Mood: Monday

Winter, 1978
print of original artwork (original possibly pen and ink)
Romain de Tirtoff, art created under the pseudonym Erté, Russia, France

When I searched the Internet for art with “winter” in its title, this image showed up and made me laugh, something I’d have thought impossible twenty-eight years ago. I’ve occasionally alluded to this story here. My friends know it and have heard me speak of it many times, and the story is long, so I’ll put it behind a cut in case anyone would rather dodge it.

Continue reading “Mood: Monday”

Hump Day


Last weekend, one of my industrious activities was altering the sleeves on a couple of shirts. In the process, I ran out of thread on a spool. It’s been YEARS since that happened. Those are my bifocals pictured with the sewing stuff. Since the surgery, they’ve actually been useful to me for the first time since I got that prescription…last July. Progress.

I didn’t get enough sleep last night. I tried to take a nap after meds and breakfast and eye drops and all the things. Nap wasn’t happening. So I kicked into gear and started doing things that I had no idea I intended to do.


First, I began to gather things for donation. These were my first items–some pristine stuffed animals, Houston Rockets souvenirs, lots and lots of throw pillows (none that were sewn for me, but including four I once sewed for myself), a couple of gently used quilted bedspreads and pillow shams, other bed linens, a beautiful shower curtain we haven’t used for years, some clothing, and all my old VHS tapes (if those Disney movies are worth something, then I hope someone with more energy than I have grabs them from one of the Goodwill stores and eBays the crap out of them). I’m sure there was more, because by the time I had it all gathered for Tom to load in the car after work, both dining tables were covered. The items have been donated!

We started a redo in the large guest bedroom (aka Lynne’s room), but it’ll be a few days before I can share photos because it’s a work in progress. Naturally, I failed to take before photos of anything, but I may have some old ones that’ll work.

I turned a brutal eye on the second guest room, or since 2020, the Writing Sanctuary (which at different times has been called the Butterfly Room, the Winnie the Pooh Room, and maybe the Quilt Room; I can’t keep up).

Here’s an example of how the bed can look in here when I’m full-on writing and otherwise multitasking. This is from mid-May.

That’s the collaged sketchbook I keep my completed coloring pages in, my wee CD player, the CD binder I’m STILL in (it’s like the freaking 1974 of CD binders), my day planner, Patti Smith’s book that I often use as a prompt when I’m writing in my day planner, the binder that I keep up with my bills in. So… that day, I was writing, listening to music, coloring, paying bills, and journaling. Behind it all, against the wall, is a little crate where I keep a bunch of the books I use for blogging ideas. Keep those books in the back of your mind while I move on.

I didn’t take a photo of the cabinet in here. The big box of CDs that won’t fit in binders was on it. A lot of medical stuff post-surgery. But other than all that extra stuff, the top part usually looked like this.

Some doll muses, a little bit of Dennis Wilson and Beach Boys stuff, Beatles-related stuff, and up top, a shadowbox with mementos of our late friend Steve and photos of him.

I was ready for some order and some change. Below, I’ll share a photo of the shadowbox (reminder: Winnie the Pooh and Piglet were our thing–on the top of the cabinet, not pictured here, there’s usually a stuffed version of both that Steve kept in the hospital with him, plus a Pooh bear Lynne made that I’d given to our late friend John). Those are now in a cabinet with the other stuffed animals because after I donated some, I had room for them. It’ll be better to keep them dust-free.


The shadowbox has been this way since… 1992? ’93? Shiny fabric lining the back was wrapped around the amethyst crystal hanging in there (upper right), a gift from Steve to me one Christmas, put together by one of his RNs, Billie, from a metaphysical shop she owned, and secured into a bag tied with gold cord that I don’t think is visible in this photo. It also contained a dried rose that’s hanging in here toward the middle. Next to the amethyst crystal is a quartz crystal that Steve kept around his neck most of the time. A tiny mirror has fallen behind the Pooh scene I cut out of a greeting card. I never asked, but maybe there was a time before I met him when he and his friends did bumps off that mirror. It was the ’70s, it was the ’80s, and everyone was young and beautiful and life was a party until AIDS crashed it.

So now you need to remember those writing prompt books and this shadow box, while I show you this.


A lovely little pillow I bought sometime in the ’90s, cross-stitched with a scene featuring Winnie, Tigger, and Piglet. After the turn of the century, a young dog with a penchant for destroying linens and other fabric items chewed up part of this pillow. Could have been Margot; could have been Guinness. I well remember their team and individual exploits. Anyway, it’s been on top of that cabinet, too, and today I took it apart.


It became part of the redone shadowbox. Still contains the shiny fabric against the back, the two crystals, the dried rose, and now you can see the mirror. I also put Steve’s Armchair Conductor baton in there. He used to listen to classical music on one of my little boomboxes I took him and direct an imaginary orchestra with that baton in the hospital. Steve was a graduate student in music, a band director, and a conductor.


Beneath that is a picture that was also on the top shelf with Langston Hughes’s “Poem”:

I loved my friend.
He went away from me.
There’s nothing more to say
The poem ends,
Soft as it began–
I loved my friend.

Below that is a photo of Riley playing guitar. The poem was true of Steve in 1992. It became true of Riley in 2008.


So now there’s a corner, and on the other wall is the drawing I bought in 2010 from Gilbert Ruiz, a Houston artist, that makes me think of the novel I’ve yet to write about a ghost. The story contains elements of teenage Becky and includes characters inspired by My First Boyfriend and Riley, and borrows from a terrible thing that happened in our little Alabama town. That shadow box also contains strands of love beads from the ones Lynne and I strung all one summer.


Steve’s two 8×10 photos and a photo of Riley playing piano have joined the Family and Friends Gallery in the hall (of Houndstooth Hall).


I think you’re caught up to the redo of the little place where I had that mess of books. Now it’s just my various eReaders and the CD player I use for my playlist when I write. Tidier, right?


Those books moved to the top shelf that used to be all Steve stuff. They join some journals that had been on a tavern table in the dining room, my day planner, the Patti Smith book, my manifestation dude, sitting next to little herbal bags that were also from Steve and from Billie back in the day, and the “Sisters are forever” art given to me by Debby.

Next shelf down are more muses: Dennis Wilson, Beach Boys things, and four of my character dolls.

Bottom shelf are my Beatles things.

You have no idea what a mess those shelves were. Maybe now that my space feels so much clearer and uncluttered, my brain will follow suit and help me write again? When Lynne was here, she sat in this room as I read chapters aloud to her that she hadn’t previously read. She liked them. She said I NEED TO FINISH THE BOOK.

Button Sunday

ETA: Here are my CD tracks from Saturday and Sunday writing.


Josh Groban, self titled. I used a quote from Don McLean’s song “Vincent” (about Vincent Van Gogh) on our friend Jeff’s NAMES Quilt panel. The song is included on this CD, and our friend Nora, who adored Jeff, gave the CD to me a few years after Jeff’s death.
Guns N’ Roses, Use Your Illusion I and II.


Merle Haggard, The Essential Merle Haggard: The Epic Years; Sophie B. Hawkins, Whaler; Ted Hawkins, The Next Hundred Years; Heart, Greatest Hits; Joe Henderson, Double Rainbow; The Jimi Hendrix Experience, BBC Sessions 2-CD set.

Wicked Cold Wednesday*

*As Timothy might say.


Delta, Eva Ruby, Anime

Moved work into the library so we could have a fire. (Jack is buried under covers on the office couch. It’s apparently one of his non-social days.) Since Tom is in the office and not working from home today, I’ve got the tunes (still in the “D”s) on the big sound system while I write. I’ll post the playlist when I stop for the night. One of today’s CDs I’d sing along to FULL VOICE (alone) in the car in 1992, going to and from the hospital to be Steve’s healthcare advocate. I needed a total escape, and it provided. Still love it, despite its connection to a tough time.

Have a good day, and stay warm or chill, wherever this finds you.

ETA: I’m about to save this chapter and shut down for the night. I always appreciate when I’ve made progress, and here are the “D” CDs that helped.


Miles Davis, Birth of the Cool. Pretty great to write to. Def Leppard, Retroactive. One of my favorite of the “hair” bands, and so much more to them than the hair. Loved their videos. Loved seeing them live. They’re still touring. Celine Dion, Falling Into You. I got this one because I needed the words to one of the songs used at John’s memorial service in 1996. One of his closest friends said “Fly” was the song he most thought of for John, and it is beautiful and sad and uplifting all at once. Dire Straits, On Every Street. This band’s sound always relaxes me. Clay DuBose, Rewriting History. Since members of Tom’s family are thanked in the liner notes of this, I’m certain it was a gift. It’s contemporary country, and another one that’s good to write to. Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits. I never get tired of Dylan and his influence over one of my characters is powerful. Bob Dylan, Love And Theft. I suspect this may have been a Tom purchase because I don’t know it well. I HAVE to replace more of my drowned Dylan albums with CD or vinyl, I don’t care. I just need to listen to them again. Various artists, Tangled Up in Blues: Songs of Bob Dylan. Released by the House of Blues label in 2002, as part of a series featuring 12 separate artists (e.g., Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin), and further subtitled “This Ain’t No Tribute.” Covers on this one are by Taj Mahal, Mavis Staples, Isaac Hayes, R.L. Burnside, Luther “Guitar Jr.” Johnson, John Hammond, James Solberg, Alvin “Youngblood” Hart, Leon Russell, The Holmes Brothers, Larry McCray, and The Band.

It was a long writing day in the Hall library.

As long as I have my memory, I’ll never willingly forget any of this

ETA: On 12/15, a New York Times article gave this information on children and gun deaths in the U.S.: “Guns are now the No. 1 cause of deaths among American children and teens, ahead of car crashes, other injuries and congenital disease…. The U.S. accounts for 97 percent of gun-related child deaths among similarly large and wealthy countries, despite making up just 46 percent of this group’s overall population…. The U.S. has more guns than people…”

Before Thanksgiving, I mentioned a project I was doing with the blog that would be of little interest to anyone else, but I was motivated by several reasons.

I believe I was a sophomore in college when I had to choose from suggested topics to research and write a persuasive paper for a speech class (I didn’t have to give a speech or participate in a debate; this was strictly a writing assignment). When I browsed the choices, the one that caught my eye was gun control: pro or con.

Two things interested me. First, my father was retired military. Specifically, the Army, and more specifically, the infantry. I knew he had to be proficient in weaponry (years later, I’d find papers that showed some of the weapons and tanks on which he’d been trained). Yet we never had a weapon in our home.

Further, I understood the culture he grew up in. As a boy and adolescent, he would have hunted. Whether specifically for food or for the camaraderie and skill of the activity, any fowl or other animal killed would have been used for food. Yet I couldn’t remember him talking about hunting, nor do I remember any occasion when he went hunting alone or with other hunters.

My high school boyfriend, who became my first husband, was also a hunter. Again, when he and our friends hunted, they hunted game for food. After we married and had our first post-college home, there were hunting weapons in our house. I never went near them, and he was meticulous about how he stored them.

All that in mind, I wasn’t sure why guns needed to be controlled. Did my father have a reason for not wanting them in our home? This was long before PTSD related to military service was a commonly known and discussed topic. I’d heard of “battle fatigue” and “shell shock,” but I didn’t know if those applied to my father. Did other people keep weapons in their homes? People who weren’t hunters? I had no idea. No one ever showed me any.

Since my ignorance seemed so vast, I picked that topic. I was diligent with my research, and I was stunned by the kinds of statistics and the number of tragic stories I read. Mass shootings were an anomaly back then, but the number of accidents in the home that killed children and other family members was numbing. The number of suicides in which a gun was used, the number of guns used in domestic violence, the crimes that turned deadly because of guns… All that juxtaposed against the Second Amendment rights that people cited as their right to “bear arms,” and our history of wars against U.S. citizens (1860s) and indigenous peoples (encompassing our expansion beyond the lakes, the prairies, the mountains that divided us from the Pacific Ocean).

When I wrote my paper, I chose to take the position of pro gun control. My position wasn’t that people shouldn’t have guns or should give up their guns. I chose instead education, training, registration, systems that I thought would protect, in particular, children from gun deaths, accidental deaths–because in that time, the idea of deliberately murdering school children was unthinkable. I read, studied, and interviewed to find compromise between gun safety and liberty.

I got an A on my project, and I got a conference with my professor, who told me I had one of the best researched, most thoughtful and thorough arguments on the topic he’d ever read.

In the years after that, I came to know people whose lives were impacted forever by guns, as was my own. In a broader sense, assassination attempts on Presidents Ford and Reagan were chilling reminders of the deaths of John and Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Malcolm X. The murder of John Lennon kept mental health and gun violence part of the pubic debate.

But nothing in my research, and nothing in the world I grew up in, could have led me to predict that military weapons, weapons of war, would ever become common in police departments, first through SWAT teams, and later, with access to decommissioned military weapons, not quite as regulated. Nor would I have thought that private citizens would ever own weapons that have ONE purpose, a purpose that has nothing to do with protecting one’s home and family or with hunting. That purpose is murdering as many people as lethally and efficiently as possible.

I’ve only become more certain that with gun ownership should come gun responsibility, and once again, that leads back to training, education, registration, as well as things like waiting periods, age restrictions, and background checks. In jobs I’ve had that had nothing to do with weapons, I’ve had to be registered, fingerprinted, and provide proof of residency and a criminal-free record. We all have to provide proof of insurance, license, and ownership for many things… but not weapons. It makes no sense to me.

Now we have this myth of “good guys” with visible guns patrolling public streets, eating in public restaurants, standing in front of public buildings. They dress like military. They are armed like military. They are not military. They are not National Guard. They have to provide no proof of training or mental competency to be in public with weapons of war. I have no interest in being where they are because this seems insanely unsafe to me.

Gun violence is at the worst it’s been during my lifetime. I haven’t forgotten the things I learned. I haven’t forgotten interviewing responsible gun owners. I haven’t forgotten that my father, trained for the wars he was part of, left military weapons with the military.

Ten years. It’s been ten years today since twenty children and six staff members were murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary School in the village of Sandy Hook located in Newtown, Connecticut. We can’t say things have gotten better, only worse in these ten years.

.

The names below, of those killed, are not in the same order as the photos above.

Allison Wyatt, 6
Ana Marquez-Greene, 6
Anne Marie Murphy, 52 (Teacher)
Avielle Richman, 6
Benjamin Wheeler, 6
Caroline Previdi, 6
Catherine Hubbard, 6
Charlotte Bacon, 6
Chase Kowalski, 7
Daniel Barden, 7
Dawn Lafferty Hochsprung, 47 (Principal)
Dylan Hockley, 6
Emilie Parker, 6
Grace McDonnell, 7
Jack Pinto, 6
James Mattioli, 6
Jesse Lewis, 6
Jessica Rekos, 6
Josephine Gay, 7
Lauren Rousseau, 30 (Teacher)
Madeleine Hsu, 6
Mary Sherlach, 56 (Psychologist)
Noah Pozner, 6
Olivia Engel, 6
Rachel D’Avino, 29, (Therapist)
Victoria Soto, 27 (Teacher)

What I learned with my work in HIV/AIDS awareness and the NAMES Project is that names matter. Names remind us of the humanity of lives lost. My project I mentioned has been to research the eighteen years I’ve kept this blog, including the first on LiveJournal, find the victims of mass gun violence during my blog’s duration, and publish their names. It’s a daunting project, and I’ve barely begun to compile them all. I began with school shootings, moved to shootings at places of worship, and am now adding shootings at workplaces and commercial sites (e.g., grocery stores, malls) as well as those designated as domestic terrorism. As I find older posts on related subjects, I’m adding the tag “gun-reform” to them as I am to all new posts. As I find more details about incidents I’ve already recorded, I’m adding those. I haven’t provided names of the shooters, whether or not they died during the incidents.

I’m doing this because these deaths matter. These deaths break families’ and communities’ hearts. These deaths tear at the fabric of who we are and who we should be as citizens and neighbors. These deaths take deadly aim at the foundation of our country.

We are problem solvers. We are innovative. We are not evil. We can do better. We must do better.

World AIDS Day 2022

The U.S. government’s theme for World AIDS Day 2022 is Putting Ourselves to the Test: Achieving Equity to End HIV, which emphasizes accountability and action. This theme echoes the Biden-Harris Administration’s dedication to ending HIV/AIDS as a public health threat worldwide by addressing health disparities in communities that have been disproportionately affected by COVID-19 and monkeypox.

“This World AIDS Day, we acknowledge the role equity plays in either the success or failure of our Nation’s HIV response. Providing equitable access to HIV testing, prevention, care, treatment, and research is key to ending the HIV epidemic,” said Harold Phillips, Director of the White House Office of National AIDS Policy. “The COVID-19 pandemic has tested our resolve and our ability to focus on ending the HIV epidemic. This World AIDS Day, we must recommit and re-energize all sectors of society to center equity within our HIV response by ensuring that everyone with HIV and those at-risk for infection have access to appropriate HIV testing, treatment, and prevention services. We encourage everyone to get an HIV test and to help us combat HIV-related stigma. As we work to implement the National HIV AIDS Strategy, this year’s theme reminds us that the time has come to act, and for all of us to put ourselves to the test of ending HIV.”

Since 2020, I’ve been reminded time and again of the dangers of spreading misinformation and targeting any population as less worthy of care than others and of politicizing a pandemic or health crisis. What I saw in the 1990s happened again: The medical community stepped up, often at risk to themselves, to extend compassion and care to the poorest, the oldest, the most vulnerable among us. Whoever sows divisiveness, intolerance, and hate among us is not acting in the best interests of all of us.

My heart continues to go out for those who struggle with HIV and AIDS, and I’m grateful for the strides that scientific research and medicine have taught us about reacting to and controlling viral pandemics. The knowledge came at great cost. To ignore or dismiss it is a disservice to all people everywhere.

These are the NAMES Project AIDS Quilt Panels that I was a part of. Except for John’s, they were designed by me. Pete Martinez created John’s, and Tom and I were invited to add to it. Those I created were worked on by several people, including my late mother, Lynne, Debby, Amy, Tom, Nora, Vicki, and Lisa.


I have this large notebook filled with photos, mementos, correspondence, programs, and other miscellany documenting some of my experiences related to HIV and AIDS. For the first time in years, I just read my six-page introduction to it. So many details I’ve forgotten about those years, a buffer that nature sometimes provides to help us heal. My memories left me crying, but so, so grateful for the people and places that gave me purpose and passion.

Every time I choose to be kind, to lift my voice for anyone marginalized and mistreated, to urge compassion and acceptance, I hope to honor the people whose names are on these panels. They could have been anyone’s son, brother, lover, friend: ordinary people pursuing their lives. They were made extraordinary by their talents, courage, perseverance, and love of others. They touched untold lives and are missed every day.

Tiny Tuesday!


It’s been a long time since three of my old watches have been on display. I had to do a bit of cleaning and adjusting, but they are now hanging in the writing sanctuary, which is in many ways the most retro room of the Hall.

A closer look:


Spiro Agnew watch from 1970, Bicentennial watch from 1976, and AIDS red ribbon watch from 1990s

I’m not sure which of my other watches I still have, but they once included a Mickey Mouse watch and a Winnie the Pooh watch. I think I still have the first watch I was ever given–probably a Timex. I remember the resurgence of watch-wearing in the ’90s with Swatches, but I guess these days, getting a fun new watch isn’t a thing unless it’s a smartwatch connecting the wearer to the entire world. (Okay, Boomer.)

This should be fun

Mercury went retrograde with a lot of drama around here. Two days before, then stretching into the day before, we had a nine-hour power outage. We realized the power outage had (once again–this usually occurs) caused problems with our Internet connection. Tom made a quick dash to our cable provider’s closest storefront before they closed to get a new modem. That worked… until it didn’t.

So the Hall had no cable, and even using 5G on our phones/devices was sketchy. The cable guy came late afternoon Friday, the day Mercury formally went retrograde, and after working outside, putting down new cable (which he said another crew will have to come back to bury in a few days), and installing yet another new modem, things seemed to be okay. He left.

Things were not okay. They are still not okay. Access is sporadic. Often, if I disconnect from Wifi and reconnect, I can get a few minutes of access. I’m being very bold here by trying to create a blog post, especially one that requires both this site and Flickr to work. Fingers crossed!

In our long hallway that leads to our bedrooms and both bathrooms, we used to have quite a lot of art and photos hanging. All that came down and was boxed after the Harvey flood in 2017. Over the long Labor Day weekend, Tom tackled getting that redone. We didn’t even try to make it the way it was. But here are photos to show mission: accomplished. I may attempt better photos of some of the items at a later date.


Just outside our bedroom, we have rehung the cross-stitched (some with beads included) angels that Lynne made for me through the years. They’re so beautiful and a great source of happiness and good memories. At the far end on the top, hangs a print that I thought I’d mislaid forever. It’s called “The Ramparts of God’s House,” painted by John Melhuish Strudwick possibly in 1891. I was drawn to it because of the angels, but one of them looks very much how I envision a character I wrote a long time ago. She’s in the same world as the Neverending Saga, but a different series. If I ever finish the story of this group of characters, I hope to also rewrite her book(s). Here’s the painting.

Finding that print stored with the things from the hallway makes me believe some of the other items I’ve misplaced may still be found.


On the opposite side of the hall outside our bedroom are these two items. The top is an angel plate that my mother gave me during my angel years. And the bottom is a piece I gave to her, though I can’t remember when. The words around the crafted angel that I gave her are “Angel–Another Word for Mother.”


At the opposite end of the hall, between the bathroom and a closet and close to “Lynne’s Room,” are a drawing of my grandparents along with various photos of my grandparents and parents and Tom’s grandparents and parents. I guess we can call that the Ancestors Wall, though some of us are still living!

Across from those, Tom rehung photos of family and friends that were there before the flood. I’ve changed a couple out for different photos, and there may be more of that when I get back to the photo organizing that’s one of several ongoing projects.

At the far end of the photos are fabric art by Tom’s mother, a piece of his father’s woodworking art, and a glass, tile, and mirror mosaic done by a Houston artist (I have another of her works over our fireplace).

Finally, on the section of the wall I can see from the Writing Sanctuary when I’m writing (or blogging, like now), I hung three of my old bottle cap paintings that were never for sale, but done for me.

The top one is titled “Friends: Before And After.” I used Coke caps because of several of the Coke campaigns (It’s the Real Thing, Coke Adds Life, I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing) that evoke friendship. Four of the caps with logos represent our friends who died from complications related to HIV/AIDS, Steve R, Jeff, John, and Tim R. One is solid red to represent all those lost. The caps I painted white are because in the old days, white balloons were released at the funerals and memorial services of many of those lost to AIDS. (I think the last time I released balloons of any kind was with Tim on the first anniversary of Aaron’s death in 2013. I’ve since learned how bad this is for wildlife and the environment, so I don’t release balloons anymore.)

The middle painting, also using Coke bottle caps, is titled “Tom Is the Real Thing.” That needs no explanation, I hope, but in a world I’ve populated with imaginary characters, he’s the reality I’m grateful I chose.

The bottom painting, using ram bottle caps from Shiner Bock, is titled “Aries Friendships Are Built Tough.” If you’ve been part of my life for decades, through all the good and bad things of human experience, including long absences and silence, you know it’s true. (And if you’re reading this and you wonder, one of my super powers is forgiveness; it works both ways.)

If this actually publishes after the many attempts I’ve tried—and the cable guy actually coming while I was composing it to bury the cable, though he’s not the cable guy who can fix our cable–SCORE!

Decluttering begins with…

…organization.

My current project, because I’m compelled to have several going at once in order to fulfill the prophecy that an Aries never finishes anything (a lie; we do finish most things eventually), started accidentally. There’s a cabinet where most of my journals live, and for some reason, I took out an old journal on Thursday night and was reading it when the email notification for Photo Friday’s theme arrived. Since the theme was “hidden,” and I was reading private details of my past, written in a journal that is kept tucked out of sight with my other journals, it seemed like a timely opportunity to take a photo and use it for the photo challenge. Which of course, you know I did if you saw yesterday’s post.

Problem is, the cabinet is jammed full and it’s hard to find anything or put stuff back when I take it out. Should I cull or simply organize? I think I have to organize first. Hopefully I can then dispose of something without feeling like I’m losing a necessary appendage. And if I record what I’m doing on the blog, three years from now, I won’t tear through everything I own looking for something because I’ll have a photographic record that I PURGED IT.

Just a glance at some of the materials I need to inventory:

I decided to begin with things that aren’t in the journal category or at least not MY journals. Feel free to chime in on the value or lack thereof of keeping some of these items if you’ve had to go through a similar process.


This is my address book that stayed with me for YEARS. Has lots of blank pages so I could add and change pages as needed. Now, of course, I keep my address database on my computer. Is there a reason to keep this? I don’t know.


These, on the other hand, are pages from one of many day planners that enabled me to access key addresses and phone numbers–so that even when I wasn’t home, I could easily snail mail someone a card or package because I had their info with me. Now something like this easily resides on my phone, and also, I’m no longer at a job location many hours a day. Probably sheets like this will be recycled.


This is a tiny address book that belonged to my mother. I have several of these because she moved a lot and updated a lot. Right now, that stuff is in a footlocker waiting for me to take on the task of culling more of my parents’ things. I’ll probably put this there until I’m ready to tackle that larger task. Which is NOT NOW.


Similar to mine, this is my late friend John’s address book. Even though it gives a little history to me related to his life, there’s no compelling reason to keep it. However, he has a LOT of people’s names and numbers in it, so before I make the big decision to let it go, I’ll at least record all those names to mix and match for names in fiction. If you’re a writer, you know the challenge of naming characters. If you’re a writer working on a series of many books, you try not to repeat names for a daunting number of supporting characters. Using names from people John knew can not only help me when I write, it’s a way to include him in the party. He LOVED parties.


Now we get to these two items. Steve R died in 1992 with me as his non-medical caregiver. He’s one of the most important people in my life. I loved him, was loved by him, and he changed the way many of my friends and family members regarded gay people and people with AIDS. It’s very unlikely these are going anywhere.

The one on the left, his 1990 engagement calendar, was used by him to journal his feelings after he lost his partner Don to AIDS. When I read through these, they’re like the beginning of a painful, true story in which I come to know the people of his life (many of whom became part of my life), his emotional struggles, the daily things that occupied him. He wrote and wrote and wrote… Then everything stops abruptly at the beginning of May, and he never wrote in it again. I think I know why. Just prior to that, he was having symptoms that led him to be tested. He was reassured that things looked hopeful for a negative test. He never gives the results, but of course, I know the outcome. He was HIV positive and on the edge of developing full-blown AIDS. I didn’t know him then, but we began working together, and our friendship began, in August of that year. It doesn’t matter at all that his memories of that time aren’t here. They’re written on my heart.

The book on the right is his 1991 engagement calendar. He didn’t use this one to write his feelings as he did in 1990, but it still tells stories. Here are some of them.

That appointment with Bill on the 28th of May? Bill was the therapist he began seeing after Don’s death. He was an incredible man and a huge help to Steve. One of the times Steve’s parents came from Minnesota to visit, Bill gave them a free session so they could ask questions, express concerns, get reassurances. Seeing his name conjures up many discussions I had with Steve and with his parents. Three years after Steve, Bill would die, too, but what a difference he made to the community (you can read more at this link, if you’re interested). There’ve been many heroes in the HIV/AIDS pandemic. Bill Scott was one of them.

The day after that, Steve had lunch with Pat and me. I speak of her here most often as Princess Patti. I remember many details of that day–where we shopped in Montrose and Rice Village, the fun we had. Yet I don’t remember where we ate, lol. It was the company that mattered, and it was a magical day.

I don’t know if Steve got food stamps after the interview shown here. I do know how often I took him to Stone Soup, the AIDS food pantry. Later, after Steve died, Stone Soup was one of the places Tom volunteered.

On that last entry, Body Positive and AIDS Mastery were two groups that assisted people with AIDS. Looks like Steve at least planned to become a BP facilitator. I don’t remember if he did. AIDS Mastery was how he met Tim R, who became a friend and great comfort to me (Tim died in 1997), as did Tim’s family. It’s also where Steve met Jeff (who died in 1995), who also became a friend and through whom I met John (the first time I met John was when he came with Jeff to visit Steve in the hospital), and through John, my beloved friend James, who was John’s partner when John died in 1996.

When people are compassionate about my losses, I appreciate it. But so many of the great things in my life, including the books I’ve written and published, friends I’ve made (including my writing partners!), and the quality of the life Tom and I have built together, began with meeting Steve.


After Steve died, we even inherited his cats Maggie and Emily. Tom, allergic to cats, lived with them and loved them until the end of their lives.

This week was busy.  Tom doesn’t remember at all going to see Spyro Gyra with Steve, but Steve seems to have marked through things that were canceled or didn’t happen. I wish Tom could remember it.
ETA: I was just going through my own 1991 Desk Diary, and I, too, noted that Tom and Steve went to see Spyro Gyra. They were at Rockefeller’s. =)

Dr. Duren was Steve’s primary care doctor and was with Geraldine and me at Steve’s bedside when he died in 1992. In August of 2000, Dr. Duren and I ran into each other at an emergency vet. He not only remembered me, he sat down with me and offered comfort and support and talked about Steve and Don to me. Our dog Pete had died only a few days earlier from liver failure, and Tom was on the way from work to join me at the ER vet because we’d gotten bad news about our dog Stevie’s kidney failure.

In that conversation, Dr. Duren told me that he took such good care of Steve not only because of who Steve was, but because he’d promised Don to do so. Every time I remember this sad day when we lost another dog, I send a silent thank-you not only to Dr. Duren, who died unexpectedly only a few months later, but also to Don and Steve.

I’m comfortable with letting someone else get rid of these mementos of Steve after I’m gone. For now, they nourish my heart and my soul.

Tiny Tuesday!

I painted and Tom installed a couple of letters in Aaron’s Garden. They resemble the tattoo I got back in 2014 on a night out with Timothy and The Brides. Rhonda told me if I’d get it, she’d pay for it, because she knew how much it meant to me. I’ve never regretted it.

Here’s the more colorful version that is now on the wall over Aaron’s Garden.

Subtle from a distance, but our way to show this little section of Houndstooth Hall is a place to remember him.

Today is the thirtieth anniversary of our friend Steve’s death. I remember that I once intended to get stones etched with the names of those friends we lost to HIV/AIDS for one of our flower beds at The Compound. It was the bed where we had the small sculptures of the Winnie the Pooh characters, and I called it Pooh Garden. Those were damaged long ago by time and weather and are gone, but I started considering smaller rocks, maybe even painted stones, that we could place in Aaron’s Garden. It’s something for me to think about, and maybe enlist some friends for help. A creative effort that becomes communal is my favorite kind.