DUCKS, DOGS, AND PENNY CANDY

My grandmother had a cottage on Lake Erie, where I spent lots of time every summer with my Mom and Dad....and two gigantic German Shepherds. I spent my days there on the beach playing in the sand, or riding my tricycle up and down the sidewalk which was shaded by enormous poplar trees whose leaves would rustle in the breeze and put me to sleep at night when the lake was calm. Other nights I 'd listen to the waves...wondering sometimes if they were really as big and ferocious as they sounded.

My friend in the cottage next door had a duck...and even with my steel trap memory, I can't remember which one of them was named Margaret. We played together every day, ate grilled cheese sandwiches, fed her duck, and made sand castles with the two dogs who liked to dig in the sand.

One of the highlights of those summer days was the penny candy that they sold in the tiny grocery store that served the three rows of cottages. We spent lots of time there...loaded with a few dimes and nickels, and ate our sugar watermelon slices and red fish on our way back home. The lady who worked in the store was named Nellie, and she came north every summer from Biloxi Mississippi just to work at the store. Nellie was a big lady, always patient , and always huffing and puffing when she had to stoop almost to the floor to add our selections to the little brown paper bag. I think Margaret ( unless that was the duck's name ) was kinda indecisive...because Nellie would keep asking her "what else"...Sometimes we'd leave there and go into the attached area that we called the "shack". They had a juke box there, and a dance floor and a soda fountain. We'd climb up on a stool, and pretty soon Nellie would appear behind the counter...she worked the counter there too. If we were going to be big spenders that day we'd have a chocolate coke. My friend Carol still drinks them...I never heard of anyone else who did.

Years ago I discovered an old clock in our attic...turns out it was the one with the Westminster chime that sat on the mantle in my Grandmother's cottage for as long as I can remember...it used to keep people awake when they visited, but it chimed away every summer. Now it sits on my mantle, and I wind it every Tuesday, and sometimes late at night I'll her it chime the hour...and I'm right back on the warm sidewalk...heading for a the penny candy, with no more to think about than how many peanut butter bars I wanted, or where the duck could have gone, or if my dad had gotten the inner tube blown up.

THE FRONT PORCH

We live in an older neighborhood with lots of homes that are around a hundred years old. When Woof and I go for a walk in the evening, we notice all sorts of different things....and we discuss them. Almost every old house has a front porch....some grand and elaborate with expensive looking furniture, lots of hanging ferns, and maybe a swing. They all look like wonderful places to spend some time on a beautiful night. Even the simple ones look private and comfortable. Woof brought it to my attention that as beautiful as these cozy places look, nobody is using them. What I noticed was that what was common was the glare from the TV inside.

When I was growing up we spent a lot of time at my grandparent's home...in fact we even lived there for awhile, and spending the evenings on the front porch is one of my clearest memories. That porch had wicker furniture with big soft cushions, and big beautiful awnings that kept it cool. When we'd take a walk there we'd stop and say hello to lots of people who were sitting on their porches and they'd do the same when they strolled around the neighborhood.

Woof and I are on our porch every night...sometimes waiting for my mate to come home from a late day in the salt mine, or all three of us are there discussing our day...maybe it's about chasing a cat, or closing a deal, or why the gardenia isn't blooming. I've had our porch furniture out since March...the warm spring pushing me to rush the season this year. My friend Bill told me that I have so many plants that I'm starting to look like one of those crazy people you see being led away on TV. I'm undaunted. He seems to put up with it when he's sitting there with his big lab having a glass of wine. ( Bill that is).

The front porch means a lot around here. Its big enough to set up a round table for dinner...a great place for those few remaining smokers to puff away during the Christmas party, and a great place for a crazy person's tropical palms and plants. Most of all it's a break from the noise of life...from politics and the latest news. The magic words around here are " lets go out on the porch"......We're lucky.

WHAT THE HELL ?

I never remember hearing from so many right wing extremists in my life. I also never remember so much silence from the more moderate voices. The crazy panels of men trying to control what women do with their bodies and their health is so out of sync with the real world that they just sound like they're nuts. From the lunatic from Virginia trying to force women to have ultrasounds, to Corbett in Pennsylvania telling them they can just close their eyes during the unwanted procedure, to the HANDFUL of Catholic Bishops suing the government because THEY want to stop women from using birth control...it just keeps escalating.

While the Canadians are attempting to curb bullying by providing their schools with "gay/straight" alliances...the bishop there is fighting to stop them.

The money that people are putting in the collection baskets in many dioceses is also being used to fight equal marriage laws according to the National Catholic Reporter. Donald Wuerl in DC has been ferocious in his attempts to fight Washington's acceptance of equal marriage, and the Vatican is out to get the nuns.  (Can't wait to hear more from the Butler).

I've heard pastors telling their congregations not to vote for Obama, and to punch their gay kids, while another wants to round up all the gay people and fence them in until they "die out". The whole blurring of the church and state boundaries and protections is extremely fuzzy these days. I hope the IRS starts doing it's job.

I thought the idea that Sarah Palin might end up in the Oval office was scary..that the non witch Christine O'Donnell winning a GOP primary was unbelievable....that Billy Graham's son turned out to be nothing like his Dad was disappointing....that Michelle Bachman who wanted Congress to take a loyalty test while her husband (the Swiss Miss) flits around like the gayest thing since Liberace when he's not "curing" the gays was hysterical...and that Donald Trump still flings back his orange bouffant and insists that Obama isn't an American is mystifying (as is his choice of Marigold Just for Men).

Well....just the times we live in I guess....great for conservative, white, rich, conservative Catholic, racist heterosexual men...but for lots of other folks...ummm not so good.

Memorial Day...the show must go on.

  Watching Colin Powell at the National Memorial Day concert from DC last night was disturbing...as was the announcement by the weather service telling everyone to leave and seek shelter because severe weather was approaching.  It was then announced that the show would go on.  Reminded me of when the Bush/Cheney crowd was busy lying about why we had to start the war with Iraq and in spite of reliable doubts about Iraq's intentions and capabilities, Colin Powell agreed that the show had to go on.  Thanks to all those neo-cons led by Bush, Cheney, and Rumsfield there are thousands of people who had their hopes and dreams shattered because of a series of lies. People like Joe Wilson and his wife were punished for telling the truth, while "reliable" sources who proved to be liars as well kept drumming the beat for a war.
  Colin Powell may have been duped with lousy information, but I still think he's got more explaining to do...especially when he visits Walter Reed hospital.  Far too many people died...were injured...or lost their precious loved ones for reasons that will never make sense or make the sacrifice worthwhile.  Just as the show had to go on last night....the disaster that never had to happen in Iraq might not have happened...if those who knew better had simply listened to the warnings from people who knew better.

RAY

Ray seemed to drop out of the sky one day and he ended up in my seventh grade class. That was the year that Sister Marie Elise was our teacher, and we experienced how a truly kind and beautiful woman could counterbalance the Sister Alberta's and Sister Evarista's of our grammar school world. Ray was quiet, and seemed to have just entered the world recently, as he didn't talk about much of where he had been before. I think it was actually Shadyside via Atlanta. Ray and I became friends that year...we were both 12 years old, and he's still one of my best friends all these years later.

My parents always loved Ray...and somehow if I was with him, they didn't worry about me. (little did they know). Ray actually talked ME into doing things like leaving the school at lunchtime to hang out at "Greasy Nick's" Deli, where he knew the girl behind the counter who would let him take anything he wanted. She also let him feed the jukebox even though it had an "out of order" sign on it because it was stuck on " Happy Happy Birthday Baby" which played over and over again all the while we were there drinking chocolate cokes. Ray would eventually lead us back to school where we were now prisoners of Sister Alberta who would simply hold her had out when we sauntered in..saying "notes please". Ray would mumble something and we'd all sit down while she'd stand there staring at him.

Ray's mother was Italian, and as unforgettable as they come. She would often invite us to their house for an Italian dinner and serve us wine. Now remember we were now 13 years old. I'd stumble home with my newfound buzz and garlic breath. Ray's mom also liked to redecorate...especially when his Dad was out of the country for business for extended periods of time. On entering their home one might enter an Oriental palace...or a Danish inspired living room, or a Maharaja's salon....new paint, new carpet, all new furniture.

She also said Mass in a little closet for Ray when  they didn't feel like going to church. I remember her putting her foot down once however when Ray called me to read one of his dirty poems that he'd written...and she was on the extension. After something about "while walking through the strawberry patch"

 she just softly said " Raymond"...and Ray said " I gotta go".

His mom was wonderfully kind, fun, and really different. There was something actually innocent about those days...drinking wine in the new Tuscan dining room....surrounded by artificial grapevines....eating lasagna...and being 13.

MEMORIAL DAY

I think there's something incredibly sad about Memorial Day. I still remember when it was called "Decoration Day". My cousin called the other day to get some information about my Dad's service in the Air Force during the second world war, and I got to thinking about him leaving his family and new born son for almost two years way back when. While he was one of the lucky ones who returned in one piece mentally and physically, some of his buddies weren't so lucky. There were a lot of new young widows in those days.

I don't like to visit battlefields, war memorials, or places like Arlington. All of those white crosses that stretch as far as the eye can see just crushes my spirit. Somehow all that suffering overwhelms me. I grew up watching the body bags coming back from Vietnam, and went to school with a lot of the guys who died there...part of the fifty thousand.

I guess I'm pretty much of a pacifist...although that tends to be seen as a dirty word. Although Ghandi, and Jesus and their likes spoke of the peacemakers as being blessed, my views of war are often portrayed as cowardly or at least unrealistic and naive. It just seems that after all these thousands of years, and millions of deaths, that the world ought to be able to find better ways to solve conflicts that to kill one another. Maybe the lessons we learned in kindergarten about not hurting other people were the most important ones that were ever taught. Too bad we didn't pay better attention.

MORNINGS IN MY GARDEN

Woof and I tend to get up early...usually around the crack of 9. My partner is long gone by then....he loves to get an early start on his day, make the coffee and sail out the door whistling all the way. I've always believed in that old saying "early to bed..late to rise". Woof and I head to the backyard to survey the kingdom. She checks the perimeter for traces of overnight visitors, and I wander into my new little greenhouse and turn on the fans, and wonder again why the banana tree seeds still haven't sprouted. Last year I planted seeds and ended up with gigantic six feet tall ornamental banana trees.

Next we check out the garden...me with coffee in hand and her with her sniffer in high gear. The primroses are about finished, but the pansies and impatiens have taken their space. I have one of those late "lilacs" blooming now...they sure look the same but I don't like their scent. Word has it that there's a new type available...that blooms all summer...like the "endless summer" hydrangeas that really do bloom again and again. I'll believe it when I see it...and smell it.

The foxgloves are really tall and beautiful this year, which is surprising. They seed themselves, and sometimes appear but usually don't. The Iris are in full glorious bloom...my friend Mark loves the "Steeler" variety...gold and nearly black. I love the sky blue and white ones. My big old crepe myrtle died suddenly a few years ago, but now I see shoots coming up from the old roots.

My garden is a series of winding paths, and what I see blooming around each corner even surprises me. There's something about walking through a garden rather that looking at it that has always been my favorite way to experience these wonderful havens of nature. I end up on my old stone bench where noone can see me, while Woof sits beside me in the cool grass  path and we talk about all the things we ought to get started on for the day. Most of the time she convinces me to just sit there for a little while longer. Her idea is not to sit there and think...but just to sit there.

AU REVOIR AFGHANISTAN

I don't imagine that anyone reading this today has ever heard of  Normangee. Its just a little town in Texas. Wade Wilson lived there, went to High School at Centerville, and played football and ran track there. Wade even showed cattle there sometimes in the county livestock shows. People say he had a great sense of humor and was at the same time an absolute gentleman. His friends say that he did whatever it took to "get the job done". He was very close with his brothers and his sister, and his friends say that no one ever questioned his love for them. He enlisted in the Marines when he was just 17.

He had a mom and Dad as well as his brothers, Chad,Alex, and Curtis, and a sister Layne. Wade always supported St Jude's Research Hospital. Wayne would have turned 23 in August.

None of us would know anything about this young guy...probably never even hear his name... because he's just one of the "casualties" in the ongoing war in Afghanistan. We don't pay much attention to people like Wade, we're kinda used to this war going on...and maybe slowly winding down. Wade died on Mother's Day...his Mom Cindy will feel her heart break again every year on that Sunday in May.

France is talking about bringing their troops home quicker than they'd planned. While their men and women are supposed to be training the Afghan army, once again the Afghan soldiers turned their weapons on the French soldiers and killed them....maybe the French have had enough.

While the Wilson's of Normangee Texas cry their eyes out and bury their 22 year old son, we watch the anti war protesters clash with the police in Chicago.

While the radicals tear down fences and the cops use their billy clubs, maybe the message is getting lost in the battle again. A lot more people like Wade Wilson will die by 2014. Maybe we ought to follow the French this time...it's already too late for the Wilsons.

CLEO

When Uncle Charles came up North during summer, he warned Aunt Rene not to drive the car while he was away.  A few months earlier she had taken my Mom on one of her shopping joyrides and had torn someone's fender off while she was attempting to "park".

My very responsible mother was proud of Aunt Rene when she asked her to look for paper and pencil to leave her information on the victim's windshield.  Just as my mom was about to hand it to her from her purse, Aunt Rene decided to flee the scene and floored it out of the parking lot.  She told my mother to just shut up...and they made a beeline for Hallandale.

Aunt Rene quickly drove under the carport and just as quickly disappeared into the house...and returned with a tarp that she positioned over her own damaged bumper.  My mother was horrified and Aunt Rene was triumphant.

  No sooner were they in the house than the phone rang....my mom answered...and the caller identified himself as the chief of police.  My mom recounts covering the receiver with her hand and telling Aunt Rene who was calling.  What followed was a quivering Aunt Rene telling my mother to "tell him I'm not here".  Next came the message from the chief that they were collecting money for some charity, and Aunt Rene instructed my mom to " give them whatever they want....how much does he want?" Squawk Squawk.  AHH TEE !  Life was tense for hours until Uncle Charles came in and asked what was going on with the car. Aunt Rene simply replied " Cleo".  When he asked her what the hell she was talking about she said that the hurricane..."Cleo" had caused the damage. Asked for the details, she explained that the hurricane had swept in...picked up the car...banged it into a tree...and brought it back into the carport.  Simple enough.  Uncle Charles just stared at her...shook his head, and took the keys.

PERFUME,SHOES, AND MADNESS

Aunt Rene loved to shop. No one loved to shop with her however. After a harrowing ride to her favorite shopping center, she'd "park" so close to other cars that I always had to squeeze out the passenger door...having learned that she was never open to any suggestions about anything...especially driving or parking. One gorgeous afternoon when I really wanted to be on the beach, I was instead following her around  Burdine's like a puppy. At one point she motioned for me to come over to a counter...where she spun around and sprayed me with a perfume tester. She let out a very loud "AHH TEE" as I squirmed away and she kept trying to get me again. I remember going into one of the Ft Lauderdale bars that night...showing off my bronze tan and still faintly smelling like Lily of the Valley.

We hit the shoe department next, sat down in the very crowded area, and Aunt Rene told me how pretty I smelled. It didn't take her long to drive the saleslady crazy..pointing, squawking and trying on crazy looking shoes. When the woman sitting beside us took off her shoe in order to try something on, Aunt Rene quickly picked up the woman's own shoe when the poor soul was walking towards a mirror. I immediately tried to tell her that the shoe belonged to the woman....and Aunt Rene just ignored me and not only put the woman's shoe on, but damn if it didn't fit just right. By then I was beside myself with trying to explain what she was trying to do....while her only response to me was to ask  if I liked it as she pranced around looking for the mate. When the woman noticed Aunt Rene with her shoe...she sorta smiled as she corrected Aunt Rene's mistake. Of course Aunt Rene didn't have her hearing aid...and kept smiling at the woman....so happy that she too liked the shoe. It was only when she started to become impatient that the polite lady's attitude changed. "These are MY shoes!"......was met with "Go ahead and take them then...let's get out of here". I tried to explain her mistake as we hurried off to K Mart, but all Aunt Rene said was that she'd seen them first.

The K Mart in Hallandale Florida is not for the faint hearted. It was about a thousand degrees in the store....and it was K Mart Days or something as Aunt Rene loaded up her cart with all kinds of crap. She loved cheap windchimes, stuffed animals, lotions and potions, and pinwheels. The checkout lines were hopeless, but we stood there and waited our turn while Aunt Rene went on and on about the shoes. After the not so friendly salesgirl rang us up Aunt Rene was shocked at the total. " I don't have that kind of money !" Once again I wished I could just slither away as though I'd never seen Aunt Rene before in my life.

What happened instead was that she began very reluctantly to push things aside ...one by one...with a reluctant "you can keep this...you can keep that". The next person in line looked as if he might actually strangle Aunt Rene (you know Florida), and I'm sure the girl at the register absolutely hated old women from that day on.

By the time we tore down her street, finally on our way home, her mood seemed to improve as she waved out the window and shouted hello to people. However when I said in an unusually loud voice " watch out for that dog"...she yelled "Oh shut up". Maybe I was in a bad mood by then too. Between the shoe battle, the K Mart fiasco, the treacherous drive and the heat...I guess it was understandable...I slumped down in my seat and wondered what I'd tell her the next time she wanted to go shopping. I also was coming to understand my Mother's prayers when they were in the car together.

A BAT OUT OF HELL

The ghost of Aunt Rene came to me in my sleep last night..to remind me that she also had another "sound" that she used to communicate. It went something like "ahh tee"....if she said it softly it was a term of endearment..like "oh, what a nice little kitten", but if she sorta screeched it out...like a big loud  "AHH TEE !!!!" it meant something like "get the hell out of the way". I was also reminded of the fact that Aunt Rene drove...a big old Plymouth I think...and a ride with her was memorable. She would put the dog up on the back of the front seat, dressed to the nine's with her big pink hat, and while the car was in neutral she'd press her foot down on the gas..hard. She'd grip the wheel and suddenly push the "D" button. The car would go roaring out of the carport, the dog would fly into the back seat, and Aunt Rene would screech a big "AHHTEE" as she rolled over the hibiscus bushes in the front yard. Now Aunt Rene was of the mind set that all of the neighbors were always delighted to see her. She'd wave out the window and smile and squawk at anyone who happened to be in sight. A few would of course yell good morning, or wave, but most of them just looked puzzled...or frightened, as she wove through the neighborhood. Sometimes my partner reminds me of her,,,waving to all the neighbors, especially when we're at the cottage. "Hey!...HELLO !..."there's so and so"...HOW ARE YOU?" Guess who I call him as we drive along.

Aunt Rene shopped at her two favorite stores in Hallandale. K Mart and the KWICK CHECK. Now when I was down there visiting I noticed that the big neon K on the KWICK CHECK store was burned out, so Aunt Rene called it the WICK CHECK for the rest of her life. And so have I. In order to get to the shopping areas it was necessary to get onto I95...a treacherous high speed highway any time of the day. Aunt Rene's theory did not involve any concept of "merging". She would start up the entrance ramp and drive as fast as the car would go...and then fly into the traffic. The fact that I and anyone else who ever rode in her car is still alive is close to miraculous. When my Mom would have to ride be with her, she recounts that while she used to pray that she'd make it back alive... eventually she started asking God just to make it quick.

          ( I guess there's gotta be a part 3 to this. )

AUNT RENE

Aunt Rene and Uncle Charles came to visit us every year or so when they lived near Harrisburg, and then they moved to Hallandale Florida. Much to her sister's dismay, they bought a house a few doors away from my grandmother, who thought that her sister Rene was crazy from the get go. My family always thought she was unusual, and even though she was my Dad's aunt...he always told people she was my mother's. Uncle Charles would often just stare at her or whisper softly "she drives me NUTS". Uncle Charles was kind and patient to the rest of the world...but I often thought that he'd like to strangle Aunt Rene.

My DAD'S aunt was pretty...beautiful white hair that always looked perfectly coiffed, and a good body her whole life. She dressed nicely, and took good care of herself. She was always hard of hearing as long as I can remember.

Although she spent a fortune for a top of the line hearing aid, she never wore it because she wanted to save the battery...hence communication with her was always difficult, frustrating, or totally impossible. When I introduced her to a friend from Kittaning, her response was " Oh I love Canada." Any time anyone would correct her....she'd become immediately angry and make her famous sound. The written word just can't quite describe her special sound...kind of a squawk like a parrot maybe, or a sound you might make when you take a spoonful of some awful medicine...like AHHH! Aunt Rene didn't actually speak much at all....while there was nothing at all wrong with her vocal abilities, she just chose to use sounds instead of words. If you showed her a nice photo for instance, she might give out a soft little squawk, but when her dog would sneak out the front door when she went to get the paper...she'd make the same sound magnified about a thousand times.

Her dog had an unpronounceable and un-spellable name. It sounded something like Kitzie...or Zitzie...but she said it didn't start with a K or a Z. Actually his name was Ruffie...but neither Aunt Rene or anyone else ever called him that. People were always saying " what's that dog's name?" and she'd say Ditzie...but no....that's not spelled with a D. The dog was constantly trying to run away...and Aunt Rene was constantly squawking his name. Uncle Charles told me once that he didn't blame the dog at all.

Her other pet was Peter the parakeet. He didn't last long in spite of Aunt Rene's CONSTANT attention. She sit by his cage and say " What's the matter Peter?"...like all day long. Over and over...and loud enough that I could hear her when I was on my way to her house from my grandmother's. When I asked if he was sick or something she said of course not....I'm just talking to him. I always wondered if Peter was just paralyzed with bird fear from her constant loud questioning. Alas and alack, one day the questions stopped, and Peter's cage was empty. When I inquired about his whereabouts, Aunt Rene just said "Poor Peter...he was a sweet little thing"...." But where is he? I asked. " Sat on him." Poor Peter indeed. Maybe that was what wrong with him all along...some sort of a parakeet premonition.   ( part 2 of Aunt Rene tomorrow.)

TONY PERKINS DOESN'T KNOW WHAT HE'S TALKING ABOUT

Tony Perkins from the Family Research Council is just beside himself these days. When the president announced his support for same sex marriage Tony started appearing on all the talk shows, which I expected. What I didn't expect were some of his theories on what makes people gay. He was asked what he'd do if one of his own kids came to him and said that he or she was gay. Tony said that "first of all, that's not likely to happen". I would imagine that's actually true...who the hell would want to come out to this guy? If he had a gay offspring, they'd probably choose to  waste their life in the closet... ashamed and terrified of what the truth would unleash in the Perkins' family. A gay Perkins kid might also just get married to someone of the opposite sex to either wait out this homosexual "phase" or to keep the peace...oblivious to how much pain ensues from gay people towing the "straight" line in heterosexual marriages.

Tony went on to say that his kids wouldn't be gay because they've been raised correctly. When Barney Frank asked him if he then believed that Dick Cheney and his wife did something wrong...and thus produced a lesbian daughter...Tony sputtered a little. ( Now I have to admit that seeing Dick Cheney and Barrack Obama on the same page about marriage equality seems more than a little weird to me.) What an insult to any parents of gay kids...to say that it was their "fault" that their son or daughter is gay. The son of an

ex-marine who grows up in the most "manly" environment is just as likely to be gay as is the one who grows up with his Dad sewing sequins on his Halloween costume. When I was about 12 I overheard my Dad telling my Mom that he wouldn't mind me wanting to give up my swimming lessons because they interfered with my baseball games....but he knew I wanted out of the pool because it interfered with my square dancing. So come ON now! I don't kneel down and say my prayers at night as often as I used to, but when I do I absolutely beg God and all the saints in heaven to bless people like Tony Perkins and Rick Santorum with the gayest, most outrageous, over the top, drag queens and dykes on bikes that the world has ever seen...sort of like Michelle Bachman's husband...you know Marcus...aka The Swiss Miss...when he prances around like a 300 pound butterfly...if he's not busy at his clinic helping gay guys to "butch it up". Give me a break.

STRAWBERRIES. CORN HUSKS, AND WARM HIDES

Woof and I planted strawberry plants yesterday. The two of us worked together in  the raised bed...me on my hands and knees with Woof's warm hide right beside me chewing on an asparagus stem. I used to grow that in the same place but by the time I'd get around to harvesting it would be three feet tall. Growing strawberries at home is a challenge...between the birds loving it, and trying to keep it watered and weeded...it's easier to buy it at Emma's roadside stand. I used to try to grow corn also...but for all the space it takes up...I was lucky to get a couple of ears. When Woof was a puppy she snatched an ear once...and chewed it to bits...husk and all...underneath my Mom's bed.

Woof and I still laugh about that.

We moved on to the flower garden after the strawberries were planted...and at this glorious time of the year it's hard to know where to begin. The gardenia's that I over wintered look pretty straggly, but they're blooming like crazy and the scent is other worldly when we sit on the back porch. We sit there a lot...Woof with her head on my lap, me with my feet up, and I wonder if I ought to have a glass of white wine...but it's only 1:00. Then I think of my wonderful friend Jane. Once when we were out for brunch and the waiter asked what she would like to drink. Her reply was " It's really too early to drink..so I'll just have a glass of white wine". I love Jane.

After my mid day refreshment, Woof and I moved on to planting flowers. It's almost overwhelming to make any kind of decisions in the nurseries these days. Eveything looks gorgeous...the colors are absolutely brilliant, and all of my pre planning and winter designing flies right out of the greenhouses. I always swear that I'm going to buy a flat of snapdragons...go home and get them in the ground and then buy the next batch. That never works. I inevitably end up with the back yard looking like a plant sale.

None the less....this is the time of year when my spirit soars, and I can't wait to get my hands into the dirt..."soil" sounds too sophisticated for a gardener like me. My partner will "work in the yard", but he doesn't "garden". One day when I was rushed and trying to wind up my gardening at the cottage, I asked him if he'd stick three little pansy plants into a window box. When I glanced out the window a few minutes later he was in the process of pulling on huge rubber gloves...like I said...he doesn't really "garden".

Woof is now standing in front of me with her head cocked...VERY ready to get out into the sunshine and start a project. She said yesterday that I ought to write this blog at night....after the sun goes down, and we quit for the day...dirty fingernails, and dusty paws...and both agreeing that it's been a wonderful day.

I DO

WELL WELL WELL....Yesterday was certainly an historical one. Hearing the President of the United States say that he thinks gay people ought to have ALL the same rights as straight people meant much more than many people may think. Most important from my place in the world...and from the work that I do....it validates every gay man or woman who struggles with self acceptance.

Just as the election of an African American president made EVERY kid in this country believe that they might one day hold that office, this is a message to everyone who ever falls in love that one day they might be able to actually get "hitched". There is still a long way to go...but this is a very significant start.

I loved watching the anti-equal rights folks going crazy last night...and can't wait to see more of them going ballistic today. One of those Bible thumpers from Pittsburgh had his Holy Book open yesterday...with "God's words" about a man lying with another man underlined. Somehow he kinda skipped over the lines about not eating shellfish, or stoning unfaithful wives, or keeping slaves.

I guess God just sorta whispered those things while He shouted the others.

The President took one small but courageous step yesterday....now it's our turn...to take the giant ones to ensure equality for all mankind. Remember friends don't let friends vote for people who hurt their friends...Speak up..just like that Muslim, socialist, Kenyan did.

SPEAK UP MR ROMNEY

When John McCain was running for president a woman at a town hall meeting said that she knew Obama was an Arab...or a Muslim, and John McCain quickly took the microphone away from her and corrected her...even adding that Barrack Obama was a good "family man"...and a Christian.

When Mitt Romney's gay advisor resigned because the religious right wing of the GOP was upset about his sexuality, Mitt never stood up for him...not a peep. Likewise when someone else asked Romney a question...and said that Obama ought to be tried for treason...not a peep from Romney. When Rush Limbaugh called the Georgetown woman a slut, Romney again had no response beyond " I would not have used those words."

Remember when the US soldier in uniform was booed by the audience at a GOP debate because he was gay...and NONE of the candidates said a word?

Seems to me that silence always implies complicity....and although I disagreed with John McCain over quite a few major issues...he showed courage, and even more important, honesty and moral integrity when he spoke up for the truth. Sorry Mitt...sorry GOP....you just don't deserve the same respect.

A TALE OF TWO PASTORS

Three cheers for the OTHER pastor in North Carolina...after hearing the hateful remarks by Ron Baity about punching your kids if they tell you they're gay...last night I heard from Dr William Barber who is preaching a very different message. In his defense of the constitution, he stressed the crucial point that when the majority votes on the rights of a minority it sets a very dangerous precedent.

Voters in North Carolina will be voting on Amendment 1, which would ban marriage equality in that state for gay people as well as for any other kind of domestic partnership. Rev.Barber urged people to always be against division and hatred and discrimination being written into the constitution. "The question that should have been raised, is "Do you want to go against Constitutional history?" And that is, since the passage of 13th and 14th and 15th Amendments, we've always expanded rights. We've never decreased rights. We know better.

The only time we limited was in 1875. That was the last time we tried this marriage thing … 1875, in North Carolina, when we amended the Constitution to disallow interracial marriage." That's how the Rev put it. The North Carolina legislature never allowed any public comment, and the vast majority of lawyers in the state have rejected this as "bad law".
God forbid that the majority could vote on some of our hardest fought battles for civil rights in this country...especially in the South. Racism is rampant all over this country...and some of our history is indeed ugly. Homophobia is still as rampant as well. These opportunities for any minority to be injured lie in wait every time these amendments raise their miserable heads.
As the battles rage on, and the politicians weigh in about equal marriage, with so many supporting "civil unions" but not marriage, I have two thoughts.
1. If Marriage is strictly something that the churches are left to decide...why do people have to go to the courthouse to get a "license"?
2. Giving gay people the option for a "civil union" instead of a marriage seems kinda like telling Rosa Parks that she could sit in the middle of the bus.

BULLIES

Just yesterday morning they let me know you were gone....and indeed I always hoped that I'd see you again. I've been working on my High School reunion with a few other guys that I hardly recognize, and got an email that John G. had died at age 54. I only knew John as another guy in a jacket and tie at our Catholic boy's school, but  I'd been thinking about him the last few years since there's been so much focus on bullying. You see John had big ears...and "they" called him "Dumbo"...the flying elephant. I remember being in an assembly when the hundreds of kids there started to chant " Dumbo Dumbo Dumbo when he walked in. While I never teased John, I never did anything to help him either. I was always trying to stay under the radar myself because I was terrified that if the focus ever landed on me, my lack of athletic ability, or my very secret fears about my sexuality would destroy me.

     Ray was my best friend and constant companion. Ray was funny, and could make almost everyone laugh, and being beneath his wing kept me safe. Ray was a little guy, and while he could stand up for himself...I was afraid to. If Ray teased anyone, it was never malicious or taken the wrong way. He kept us both safe, but even as a team we were no match for the big guys.

Once in awhile two boys would meet "up at the path" which was behind our school, and that was where they'd fight. Ray and I steered clear of the whole area...except once. A guy named Jeff had grown up with us...and was one of the few people that I'd disliked since the day I met him in grade school. One afternoon he challenged another boy to meet him at the path. Jeff was a nasty kid...knocked around by his Dad, and hateful with his Mother. The other boy was a gentle and really nice young kid...but I remember thinking that his Dad must have taught him to "fight back". To this day I shudder when I remember seeing Jeff punch him, and make his nose bleed. The other boy was no match for Jeff...and the fight ended with the boy wiping blood off his face with tears in his eyes. Why I went there that day I'll never know...but I never went again, and I've obviously never forgotten it.

My own terror at either being discovered as a "queer" or a guy who couldn't play sports kept me silent when John would turn red when he'd hear "Hey Dumbo", or while I stood by and watched a really delicate boy's face bleed. So I understand why sometimes kids are afraid to step in and stop other kids from bullying...and it still breaks my heart.

By the time I got to Duquesne and went through some horrendous hazing by my fraternity...I hung in there through that misery so that I could do something about it from the inside ( Kinda like why I'm still a Catholic ). I made a difference finally...and with my "power" as a brother, I was able to change a lot of what could be done to the pledges. They called me the " dove "...but by then I was beginning to stand up against the bullies. Too late for John, and too late for that boy on the path. I'm sorry that I couldn't help you guys.

FOR KIDS WHO MIGHT BE GAY

Dear Kids who just might be gay,

With so many adults sending you messages that might either scare you or at least help to ruin your day, here's one that's a whole lot different. When the preacher said last week that parent's should physically hurt their kids if they think they're gay...he's a fool, and he's also guilty of encouraging child abuse.

There are lots of people like him unfortunately, and a lot them are in churches, where they speak about hatred instead of teaching you about love.

Lots of our political leaders are also fools, especially when they fight against giving only straight people the right to marry whomever they chose to marry. I hope one day you will also listen to your heart, and not to any one of the bullies in the world who would tell you any differently.

When I was a kid I was afraid to get in touch with who I really was. I was afraid first of all about whether it was even true or not. I liked girls...jeeze I think I went to nine proms altogether...really. I wanted to be like everybody else and get married and have kids...and I almost did that, but that wasn't the truth for me. I didn't want to say I was gay...because for one thing...I wasn't even sure.

The other thing that terrified me was that I'd lose the people who loved me. Now who in their right mind would want to do that. I really didn't want to hurt anybody, but finally figured out that by not being honest, I was already hurting people.

Things changed right after college for me. Several older adults spoke to me about honesty, and aligning oneself with the truth...always the truth. I realized that I could indeed marry one of the amazing women in my life..whom I STILL love with all my heart, but that really wasn't honest, truthful, or fair. I also kept thinking that I'd be swimming up stream my whole life.

I was scared to death the first few times I said those two (originally six) words..." I think I might be gay." whew. My Mom and Dad were shocked, but supportive, my 13 year old brother was disappointed that my "news" wasn't bigger...and my best friends...especially the straight ones reacted with more love and understanding than I'd ever dreamed of. All of this was a whole lot tougher than it sounds, but the truth and the honesty really set me free.

So if you struggle with being who you are, take your time, think about what's really true, and then reach out to someone you love and trust. If that person is hard to find...don't give up. There are kind and wonderful, and gentle people who will help you, support you, and love you....no matter what. Don't let the voices of hatred, intolerance, and condemnation direct your sail. There is a beautiful and calmer sea of love out there, right around the next bend.

                          

everything possible:flower pots - YouTube

MOGO

I once spent the better part of a summer worshiping a piece of an old toilet.

Once again I'd seen some strange movie about a tribe of strange people in some strange jungle who worshiped some sort of a strange relic or mysterious object.

I was about 10, and Susan was about 9, and of course she was immediately on board as my assistant when the recruiting began. With my pied piper like influence in the neighborhood, our project once again just flew off the ground.

We lived on a dead end street that ended up with a "cow path" that led into a fairly large woods, and if we weren't riding our bikes on the street, or jumping around like monkeys on our pogo sticks, we were in the woods. I was determined to find some object for us to "worship", and after scrounging around the foundation of an old farmhouse, I spied my treasure....a little white porcelain thing that kinda looked like a rounded cross. I rushed over to get Susan's opinion...and was somewhat disappointed when she said " It looks like part of a toilet". I was of course indignant, and disgusted with her brutal assessment. After I convinced her that it just FELT like a toilet she agreed to support my view, and we headed into the woods.

Susan found the perfect spot for our secret society, where we'd be able to hold our rituals and spend our days in service to our false god. As our flock grew, we constructed a shack (of sorts) and dug a hole for our forbidden campfires, and focused on our holy of holies grotto where our little thing-a-ma-jig would dwell.

  Somewhere in my ten year old twisted dreams I came up with a name....for the object that I was now adoring every day....MOGO. Susan loved that from the beginning, and in the blink of an eye had organized the kids into a circle around the fire pit chanting " MOGO MOGO MOGO ".

We collected broken colored glass to decorate the throne, tried to transplant weeds to make our sacred land more hidden, and spent lots of time dancing around like little idiots while we praised and honored MOGO. Now and then we would have a terrifying interruption...as would occur on a semi regular basis when we'd be in the woods.

Our frightening nemesis was always the " Panther Club "....a group of older boys who roamed the same woods and would beat up anyone they happened to encounter. Every once in awhile someone would whisper " the panther club is coming".....and we'd all run home. Now I don't ever remember seeing the actual panthers....I guess it was just kinda the boogeyman that we created.

None the less, we were cautious and always vigilant.

When we finally got tired of MOGO and decided instead to do a big switch-

a-roo and start rehearsals for " The miracle of Our Lady of Fatima ", poor Mogo was abandoned...but one of these days I always think that Susan is going to show up at my door with a little box....with something VERY special inside.

Mr. President.....I disagree.

If by any chance you teach a third grade class, you'd better start teaching them about Afghanistan...because it's possible that they could end up in Kabul someday. I did not like what the president had to say last night, and the fact that so many of the Republicans that I have a hard time stomaching agreed with him...says a lot. My nephew just turned 18 last month...has a terrific future promised to him, and the thought of him being sent to Afghanistan makes me sick, and the unspeakable nightmare of him dying there would absolutely push me to the brink. Expecting any other uncle or family member to endure such a horrendous loss is equally unthinkable to me. I don't believe that this ten year war is worth dying for. period.

Just like my old pal Rick Santorum said he wanted to throw up after reading JFK's thoughts about church and state, hearing the new ten year deal with Afghanistan made me pretty sick to my stomach. This God-forsaken country is one of the most corrupt nations in the world....with horrendous human rights violations, but it still receives the most financial aid of any country in the world...and has been since 2008. Remember when the 3 billion was skimmed by the big shots there?

My stomach still turns when I hear "when the army here stands up, the US will stand down"

This time it's "when the Afghans stand up, the US will stand with them". I don't WANT to make our men and women stand with them. The Afghan army has quite a history of standing up with our troops...and opening fire on them. Their army is as corrupt as the government is.

Bottom line. Afghanistan harbored Osama..and trained terrorists...and was bulging at the seams with Al Qaeda. The leader is dead, and the Taliban is negotiating, and Al Qaeda is headquartering in Yemen. Let's go home. Bringing even one more young kid home in a coffin is one too many. One thousand nineteen hundred and forty five is a disgrace, and the sixteen thousand wounded is an outrage. Afghanistan looks the same to me as it did ten years ago....and 120 billion dollars a year would do one hell of a lot to make our own country a better place to live. Ninety thousand soldiers could make a huge difference in a lot of other places in the world....or right here at home.

So I absolutely hate the fact that the seven and eight year olds who will walk down the aisle of our church in their white First Communion dresses or wearing their first neckties this year have just been given a possible glimpse of their future....risking their lives someday for an unwinnable war in a corrupt and ungrateful far off disaster of a country.

OPENING DAY IN CRAFTON

Although we're supposed to wait a few more weeks around here before we plant much in the garden...as far as I'm concerned...it's plantin' time! After an incredibly long pre-spring or whatever it was, I think we're finally there. I'll start trolling the nurseries this week, once again breaking my vow to have a plan...and I'll start impulsively grabbing whatever catches my eye.

I try hard to "shop small" and patronize the independent greenhouses and growers, but I'm also drawn to some of the big box stores in spite of myself. I don't buy anything from Walmart...because I just don't like the whole Walmart operation. Home Depot near me has a huge nursery operation, but they don't take very good care of the stock, and that's a turn off. Lowes tends to have a better selection as well as healthier and better cared for plants.

Now I'm about to make a confession. I buy most plants from the Giant Eagle in Crafton.

I think their floral department and their outdoor summer greenhouse has about the nicest selection in the area...at the best prices..and with double "fuel perks" this year. The people who run the operation here are knowledgeable, hardworking and really nice people. They hand select their product from the wholesalers, and carry lots of unusual plants and flowers.

Looking for braided hibiscus, tall gardenias, stephanotis, white oleander...look no farther.

You'd also be hard pressed to find a wilted plant or a dead flower even on the hottest summer afternoon.

On the 14th of this month the store will open it's outside grill for lunch. This draws big crowds and is located right beside the greenhouse. A whole little world exists there in the summer, friendly locals buying geraniums and eating hot dogs, and lots of workers on their lunchbreak joking with the always friendly grillers. It's refreshing to be around people who love to be with other people...outside...surrounded by flowers and good spirits. Gotta run...

I never miss opening day.