate folk songs – but because it was proof I actually won something.) Most of the prizes last night were cash but one prize was a “beauty basket.” That was the prize I came closest to winning (like I needed THAT PRIZE.) If I won that prize I would have donated it back to the cause.

One thing that I find interesting and has always puzzled me when a group of gay men and lesbians gather together is how much the cliques stay intact. There is little if no interaction between the people unless they knew them previously. Yet one can go to straight event and strike up a friendship with straight people much easier. I've never been able to put understand this phenomenon about gay people, their tendency to stay in cliques when out in the public. They cling to their small group of friends. I can understand why lesbians are so insular, they don't want to have anything to do with men. They do quite well with their women friends, thank you. It's the men I don't understand. If you start up a conversation with a stranger, right away they think you're coming on to them. There is little understanding just for a friendship without the sexual connection. This attitude of most gay men is something that has baffled me for you and I'll probably go to my grave never understanding it.

All in all, it was good to have an evening with my friends Paul and Jack but I won’t be going back to gay bingo again. Maybe I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. I remember 30 years ago when I was 37 years old. I was standing in a gay bar (the 247 in Philadelphia) when the bartender started to flick the lights on and off, calling “Last call!” I thought to myself at that time “What am I doing here? I would rather be home in bed.” That’s the way I felt last night. I would have been better off in bed. Actually, I wish I would have to work for Monica. At least I wouldn’t still be burping up that pizza I had last night.

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.