Journal

The morning started off well enough. No negotiations with myself or the TV to get out of bed, (I use the TV as an alarm clock). I felt rested and refreshed. I still had bread for toast and orange juice in the fridge too! I only had two e-mails to return, so all told, I was about 45 minutes ahead of schedule. So I did some quick surfing, picked up a little bit, and then the Monday kicked in.

No hot water in the shower. Not even tepid. Cold as Lake Ontario, which is to say, about 42°F (5°C). Perfect temperature for beer, not a good temperature for a shower. This is not good, for two reasons. First, I was a little sore from Sunday night, (but in a good way! J ) and it was cool, damp and rainy overnight, so my joints were a little creaky. A nice long hot shower would have been wonderful.

The second problem is that I have Reynaud’s Syndrome, a spasmodic closing of the blood vessels in contact with cold. So not only do I get cold like most people, it’s painful and in the extreme, like a cold shower, blood flow ceases entirely in my hands and feet.

So this morning’s shower was, shall we say, interesting. I didn’t stop shivering until I was half-way to work with the heater going full-blast in the car! After I warmed-up, I popped open the sunroof. Unfortunately, I neglected to close it when I got to work. Did I mention rain in the forecast?

Work went all right this morning. I’d skipped dinner last night, (guess why), so I was really looking forward to lunch. Well, it didn’t look like things were too wet in the car. There was only one obviously wet spot, in the place normally occupied by my left bun. Small enough to cover with my hat.

After no more than 100 feet, I realized the folly. I was soaked through, both buns. So, instead of the Chinese buffet I’d been planning on, it was Wendy’s pick-up window, and a quick drive home. Fortunately, I had an identical pair of pants in the closet, so no-one would be the wiser, (except for you of course.) Armed with a couple of plastic trash bags, I arrived safe and dry at work, and only five minutes late. I even got the same parking spot back.

With Monday behind me now, the week’s shaping up pretty good. Of course, the weather helps that a lot. We’re running about a month ahead of schedule weather-wise here in Cloudy Town. All the trees have been fully leafed-out for weeks. And tonight walking across the parking lot I saw the first fluffs from the cottonwood trees. Normally they don’t seed until just before my birthday in the middle of June.

I’ve been thinking about the lilacs all spring. The Lilac Festival later this month draws people from around the world to enjoy the display in Highland Park, less than a mile from my apartment. There are over 300 varieties of lilacs covering the hills of the park. You can’t get a hotel room for 60 miles around on the opening and closing weekends of the festival.

Ahhh. Another cloudy damp weekend in R-town. Yesterday was much the same. It couldn’t decide if it wanted to drizzle or not. We had drizzly raindrops, but not enough of them to even spot the windshield, let alone get anything wet. Sort of like an anemic plant mister.

And it went on like that all day. It was warmer than it is today, so when I went out to the car at lunchtime, it was nice and warm in there. I put the windows down a bit and popped open the sunroof, put one of my favorite CDs in the player, turned in down real low, reclined the seat all the way, and took a nap. I was really tired from earlier in the week, and I’d almost dozed off at my desk.

Anyway, today seems like just the day for a "deep heavy meaning" journal entry. I haven’t really done many of those. I checked the other night. I stayed up until almost 3:30 reading the entire journal, backwards. I started at this week, and worked all the way back to January. That explains my need for a nap at lunchtime yesterday.

It’s the first time I’d done that. I don’t go back and read the entries after they’re posted. Two reasons. First, it’s hard for me to resist the temptation to "fix" things. It violates my "post it and it stays posted" rule, but the editing urge is very strong anyway. The second reason I don’t go back and read old postings, is that I don’t want them to color any new postings.

It was interesting reading, particularly now that my winter depression has broken. And I found that even though my feelings don’t always come through on-screen, I could remember how I felt when I wrote each one of them. Still, there were a few surprises.

It seems like a good time to repeat something from one of my first week’s entries. Think of it as a summer re-run:

I found a file on gaytoronto.com almost a year ago. Liked it, saved it. Good thing too, because it’s not there any more. It’s called "The Rules For Being Human." Don’t know who wrote it, or if it’s copyrighted. If anyone knows, . I’d like to credit the author. It’s posted elsewhere in my site. Check it out.

I’ve resisted editing the original, but several of those rules, edited and taken together, are quite powerful. Fortunately, I have a forum where I can post the unchanged original, and paraphrase here:

"You will learn lessons. If you don’t learn lessons, they get harder. A lesson is repeated and presented to you in various forms until you learn it. Then you can go on to the next lesson. You will know you’ve learned a lesson when your actions change.

"There are no mistakes, only lessons. There are no victims, only students. ‘Failure’ is as much a part of the process as ‘success.’ Every person or incident is the Universal Teacher."

It’s funny how I knew all that. Somewhere, on some level. But reading the words is what made it real for me.

Many of life’s lessons we must learn for ourselves. Although the wisdom of experience is offered to us by others, we have to make the mistakes, learn the lessons, for ourselves.

It starts early in life. Everyone has learned this lesson for themselves, and has seen little kids insist on learning it for themselves. Try as they might, every parent has suffered along with their child as they learned the meaning of "hot". "Don’t touch the stove! It’s hot!" And as soon as they can get away with it, the youngster touches the stove and gets burned. The mistake made, the lesson learned.

I think a lot of life’s lessons are like that. We have to experience the pain, physical or emotional, for ourselves. Make the mistake, and take the lesson. And for some of us hardheads, repeat as necessary. J  But it doesn’t stop us from trying to help others learn what we’ve learned through our experience. Ultimately, I guess all we can offer anyone is perspective, either before, or after their lesson is taken.

Anyway, what precipitated my re-reading the site, were a few recent entries in Larry’s journal. He’s going through a rough patch right now. Death in the family, his mother’s not well, PC troubles, and I think his job is getting to him too. But what he wrote about was his relationship. I was touched by the parallels between his relationship with Kim, and mine with Vince. I shared some of my thoughts with him. First by phone, and later in e-mail. I’ll share some of what I wrote him a bit further down the page.

Wednesday the weather here was absolutely faaabulous! Mostly clear, high in the mid 80s. Vince-the-ex and I agreed that we’d go out to dinner sometime this week, and Wednesday was perfect for it. My favorite restaurant in town, is also the closest. Only a block away to the Ave, and a few yards down, is Hogan’s Hideaway.

Once upon a time, it was just a tiny little restaurant in the back of the building where it couldn’t be seen from the street. That’s where the Hideaway part of the name comes from. Over the years, they’ve expanded as the shops in the front of the building either closed or moved. Now, it’s the entire main floor of the building. And they have both a greenhouse room and a deck in the back. In fact, the main entrance is still in the back.

None of this would have ever happened were it not for the way they run the place. In my book, they get five stars in each of the categories that matter most in the dining experience: Service, atmosphere and of course, the food.

Well, this is a "deep heavy meaning" entry, not a restaurant review. So, on with the show.

We got a table out front on the sidewalk, and a pint each of dark Hogan's Park Ave Ale. The weather was perfect, and as usual, the "scenery" was gorgeous. After dinner, we walked back to my place and I gave him some tips on the finer points of searching the CDnow site. Later, he headed over to Muther's and I checked in on all my online friends. I saved Larry’s site for last. After writing Larry, I knew that I had to share what I’d written on my site.

I've really not written much about Vince and I on the site.  Partly because I know he reads every word, and partly because you’d get only one side of the story. So I went over to Muther's to talk with him about it. I explained what I'd written and why, and asked him if he minded my turning it into a posting.  And I invited him to share his comments on it too.  He said, no, he didn't mind, and yes, maybe he'd offer a comment or two.

I must have really frightened his entourage when I burst through the door and pulled Vince aside saying excitedly "I've gotta talk to you right now!" They eyed me suspiciously the whole time. But then again they always do that. They’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, I’m the one who walked out, well, more like exploded out, of the relationship 2½ years ago.

After a while, talk turned from our mutual past to our present and future. We're in agreement that we've never felt closer than we do now. Neither one of us can quite articulate it, but there's a very special bond between us now. It's not like friends, best friends, or lovers. I certainly don't have the words for it.

Anyway, we also agree there's no "relationship" in our future. I mean, why screw up a good thing with sex and cohabitation? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, it shrank.  And that's the part that people really don't get. How did THAT happen? Why aren't we angry and spiteful like everyone else? This is what I think causes Vince’s friends to eye me suspiciously.

Well, it was like that for the first year and a half after we broke up. But it turned for me when I just couldn't take it any more. I was tired of being consumed with hate, tired of being angry, tired of the hurt. I just wanted to put it all behind me. So last summer on 4^th of July weekend, I went out to the flea market specifically to, as they say, seek closure.

Both physically and conversationally, we circled each other tentatively, the "fight or flight" response turned up to the MAX. After we each assured ourselves that the other one wasn’t going to gouge our eyes out or cause yet ANOTHER big hissy-fit scene, we sat down and really talked for the first time in years.

Digression:  By the way, there’s a local pronunciation of "Avon."  It's not said like you would say "The Avon Lady" or "Stratford-on-Avon". It’s a flat, nasally "a" like in the word "at" or "Stratford." Say it. Sounds funny, doesn’t it?

There’s a few of those around here. The city neighborhood where the mouth of the Genesee (Jenna-SEE) River meets the shore of Lake Ontario, is spelled "Charlotte." It’s pronounced "sha-LOT." With no "r", and the accent on the second syllable.

The suburb of "Chili" is named after the country, Chile. So you might expect it to be pronounced "CHEE-lay", or "CHILL-ee" like the peppers the give Tex-Mex cooking it’s flavor. Nope, each "i" is pronounced like the word "eye." It comes out "CHEYE-leye." Weird, huh?

And over near Buffalo, is Lancaster. Is it said "Lan-CASS-ter" or "LANK-iss-ter"? The population is divided on that one. No-one really knows for sure. Just for fun, in conversation I use the opposite one from that used by the person I’m talking with.

Have you ever wondered why I sometimes spell Rochester "Rahchacha"? First, because it’s fun, J and second, it's maybe a little self-depreciating of our city. Things are really dull around here, and there’s not a cha-cha in sight. Anyway, here it’s said with that flat nasally "a" from "at" again, and the "er" is said like the "ur" in "burp" or in my last name, "Wilbur". "rAAA-chest-ur". Must be all the clouds.

End of digression.

Anyhow, I'd wanted to keep it fairly short, and I think Vince did too. It was such an emotionally charged meeting and it was so draining. And with the whole place abuzz, there wasn’t much buying or selling going on. After a half-hour or so, I got to saying what I’d come to say. I don’t remember the exact wording, but this is the gist of it:

"We’ve both been mean, nasty and hurtful to each other for far too many years. It takes two to tango, and I take full responsibility for my half. I’d like to say, ‘I’m sorry’ for my half. And I’d like to say ‘I forgive you’ for your half."

Beyond "Thank you", I don’t remember what he said after that. (Hey Vince, a little help here?)

We cried a little, hugged and I left.

At some point in our past, we stopped talking and listening to each other and drifted apart. As the years passed, (remember we were together for not quite 15 years), all the stewing pent-up emotions and frustrations turned into anger and hate.

Larry’s been frustrated lately in his 25-year relationship with Kim. I just wanted fire a warning shot off his bow, based on my past. I titled the note "Listening" and here’s what I wrote, in part:

I'm here to listen, I only give advice if you ask for it.  But I will tell the occasional story, (like now,) and you can take from it as much or as little as you like.

I can relate to how you feel.  Vince was always very chatty and outgoing until I was around.  Then he'd get quiet and withdrawn, almost sullen.  I felt like I had to carry on both sides of any conversation.

For the last ten years of our relationship, it felt like we were two strangers sharing the same address.  He'd just park himself in front of a TV. (We had seven sets, all on cable, and three VCRs.  All in a two-bedroom bungalow with expansion attic.)  I don't care for TV, so I'd either read or get on the PC.

I can't read, and hear words, at the same time.  It confuses me.  Apparently my brain only has single language processing channel available, and I don't have the ability to screen out speech.  So generally, I'd go in the other room to read.  The computer was also in another room.

He felt like a computer widow.  I felt like a sitcom orphan.

When we did actually talk, he either wouldn't remember a thing that I had said, or ignore it completely, or would take the meaning as the exact opposite.  Talk about frustrating!

Only a few months ago I realized that we used the word "listen" differently.  I would use it meaning "to think and understand what is being said."  Not necessarily to agree, but to couple the act of hearing words with thinking about their meaning.  He took the word to mean "obey", as in the sentence, "Listen to your mother."  When Mom says that, we all know she means, "Obey your mother."

Something so simple as that caused us so much trouble.  I was asking to be understood.  He thought I was demanding obedience.  No wonder he would do the exact opposite, or ignore me entirely.  Just like a kid reacts to mom.

Was it any wonder that he sought out the company of (sometimes disobedient) kids?  Was it any wonder that I felt misunderstood and abandoned?

In our next exchange, Larry and I agreed that there were some really familiar similarities in certain aspects of our relationships. I guess that’s what made me forget my rule about unsolicited advice in my next note to him. It said, in part:

I know this is a pretty abstract concept, and it takes some getting used to.  But make sure you both understand that it isn't a problem with either one of you.  Guess what?  Neither of you is a bad person.  You don't have a problem with him, and he doesn't have a problem with you.  (If that were the case you wouldn't still be together after all these years.)

The problem is with a third entity between you.  The relationship.  And it gives you something to do together.  Fix the third entity, the relationship.  And since you're both now attacking the same problem, but from different sides, you can make quick work of it.  A burden shared . . .

It simply becomes a matter of divvying up the workload.  "Well I'm not so hot at this, do you think you can help me with this part?" and "I see you're having trouble with that part, can I handle that one for you?"  You've probably been doing that for years with regard to the mundane stuff, like household chores or redecorating.

I've become quite comfortable with that view and find it completely liberating.  It's easy to assign or feel guilt or blame when you hit a bad patch.  "It's all your fault", or "It's all my fault".  It simply can't be done if you view things this way.  Blame and guilt have no bearing on, or meaning to, a third entity.

I’d heard or read that somewhere, and did my best to apply it when things started turning for Michael-the-ex and I. Much of the issue between us was around Michael’s drinking heavily. He doesn’t have a problem with that. And outside of a relationship, I don’t either. But it was a part of the relationship between us that we couldn’t fix. And although ultimately, he dumped me, (well, I forced his hand a bit,) things went SO much better.

True, there was the sadness and pain associated with any breakup, but we never became mean and hateful of each other. And so, we avoided hurting each other. In fact, we were almost gracious. Within six weeks we were pretty much over it and bar-friends instead of boyfriends. Although from our recent meetings, I sense a bit regret on his part.

So what are the points I'm trying to make here?

Well first, that given the right perspective, you can work things out. Sometimes, all it takes is a different mind-set.  And second, failing that, you can end it without turning into spiteful vicious queens.  And finally, forgiveness feels so good, to both the forgiver and the forgivee.

Those deep heavy meaning entries really take it out of me. I was exhausted, so after I posted it, you guessed, I took a nap. Like four hours. After that, I spent a couple of hours writing to friends, and took yet another nap. I didn’t get out to Muther’s until almost 1:00.

Things were back to normal last night, except because of the drizzle, there was no one on the patio, so it was really jammed inside. Fortunately for me, things had cleared out a bit by the time I got there. I’m told that earlier there had been a waiting line at the door.

It really says something about the place when guys will queue up in the rain waiting to get in. Just imAAAgine all the water-damaged hairstyles! And you know, there’s really nothing special about the place. It’s just a modest little neighborhood watering hole, with a dance floor and a few lights.

But what it’s lacking in trendiness, it makes up for in atmosphere. The guys get along with the girls, there are people from every age group, folks are dressed from barely right up to the nines. And there’s the occasional het couple too. As jammed as the place gets, I’ve never seen an argument, or even harsh words spoken despite your feet getting stepped on, the occasional elbow in the ribs, or drink dribbled on your back.

Friday night, things were a little different there. It was AIDS-Rochester Benefit Night. I’d forgotten about it until I saw their Outreach Project van parked outside. An optional $5.00 donation at the door went to AIDS-Rochester, and Muther’s kicked in the first drink free. This one time, I didn’t really mind getting tattooed at the door. A small price for the services they provide.

It was a completely different crowd. Most of the regulars weren’t around. Instead, there were a lot of people you only see out at the benefits, the Winter Ball or on Pride Weekend. It was nice to some of those folks out, but I wonder what happened to the regulars?