I Want a Cat

Tonight I met a cat that I fell in love with. Unfortunately he belongs to another.




His name is Matt. He is a six year old big, fat, lazy, orange, male tabby cat.



Matt belongs to my friend Dan. Or more accurately, I should say that Dan belongs to Matt.



I knew it was love at first sight when I saw Matt curled up on a comfy cushion when I entered my friend Dan's house tonight. Matt paid me not attention but I couldn't take my eyes off of him.



Boldly, I strode over to Matt and gave him one very loving stroke from his head to his tail.



Matt raised his head slightly issued a sound like "huh?"



Once he saw that I wasn't Dan, he curled back into his fetal position.



Dan, Bob and I gathered around the couch to hash out the issues of the day, Matt moved from the cushion to Dan's lap, paying me no heed at all even though my eyes were boring a hole through him.



Later, Matt moved to the back of the couch where we were sitting. I said some endearing words to him, hoping to win over his heart. And this is what I received in return. He gave me a look that said "please go away."



Matt, I will go away now but I know that someday, someday I will have a kitty cat just like you Matt.



Sweet dreams my feline friend.

The Power of Prayer

Today's posting is a little different for me. As though of you who know me personally, you know that I do not buy into "man-made" religion. Another way of describing "man-made" religion is that or the organized church. The organized Christian Church left me when I was 10 years old because of my homosexuality. There are those friends of mine who criticize me for "always being the victim." Well, sorry about that but when the man-made church tells me I will burn in Hell for eternity because of who I am, and then I have no choice but to leave that church for the Select Few who were lucky enough to be born with the socially acceptable chromosome makeup.

After I left the organized man-made Christian Church when I was 10 years old I continued to have my own personal religion. Many times over the years I have prayed for guidance in this perilous minefield called Life. Many times I have had guidance from a Greater Power that has helped me through some very difficult times. I don't know whether it was my guardian Angel or Buddha or just a Spirit in the Sky. One thing I do know is that organized religion has never helped me nor has man helped me. The only thing that has gotten me this far in life (67 years) is my personal spiritual belief.

A friend sent me an e-mail this morning that best epitomizes the way I feel sometimes. The friend who sent this e-mail to me this morning is going through a difficult time of her life at this time. She recently lost her job. Then she discovered she had breast cancer. Just last week she lost her father, with whom she has lived with and cared for these many years. Now she is alone except for her brother who is caring for her.



I met my friend many years ago (1965) when I worked at Girard Bank in Philadelphia. She started work a short time after I began working for the bank. We were good friends even after we both changed our jobs and went to work for another bank up the street when Mellon Bank took over Girard Bank.



We worked together at the new bank for about seven years until I left in 1994. Over the years we have remained in touch by e-mail. Her friendship is one of the few I have maintained over the years in all my job changes and travels. She is one of those True Friends. I am very fortunate because I have a handful of these True Friends whose friendship I value more than just about anything.



My friend believes in religion but makes no judgments. My friend doesn't warn me about burning in Hell because I am a homosexual and I refuse to "accept" Jesus Christ as my Savior. My friend does not discount me as a human being because of my homosexuality. My friend does not patronize me by saying she "tolerates" me in spite of my "weakness." My friend accepts me just as I am, a human being created in the image of God.



This is her prayer. It has meaning for me. I want to share it with others who feel as I do. And why do I post an image of a made-made representation of Jesus Christ? It is only a symbol of Peace and Love which in the end is what religion is all about anyway.



 

This prayer is powerful, and prayer is one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards.



Let's always pray for one another.






The prayer:






Father,


Thank you for each and every day you have


blessed us here on earth.


Thank you for your tender mercies.


Thank you for giving us friends and family to share these internet joys with. I ask you to bless my friends, relatives and those I care deeply for who are reading this right now.






Where there is joy, give them continued joy.


Where there is pain, give them your peace and mercy.






Where there is self-doubt, release a renewed confidence.


Where there is need, fulfill their needs.






Bless their homes, families, finances, their goings and their comings.














In Jesus' name..






Amen.

Class Reunion Questionnaire

My 50th high school class reunion is taking place Saturday, October 17th at the Whitford Country Club in Downingtown, Pennsylvania. 

I am the guy who is preparing and updating the reunion booklet.  I just received a passel of completed reunion questionnaires.  You know what that means?  No blog postings for at least a few days until I get update my reunion booklet template in Word and get it copied to a CD-ROM.  I'll send the CD-ROM to my former classmate Carole who will get it off to the printer. 

Time is a wasting.  I'll miss posting to my blog but I get to get this burden off of my shoulders. 

Oh, and yes, I did volunteer for this job.  That's just the way I roll.

P.S.
The above photo is a classic Fifties cheesecake. I found the photo in my processed photos that I picked up from Sam Charles’s newsstand in the summer of 1955. I knew who most of the girls were but I never told them I had this photo. They're probably wondering to this day what happened to their photo. I'm coming clean now. Check out the guy in the back doing the hula.  That's what caught my eye. :)

Why I Blog

Blogging: (blŏg-ging)




. An enjoyable pastime:


. A way of expressing emotions, ideas and opinions in a public realm:




. A way of meeting like-minded people bypassing geographical or cultural barriers:



. A form of self-medication:



I took the definition of blogging from a fellow blogger's blog, Ramblings of the Bearded One. Thank you Kim Ayers for your inspiration. You are a true undiscovered talent (albeit slowly being discovered.)


For those of you who know me personally and those of you who have stumbled across my blogs, the answer to the question of "Why I Blog" is "All of the above."

. An enjoyable pastime:


Yes, that is me. I have always loved to write. From the time I was a teenager writing to pen pals until my adulthood writing Letters to the Editor of local and national newspapers. I get a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from writing. Probably the same sense of satisfaction and accomplishment that a musician or an athlete receives when they engage in their favorite activity.

. A way of expressing emotions, ideas and opinions in a public realm:


Oh yes. Anyone who knows me personally knows that I rarely hesitate of express my emotions, ideas and opinions. However, I have tried to tamp down my rants and raves about the current political scene because so many others already do it much better than me. However, there are times when I simply cannot hold myself back and I have to express my opinion over some current political situation.

. A way of meeting like-minded people bypassing geographical or cultural barriers:

Yes, this is a goal of mine but so far it has not happened much to my surprise. I have met some very nice people who have left comments on some of my blogs and I have even gained one follower other than a friend. But I had expected to meet many more people worldwide who would find my blog of interest. But then, maybe what I have suspected all along in my 67 years on this earth, I may not be the most interesting person. Ironically if this is true, it does not affect my self image one iota. Maybe I have a healthy ego or I'm just not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I've always been pretty happy with myself. There have been a few times I've slipped and I wish I could have done things a different way but who I am? I'm quite satisfied with who I am, thank you.

. A form of self-medication:


Oh yes, definitely. Whenever I'm down (depressed), all I have to do is write a blog or an entry into my personal journal and euphoria returns. I can't exactly explain how this works but it seems once I write down either what I'm doing, what I did, what I'm going to do or what I wish to do; I immediately feel like I'm okay again. I am not alone.


Perhaps that is the Number One reason I write a blog, I am not alone.

I remember years ago when my Great Aunt Grace (my Mother's aunt) asked my Mother: "Why does Ronnie write to pen pals? Doesn't he have any friends?" (Note: "Ronnie" is my childhood name, "Ron" is my adult name.)


I was maybe 12 years old when my Mother related Aunt Grace's question to me. At the time I thought that is why I did have pen pals, because of the paucity of my friendships. Oh I did have a few friends. In fact I have a few very good friends. But still I felt I was missing something. Perhaps I wanted to contact the world outside of my little five mile radius of Downingtown, Pennsylvania where I grew up.

It wasn't until I joined the Army when I was 18 years old that I gave up all my pen pals (save one, I wrote to her about a year into my Army enlistment until I finally gave her up too - Sorry Nancy Jo Stoker of Waterloo, Iowa.)


Looking back now I probably gave up the pen pals because I had a lot of friends or at least comradeship when I was in the Army. There was always something to do, somewhere to go, and someone to go with.


After the Army, when I young and pretty and full of life and zest, I hit the nightlife scene of a young gay man. Again, there was very little if no time for reaching out into the Great Unknown to make friends and acquaintances. With my youthful good looks and refreshing innocence, I made many friends (and more) in the gay bar scene (no false modesty here, I'm telling it like it is....or was.)



Then I entered into a life long relationship with my life partner (still going on.) My career (in trust bank operations) monopolized my time and I also gained many more friends and acquaintances through my work place.


However, now that I am retired (I do work part time at a hotel where I meet people), I feel as if I've completed the full cycle.


I haven't made as many friends as I thought I would down here in what is considered the gay capital of the East Coast. That's probably because of a combination of factors, the main one being that I'm not from the D.C. gay crowd. Also, I have several serious drawbacks which make me an unlikely candidate for multiple friendships. I'm way too naive. I have a passive/aggressive personality which doesn't fit well with most friendships. However, I have made a few friends and I treasure and value greatly their friendship (you know who are are.)



Some of the other reasons why I'm not a candidate for Miss Geniality are that I'm way too honest. I do like to gossip (but not harmful gossip or is that an oxymoron?) I am very private and I make everyone take their shoes off when they enter my house.


Whatever the reasons at this point in my life I've settled down to a nice, comfortable routine. I am retired but work part time just enough to engage my brain from atrophying and to meet more interesting people than I would meet in a Wal-Mart checkout line.


Oh, one other reason that maybe I'm not the Toast of Town is my voice. I'm not effeminate nor do I talk with a "gay" accent (all you straight people know what I'm talking about, gay people don't.) But my voice is not a deep, melodious voice. It is more of the Henry Aldrich variety with a Philadelphia accent. What is a Philadelphia accent? One example is that I pronounce water as "wudder." I have a nasal twang. What can I say? Coincidentally my one brother also has the same nasal twang and sometimes even his own wife will mistake me for her own husband when I call on the phone. However, my other brother has the expected deep, baritone tone of a mature, heterosexual male. I, on the other hand, am not to be taken seriously once I open my mouth.


I still remember the advice I was given by a couple of my Army buddies when I was 18 years old stationed at Ft. Devens, Massachusetts. It was a Friday night and they guys were going to take "the kid" (that would be me) out to the Little Club (or some name like that) in Ayer, Massachusetts. They said they would take me with them under one condition that I would keep my mouth shut. I did that night but I haven't ever since.


So, to sum up why I write a blog:


I like to write and I like to meet like minded people. It makes me feel good. It is a harmless past time and it doesn't cost me anything but time. I don't need anyone's approval (although sometimes some friends and readers of my blog attempt to control what I write but I pay them no mind.) I've been told that I shouldn't have music on my blog (I like the music, it stays.) I've also been told that I should not criticize Republicans on my blog (I will continue to do so when appropriate and I'm in the mood to vent.) I've also been told that I write too much about myself and should focus more on general topics (what is that criticism all about anyway? That's the whole point of my blog, ME.)


So I soldier on writing my blog, mostly every day. I do not worry about subject matter or what to write about. There is always something to write about. The backlog of topics in my head is endless. I have as many topics to write about as there are grains of sand on the beach or stars in the skies.


I am always seeking to improve my writing style and make my topics of interest. And of course, I always try to have humor and good will in all my blog postings.


I will continue to write until I am no longer able to write or the Powers That Be start to charge for maintaining a blog. If that happens, then I go back to counted cross stitch.

Why I Quit My Census Job

This past winter when I heard from a friend that the U.S. Census Bureau was hiring workers for the 2010 census I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity for a part time job.

For years I have been researching my family genealogy. I have often read the census records from 1790 (the first official U.S. Census) to 1930 (the latest year for which the census is available to the public.) I often thought that if I had the opportunity I would be a census worker myself so future generations could view the results of my conscientious efforts.



In early Spring I took the test for be a census worker. I passed the test and was offered a job as census enumerator. Basically, that is a pre census job in locating the housing units to send the official census forms in the fall.



I was scheduled to attend a week long class before I begin my actual job. The first day of class a red flag went up.



Sure, we were to be paid $16.25 an hour and now I knew why. This is a hard job. Not only is there a lot of technical detail to learn, you have to traipse around neighborhoods barging into people's personal lives trying to ascertain if anyone actually lives in that abandoned barn in the back of the house.



Each day we were given a warning about safety precautions. What was this? Did this mean we wouldn't be welcomed with open arms? Remember, this was before all the crazy tea-bagging and "You lie!" wing nut activity. Apparently there are folks out there who do not like the government any way shape or form.



My training was scanty. I had problems with my GPS unit. Heck, my instructor didn't even have a working GPS unit. The first day out in the field, our leader quit. The signs weren't good.



On my first day out in the field, I look for and find my neighborhood assignment. Now where to park my vehicle? On the lawn? In the road? Then I have to stand out in the middle of the road to get a good satellite connection. The good vibes I had about being a selfless census taker are rapidly disappearing.



I can't find my starting address. I see an older man and a teenage working on installing a stair from the deck of their doublewide. I introduce myself as a United State Census worker. They look up from their work to me with unsmiling faces. They are obviously not thrilled to see me. Maybe I'm interrupting them from their work or maybe I work for THE GOVERNMENT. I live in a very conservative area of Sussex County, Delaware. I have since found out this is Teabagging County. Little did I know then.



I asked them for directions to my first address. The older man gestures impatiently towards the end of the development. Still, I'm the only one who is speaking the mother tongue of the colonies, English.



I proceed toward the other end of the development. I find my address. I walk towards the door and immediately I hear a dog barking with alarm. My first house and I get a dog attack. An elderly gentleman appears behind the glass storm door. I identify myself as a U.S. Census worker and explain my mission. He also is not thrilled to see me. I ask him my questions and he confirms that the information I have is correct. I think him and proceed to the next house on my list.



My car is at the other end of the development. Should I move it? Would the person who owns the property object to my car being parked out in front of his Home Sweet Home? Probably. It was then and there that I decided "This isn't the job for me." Nope. That was it. I quit.



Now I don't quit jobs lightly. I take very seriously my responsibilities when I apply for a new job. But from Day One, all the signals were negative for me on this census taker job. I would be traipsing all over the countryside into people's back yards, sticking my nose where it didn't belong, asking questions that the recipients were not welcoming. I was an intrusion on their lives. That is not my personality.



When I got home after a full 2 1/2 hours or so (one windy afternoon) out in the field, I called my field manager and submitted my resignation.



Later that day I wrote about my resignation on my blog. I was promptly castigated by some readers on my blog about being a "quitter" and taking the money and run (I got paid for the week of training.) To be perfectly frank, I didn't care whether they paid me or not (they did about two weeks later.) I just felt like a tremendous burden was lifted from my shoulders.



Now this week I hear where a census worker was found dead. He was naked, had "Fed" written on his chest, and was tied to a tree in a wooded area of Kentucky (not God's country by any stretch of the imagination.) Uh huh. My worst fears were realized.



Now don't get me wrong. I have all the respect in the world for our census workers. It is a job that needs to be done. It is hard work. Even at $16.25 an hour, they still aren't paid enough for what they have to learn and the sheer physical effort that they have to put forth in searching out addresses and people. It is a thankless job.



We have Wall Street types and bankers who get paid millions (and in some cases billions) just for rearranging money packages. Then we have people like census workers and our military personnel sacrifice their personal comfort and put their lives on the line for the betterment of this country. What is wrong with this picture?



I point the finger of blame on the current version of the Republican Party who has whipped up such an anti-government fervor in this country that causes violence like this to happen.

I've always felt tinge of guilt because I quit my census taker job but now I know why. I'm not putting my life on the line to be exposed to the danger that the Republican Party and the wingnuts have caused to happen in this country.




Ironically, about a month ago the Census Bureau called me and asked me if I wanted a job as a poll taker in the fall. Even though I quit my enumerator job in the spring they still wanted me back. That's how bad they are hurting for census workers. I turned down the job offer.

Reality is Settling In

The reality of the condition of our former home is starting to settle in now. Back when we sold our home in November of 2006 I would never have predicted that our former home would end up as a "Grey Gardens" home. It is ironic because just a few weeks ago I saw the documentary about Grey Gardens from one of my Netflix DVD rentals.

Bill has always been upset that we left our home in Pennsylvania because he treasured the privacy that it offered him. Over the twenty five years that we lived there, he put his heart and soul into building the sun room and the massive brick edifice in the front of the building. It was heartbreaking for Bill to see the neglect of the property over the last three years.



Bill builds drainage ditches. They were all clogged with debris. The roof gutters had weeds growing out of them from the accumulation of three years worth of debris.



My fishponds that I lovingly took care of faithfully every spring, summer and fall were loaded with dead leaves. Incredibly, one of the fish ponds still had two goldfish in them. One was a large goldfish. I wonder if it was a survivor from the original goldfish I had in the ponds when I left in November of 2006. I felt like I betrayed them.

Bill said he wouldn't have felt as bad if the new owners had taken pride in the property and improved upon what we had already done. But apparently all they did was use the property and now they're going to move on.



It's hard for me to understand how an owner can even put up a property for sale with all the overgrown weeds and trash laying around. The house is dirty inside. I remember well what one real estate agent told me after one of my sixty plus showings of the house when I was trying to sell it. He said that he had never in his twenty five years of selling houses seen one as clean as mine for a showing.

Bill and I busted our behinds making the house immaculate prior to each showing. I always made sure I had fresh flowers throughout the house before any showing. We had all the lights on and soft music playing throughout the house. Both fish ponds were well stocked with fish and plants and had clear water recirculation through them. The fish were happy. Bill and I both kept the grounds around the house mowed, trimmed and bursting with colorful flowers. In retrospect it was all to no avail. We finally sold the house but I don't think it made a bit of difference how we presented the house. All the potential buyers were interested in was how low could they go in the price. The blood was in the water and I was on a fool not to recognize it.



The new owner has the property up for sale for $549,000. I sold it to him in November of 2006 for $500,000. He originally offered me $450,000. When I first put the house on the market in January of 2006 I was asking $695,000. The house was worth $625,000. I should have taken my real estate agent's advice and started at $650,000 but I didn't and I paid the price for it. What is ironic now is that the new owner will probably get close to his asking price. I would not be surprised at all. What surprises me is how anyone could take a beautiful property like we sold to him and totally neglect it for three years and then have the nerve to put it on the market in the state that it is in and ask a higher price. He has something that I don't have, chutzpah.

Five Lessons in Life

I don't usually post something like this to my blog but I thought this was well worth it.  A friend sent it to me by e-mail.  Good lessons in life.  Always remember, the best lesson in life is the Golden Rule.  Treat others the way you want them to treat you. 
I know this one has been around before, but It's worthwhile reading again.


Five (5) lessons to make you think about the way we treat people..

1 - First Important Lesson - Cleaning Lady.






During my second month of college, our professor


gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student


and had breezed through the questions until I read


the last one:






'What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?'






Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the


cleaning woman several times.. She was tall,


dark-haired and in her 50's, but how would I know her name?






I handed in my paper, leaving the last question


blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if


the last question would count toward our quiz grade.






'Absolutely,' said the professor.. 'In your careers


you will meet many people. All are significant. They


deserve your attention and care, even if all you do


is smile and say 'hello.'






I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her


name was Dorothy.






2. - Second Important Lesson - Pickup in the Rain






One night, at 11:3 0 p.m., an older African American


woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway


trying to endure a lashing rainstorm. Her car had


broken down and she desperately needed a ride.


Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car.


A young white man stopped to help her, generally


unheard of in those conflict-filled 60s.. The man


took her to safety, helped her get assistance and


put her into a taxicab.






She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his


address and thanked him. Seven days went by and a


knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a


giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A


special note was attached.






It read:


'Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway


the other night. The rain drenched not only my


clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along.


Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying


husband's bedside just before he passed away... God


bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving


others.'






Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole.






3 - Third Important Lesson - Always remember those who serve.






In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less,


a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and


sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.






'How much is an ice cream sundae?' he asked.






'Fifty cents,' replied the waitress.






The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and


studied the coins in it.






'Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?' he inquired.






By now more people were waiting for a table and the


waitress was growing impatient.






'Thirty-five cents,' she brusquely replied.






The little boy again counted his coins..






'I'll have the plain ice cream,' he said.






The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on


the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice


cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress


came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the


table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish,


were two nickels and five pennies..






You see, he couldn't have the sundae, because he had


to have enough left to leave her a tip.






4 - Fourth Important Lesson. - The obstacle in Our Path.






In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a


roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if


anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the


king's wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by


and simply walked around it. Many loudly blamed the


King for not keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about getting the stone out of the way.






Then a peasant came along carrying a load of


vegetables. Upon approaching the boulder, the


peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the


stone to the side of the road. After much pushing


and straining, he finally succeeded. After the


peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed


a purse lying in the road where the boulder had


been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note


from the King indicating that the gold was for the


person who removed the boulder from the roadway. The


peasant learned what many of us never understand!






Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition.






5 - Fifth Important Lesson - Giving When it Counts...






Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a


hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who


was suffering from a rare & serious disease.. Her only


chance of recovery appeared to be a blood


transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had


miraculously survived the same disease and had


developed the antibodies needed to combat the


illness. The doctor explained the situation to her


little brother, and asked the little boy if he would


be willing to give his blood to his sister..






I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a


deep breath and saying, 'Yes I'll do it if it will


save her..' As the transfusion progressed, he lay in


bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did,


seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his


face grew pale and his smile faded.






He looked up at the doctor and asked with a


trembling voice, 'Will I start to die right away?'.






Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the


doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his


sister ALL of his blood in order to save her but he had chosen to save her anyway.










'Work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like you do when nobody's watching.'

I especially like the last lesson:

"Dance like you do when nobody's watching."