Sunday, February 03, 2013

So - here's the thing...

The latest flap in the Same Sex Marriage (or as we who only recently gained the ability to marry call it. 'Marriage Equality') debate centers around a baker in Oregon who declined to take an order for a wedding cake for a female couple.  According to the couple in question, he also called them an abomination against God, which is why they are pissed and possibly suing him.

Okay - I've been called the very same thing by both people who do not know me and by some who are actually related to me by blood.  Not nice, but hey - I don't follow your sky fairy playbook, anyway - so piss off.

The thing is - and this is what bothers me - is the money quote here:

What Klein wants to make clear is that he and his wife do not hate homosexuals.

"They can buy my stuff," said Klein.  "I'll sell them stuff ... I'll talk to them, it's fine."

Well, thank you very much.    You dick.    You amazing asshole.   Really???

This is what bothers me most about this whole debate.  It's the idea that - "oh yeah, I'll take gay peoples' money - but only when I choose to and under my conditions."

Okay - that's fine.  But I feel very strongly that you need to make your feelings plain in ALL of your business dealings.

I was very fortunate in that when I planned and executed my wedding a year and a half ago, I didn't have any of these problems.  The hubby was the florist, of course, and we used a local officiant (and friend - yay, Louis!), caterer (epic friend and hero!), liquor store, bakery and beer maker.

Nobody batted an eye. In fact, some were delighted that we were their first same sex wedding.

But had they balked , I probably would have said 'thanks for your time but you will never see another dime of my money."

Because it comes down to this.  If it's okay for you to take my money for the majority of my patronage of your business or service - then when does it become okay for you to say, "oh - well  - this is different. This conflicts with my beliefs."

No.  You have implicitly led me to believe that you welcome my money. But then you tell me it's cool for one thing but not another.

Again.  No.

This is easy to avoid.  If you, as a wedding or hospitality product or service provider, feel that providing your product or service in support of a same gender wedding - then you had damned well better put a sign up on your front door and a note in your advertisements.  Because otherwise, you're not playing fair.

You need a sign that says:

"As a matter of personal belief, this establishment chooses not to provide products or services for same sex marriages."


Then I know.  But that also allows me to choose where I spend my money the rest of the time.I can walk away without getting my hopes dashed and knowing that I need never worry about patronizing you again.

And that's why anti-equality business owners will never do this - because it puts their bigotry and their greed on display.  

It's like - "Yeah - you'll sell me a goddamned cookie but you won't make my wedding cake (which by the way, is WAY more profitable for you)."

But now we're "them" - the others.  The undesirables. The 'not-normals'.

"I'll sell them stuff ... I'll talk to them, it's fine."

You know what?  No. It's not fine.  Not for me, anyway. 

Tell you what.

Find yourself a nice sheet of paper and a marker and let the world know how you feel before someone ends up in an awkward situation.  Tape it on your front door and show the world how strong your belief system is.

And if you're lucky - really lucky - you might rummage around in a closet or basement in you shop and find an old sign you can write on the back of ... that says "Whites Only."

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

After Sandy

I'm happy to report that the worst has passed and we were EXTREMELY fortunate.  No loss of power, no damage.

The winds and rain died down after about 11:00 last night and, for a brief time, we had clear skies and a gorgeous view of the full moon.

Others around us were not so lucky.  Friends, family and coworkers across New York, New Jersey and Connecticut are without power, hot water, heat or Internet access.  Some are temporarily displaced.

Now there is a kind of collective fatigue.

You don't realize how much energy you spend preparing for and dreading something - mental energy spent thinking about worst case scenarios.

And here in New York, we're in shock.  Life has been temporarily interrupted - with no known time for being back on line.

All mass transit is halted.  Businesses and schools are closed.  In fact, my work site is blacked out and the entire division's web site is down - our servers off line.

It's like we're all sitting here, catching our breath and waiting to see what happens next.

Thank you for all your good wishes - they apparently worked. 

I hope you are all well.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Hunkerin' down

Well, kids - it's a little crazy around here today.  This windy cow is getting closer to landfall and I'm already hearing reports about trees coming down near here.  

The streets are empty except for a few kids on bikes.  There's a pretty steady wind blowing - lots of heavy gusts.

It's a weird feeling to have to sit and wait, knowing what's coming.  I kind of prefer the surprise factor of earthquakes and tornadoes over this.  It's kind of like someone telephoning you ahead of time to tell you that they will be dropping by later on to fire some bullets at you.

Anyway, we're provisioned up, battened down and safe and sound for the duration.

Stay safe and see you soon!

Oh good.  

Now the Hurricane of 2012 will go down in our neighbor's memory as the night my drunk gay husband scared the fuck out of her by beating on her window to invite her for dinner.

Oy vey.

Friday, October 12, 2012

So, the truth is this...

As much grief as I gave you, honey - I'm kinda missin' the porn 'stache.

Dress up!!!

Life with Mom: Soup night

So - tonight:  Roasted garlic, bacon, beer and potato soup for dinner (beer and garlic, my suggestion).

Me:  "Mom - this smells fantastic."

Mom:  "Did you taste it?"


Me: "AAH! This is epic!!"

Mom:  "it's okay."

Me:  "What do you mean, 'it's okay'? This is incredible!!"

Mom: "It's unusual flavors.  It's ...okay."

Me: "This from the woman who never had pumpkin soup until last week."

Mom: "Shut up. It's okay..."

Tune in next week, when Mom learns to accept a goddamned compliment.

Sunday, September 09, 2012

Mom's here

We arrived safely last Saturday evening, having left Nebraska the previous Tuesday night.  Saw some beautiful country and some long-unvisited relatives on the drive home.

All is well and things are progressing nicely.  More later.

Love to all.

Western Iowa has some wonderful wind farms.  We passed through the Adair County Wind Farm at dusk and it was so graceful and majestic - it was magical.

Monday, August 20, 2012

A year ago this week.

A year ago this week, my life could not have been any better.

I was less than two weeks away from officially marrying the man I love.  On the weekend of our 20th anniversary of being together.

I had been an integral part of the biggest and most successful launch in my company's history - Watson, the Jeopardy! quiz show winning computer. A computer that is now learning about medicine to help save lives.

And we had just celebrated the 100th anniversary of the company at our research facility.  I got to be in the big tent for an epic and memorable - and historic - one time event.

What could go wrong?

Jokingly - but in an 'I've been here before' half-serious manner, I asked Brian, "So - what do you think Dad will do to screw the wedding up for us?"

My father - disabled for the previous 15 years - invariably invaded the happiest times of my life by being admitted to the hospital or claiming imminent death or something.  He'd fall and break his good leg.  He'd have trouble breathing.  His ass hurt. (this was a serious recurring problem for him - turns out his hip had disintegrated.)

My father was also a Drama Queen.  Ever since childhood, he could play us kids like a fiddle, whipping up mountains out of mole hills.

My favorite 'after the fact' performance:

Dad:  "You know - we almost had to fly you out here."

Me:  "Why?  What for?"

Dad:  "Well.  You was pretty scary.  Your mother found a lump in her breast."

Me: "WHAT? Oh my God is she okay?"

Dad: "It's okay - the surgery went fine."

Me:  "Dad! What the f*ck?  Mom had surgery and you didn't tell me?"

Dad:  "We didn't want to worry you."

Me:  "Then why the hell tell me now?  Is she okay?  Is she gonna live?"

Dad:  "It's fine.  It turned out to be benign.  But we sure were worried there for a while."

Me:  (smashing whatever is breakable at hand)  "For God's sake - why didn't someone tell me?!?"

Dad:  "We didn't want you traveling all that way" (I was living in Phoenix and they were in North Carolina)

As it turned out, the lump had actually been diagnosed immediately as a cyst and Mom had an outpatient procedure in an afternoon.  She ended up with four stitches and a band aid.

But Dad had to be Dad.

But a year ago this week, Dad was in the hospital recuperating from a broken leg - a situation that, if things didn't go well, could result in an amputation.  This would be a death sentence for him since - even though he had no knee in the broken leg - it was fused straight - he had no hip attaching the other leg to his body. That meant a nursing home - and he'd take his life before ever going to one of those places.

He had watched his own father disintegrate for 11 years in the lowest of the low nursing homes.  A place where we'd go to visit and find my grandfather propped up in bed, snoring - without his teeth.  His flimsy robe twisted and exposing everything south of his navel.  Flies walking around on his bald, spotted head.

He was never going to go out like that.


I had barely uttered the half-serious words to Brian when the phone rang.

"Your father has cancer."

Well, fuck me running.

I was not going to let this spoil my buzz.  Of course he had cancer. What else was left?  He'd 'nearly died' a dozen or more times and never made the most of the opportunity to shuffle off his misery.

I just knew the Universe was having a huge guffaw at my expense again.

But I did not rush home.  I had too much on my plate here.

We moved ahead.  We got married.  We had friends and family around us and it was magical and wonderful and everything I hoped it would be.

Two weeks later, I was in Nebraska - helping Dad celebrate his 71st birthday in the hospital.  My estranged brother moved out of the house while I was there - it was part of the deal for me to come back.

My mother called me in tears the morning of the day before my flight.

"Your father doesn't want you to come. Not if it means Chris moving out of the house.  He can't understand why you can't just be brothers again."

My blood boiled.

"What's his room number?"  She told me.

I telephoned the man I had feared for my entire childhood and part of my adult life.  After that, (and lots of therapy) I just felt sorry for him.

Dad:  "Hello."

Me:  "Do we have a problem?"

Dad:  "Well, yes - I think we might."

Me:  "No - I think you have a problem.  I am coming back and Chris is not staying in the house. If you think I'm going to sleep with my work laptop, cell phone and anything of value stuffed under me in bed - that is not happening."

Dad:  "Well - then I don't know if I want to see you."

Me:  "I'm not coming back for you."     >Click.<

And I went back.  And whenever we were out of the house, my briefcase was with me.  At night, anything I wasn't using was locked in my rental car.  My brother can not be trusted. Ever.

I saw Dad and we only referred to the phone call once.  He was still bothered by my reluctance but I stood my ground.  He inferred that had I spoken to him that way when I was younger, he would have kicked my ass around the yard.

I reminded him that he had no hip and no knee and no upper body strength, so he should shut the hell up and that I could take him out with a pillow.

As a sop, my  brother and I made a guest appearance the morning before I left.  It seemed to make him happy.

Three weeks later my phone rang at 1 am.

"Dad's in the hospital.  He's having trouble breathing. Here - talk to Mom."

Mom:  "He's not able to draw a full breath.  They want to intubate him.  We had living wills made that said no extraordinary measures.  What do I do?"

Me:  "Well if it's just getting him air, let them try it - I don't think that's extraordinary.  I'd hate to think we killed him over a bit of oxygen"

Mom:  "Okay - I'll call you in a bit."

My brother called again about 15 minutes later.

"Okay - he's breathing - but it's a struggle."

Me:  " Fine. Call me in the morning and let me know how things turn out."  (I said, presuming this was just another of Dad's three-act plays.)

I called back a few minutes later and apologized for being a callous asshole.  Of course, I said, call me with any changes.

Chris called me a few minutes later to inform me that Dad was indeed dying.  They had removed the breathing tube and the pastor of their church was there with him, holding his hand.

And he was gone.

I reminded Mom - he got his wish.  He'll never be in a nursing home.


October was a blur of airplane flights, undertakers, ceremonies, tributes, tears, condolences, thank yous, memorials - all punctuated by days of simply free-floating through the unreality of the situation.

When I eventually returned home, I had missed weeks of work.  It was suddenly the holiday season.  And everything I knew had changed.

I don't remember Thanksgiving.  Or Halloween. I barely recall Christmas.

Despite all the leave I had taken, I still had weeks of vacation to take or lose.  I spent the last three weeks of the year at home, drinking vodka and becoming an expert at playing Angry Birds (Original, Seasons and Rio) and eventually beating them all.

Then Brian's aunt died.

Then our brother-in-law Robert lost his battle with cancer.

Then my brother abandoned his wife, kids and our mother.

In addition to one trip back home to help Mom purge, I've had to keep her sane by telephone. Reassuring her, advising her - helping her with all the stuff Dad used to handle.  Helping her deal with the hysterical requests for money from my brother's wife.

Supporting her through bankruptcy and telling her that it wasn't her fault.  That it was 15 years of medicine and hospital stays and physical therapy and ambulances and Medicaid donut holes ... and 15 years of indentured servitude for her. Unable to leave. Unable to travel. Unable to trust that he wouldn't die when she was not there.

What a goddamn year.

And it never got easier.  Until just now.


A year ago this week, my father had cancer.

My brother was back home supposedly trying to bring his family over from the Philippines.

My mother was excited about being a grandmother again.

I was about to be married.  And I could not have been happier about my life, my job and my future.


A week from now, I will board my last flight to Nebraska.

On Wednesday, my mother will close on the sale of her house.

The movers I arranged for her will pack and load her possessions.

We will gather our few things, Ethan the dog, and point the pickup truck East.

And it will then be just us. Mom and me.
(and of course, Brian - who is very excited about having her here.)

And a brand new chapter will begin.

I think it's gonna be good, ya'll.

Monday, August 06, 2012

I used to like rollercoasters

But this one I'm on right now has got to pull into the station soon. 

We were so close - but the deal on Mom's house fell through.  Why?

Because the home inspector was a jerk and the buyer was a dick.

SO - here's how it happened:
  • Buyer makes an offer - $50K.  The house is listed at $55K.
  • Mom counters - $52K
  • Buyer accepts contingent on getting the job at the college.
  • Buyer gets the job
  • Appraiser comes - no problems.
  • Home inspector comes - issues a report.
  • Based on findings in the report, buyer comes back with new offer of $45K
  • Mom and I say 'to hell with that' - we'll do $50K
  • Buyer makes final offer:  $46.5K
  • Mom tells him to pound sand.
  • Buyer walks.
"What in the world was in that report," you must be asking.

Was it dry rot?  Poor foundations? Contaminated water?  300 feral cats kept in a bedroom with no light or air?

No.  It was things like:
  • No rain gutter on outside edge of garage.  Okay - maybe $150 to fix.
  • Two cracked storm windows on second story.  Fine - maybe $100 with a glazier.
  • Hand rail does not extend the full length of stairs.  Okay - true.  But this house was built in 1910 - before the Americans with Disabilities Act.  And let me tell you something, buddy - this house was tricked out with every mobility appliance for the last 15 years that you can imagine - including a stair climber.  The hand rail - or 'bannister', as we luddites call them - was only ever designed to run up to where it meets the second floor hallway because that's how houses were designed and built back then, genius.  I know because I own one - and my handrail only goes 7/8 of the way too.  But okay - we're talking maybe another $75 to fix.

    (My running tally is $325 so far - how does that match with yours?)

    but you ain't heard nuthin' yet....

  • The inspector actually wrote - and on my mother's soul, I am not making this up - "Electric stove is not attached to the wall.  This creates a hazardous condition in that a child standing on the stove top could cause the stove to topple."
Let's dissect that last bit - shall we?  

First of all - there hasn't been a 'child' in this house for 19 years. Let alone one that would be stupid enough to climb on top of the stove with my mother within earshot.  She has built-in sensors for that kind of shit - she will hear your shoes leave the ground and have you hanging by an earlobe before you even know what happened.  Back in my day, you'd have a two week bruise on your vaccine scar from where she ground her bony ass knuckle into your bicep all the while asking you when your brain had ceased to function.  But you find you are unable to answer her because the great white sword of pain from that knuckle is using a wood burning kit to etch a permanent message into your brain - it reads: 

"If YOU EVER do this again, you will end up as a bad smell in the shed - CAPICHE??"

Not bad for a bony white lady from East Canton.

Next - I have seen this stove and it ain't going nowhere.  It is a 34" wide electric range in Almond with cast iron burner plates.  The oven heating filament once fractured - causing bolts of lightning to shoot out of the oven, arcing to anything metal in the kitchen and laundry room.  It was like fighting Thor, the God of Thunder.  This thing was arcing to the exposed water pipes, the sink - you name it.  And that bad boy never budged.

Finally, and I hate to say this - but I feel obliged, given the right as someone who survived growing up with my parents during the 1970s, potentially one of the stupidest decades in human history to grow up in - if your child is dumb enough to get up on top of your stove and do whatever is required to make a stove actually topple (Brian and I are trying this later during cocktails, as a scientific inquiry), then you probably didn't need that child advancing your particular gene pool anyway.

Had the child perished valiantly trying to save the cat or a younger sibling from the wrath of Oven-Thor, I might have some compassion.  But,  uh-uh. Dumb is dumb.

As usual- I digress.

That was mainly it - less than $400 in 'needed' repairs.

Had he come back to my mother and said - "Hey - whaddya say we call it $51K and call it a day?"" - there might have been a chance.  But a $7K reduction?  This is not a six-figure house, buddy - it's only part way  past being five.

Now you're just a cheap dick.

This is a retired 71 year old widow who just declared bankruptcy after 15 years of my father's various brushes with death.  She dealt with so much that we became almost blase' about it all.  On the night he died, my brother called as they were disconnecting his breathing tube and I told him to call me in the morning because Dad was 'probably just being dramatic again.'  She's been through a lot.

And this is all she has.  And you're going to try to weasel another $7K out of her hands?

And your job will likely pay you more in a year than you are paying for this house.

And you are single and you don't even have any potentially stupid appliance-climbing progeny to worry about.

You. are. a. massive. dick.

The realtor said that when she told him Mom wouldn't budge he simply walked away.  Nothing said - he just walked. 

Mom saw the realtor at the church they both attend on Sunday, and when we spoke later in the day she reported that both the listing realtor and the buyer's realtor were exploring possible gifts to send the inspector that would explode upon opening.

As disappointed as we all are, I'm proud of Mom for standing her ground.  She has never had to deal with anything like this - Dad always did it for us all.  And she calls me to weigh in on any decision she has to make. She says she's confident but still values my opinion.

I reassure her when she gets despondent - it won't be long - we'll get you here. 

And as far away as we both are right now - I've never felt closer to her.